Halloween A Go Go

Halloween is one of my least favorite holidays.

I loved Halloween when I was a kid, and I still think highly of it as a children's holiday. After all, what's more awesome than trick or treating? But adult Halloween? That seems like just another excuse for people to drink to excess while women are dressed as scantily as possible. Don't believe me? Just try shopping for an adult woman's Halloween costume these days, and listen to the noise outside your window next Friday night. Plus, I never know what to dress up as, and the stress of figuring that out gives me a headache every year.

So usually I just try to avoid it altogether.

However, even though I don't like Halloween, I do like socializing, and I was invited to two Halloween parties this year. So I decided to bite the bullet and embrace Halloween as best I can. After much deliberation, I decided to be a go go dancer. Given my attraction to 60's music, not to mention my favorite 80's band, the Go-Go's, I'm surprised I'd never chosen this costume before. Plus, my penchant for wearing short(-ish) dresses and tall boots already lends somewhat of a go go style to my everyday look. But like I said, usually I try to avoid Halloween.

Anyway, the centerpiece of my costume is gold go go boots, like the ones shown here. I then bought a "mod swirl" mini-dress from one of those Halloween stores and finished the look with chunky costume jewelry purchased from Aldo Accessories. Add a little sparkly eye shadow, and I'm good to go.

The first of my Halloween parties was last night. It was thrown by Melli and her roommates at their apartment in North Beach, and I'd say it was a hit. The signature drink was a vodka punch our hosts called Vampire's Kiss. After two cups, however, I realized that it should have been called Vampires Kick Your Ass. So I stopped drinking and made quick work of the snack table to help avoid a hangover.

I also met a very nice zombie... excuse me, a fellow dressed as a zombie... who became my hero when he mentioned he had attended the Masque reunion show at the Echoplex last year. Now, I suppose I could have gone to the Masque reunion show, myself, but I didn't. And that fact that he did made him my hero instantly. I bet this guy never thought that watching a bunch of aging punk rockers perform would be a babe magnet a year later, but then, he'd never met me.

Except for two people, no one seemed to get my costume. In fact, people kept guessing flapper (what?), but that's okay. I actually had fun dressing up, and will break out my inner go go again for the Bradys' party next Friday. And just wait, those gold boots likely may become a mainstay of my everyday wardrobe.

Welcome to 1996

Why hello! I'm writing this little missive courtesy of a dial-up Internet connection. How late 20th century, no?

After an hour on the phone with Earthlink this morning, it was determined that the newly installed DSL at my new apartment is not working. I told the Earthlink technician that at the beginning of the call, but I do appreciate his troubleshooting efforts. Even if those efforts cut into my exercise time. Another technician called me tonight and asked me to do the exact same things I'd done this morning because, apparently, he needed his own confirmation that the line isn't working. I got a bit of an attitude at that point, given all the time I'd already spent testing my motem, but I did what he asked. And then he never called me back, even though he said he would.

I certainly hope this gets resolved sometime soon.

Aside from chatting with the lovely gentlemen at Earthlink, I split my time this weekend between lounging, socializing and running errands. The errands mostly involved buying more things for the new pad. Things like a flashlight, batteries, bug spray (I have a backyard, and sometimes the insects forget that they are outdoor pets), copies of my house keys and a P.O. box, which I am renting to keep the exact location of my new domicile off the Internet.

My lounging time saw me watching lots of MSNBC and DVD's. It also lead me to the mystery of why my new DVD player has decided repeatedly to tell me "Display Connected -non HDCP Compliant," even though it hasn't said that the other times I've used it. I even read the owners manual and still can't figure out how to stop the machine from flashing that reminder.

Then there was the socializing. On Friday I made a quick appearance at Sens for happy hour with Andrey, Carla, Olena, Lorena and several others. Then I met Carolyn at an art show in the Mission, after which we collected Dima and went to the Attic. I drank far too much on Friday night; so I stayed in Saturday night and then met Carla for brunch and, more importantly, mimosas this afternoon. Now it's Sunday evening, which means back to work tomorrow. Too bad weekends aren't five or six days long.

One more thing. Do me a favor and think good thoughts for Father Sassy. My dear old daddy is going through some rough times, and I don't think they are going to get smoother any time soon. Or at all.

And Breathe

After two months of stress and anxiety, I'm beginning to feel like myself again. My move is almost done; I'm just going to swing by my old apartment one last time to collect any mail that may have landed there, and then on Wednesday morning I'm turning in the keys.

At that point, I'll be completely free!

I'm all moved in at my new place, and I love it, love it, love it! The apartment is great, the neighborhood is even better, and so far, my landlords have been awesome. I just need to procure a dining room table and a couple of chairs, and I'll be done furnishing the place. Then the decorating can begin. This move cost me a hefty chunk of cash; so decorating will have to be a slow and measured process. I need to practice frugality for the next several months, but the move sooo has been worth it. I know I've been a little vague, but I'll cough up all the details of why I decided to move once I get the security deposit from my old apartment back.

Evidence that my life is getting back to normal was abundant this weekend, as I seem to be back to my socializing ways. On Friday night, I met Carla at the Attic for Teenage Kicks, which was, of course, awesome. And I learned something new this time around. Did you know that REM did not write the song "Superman?" I sure didn't. It's a cover of a Clique song, which Victor played on Friday. Pretty neato, huh? Well, I think it's neato, but you know that good music, in general, impresses me.

On Saturday I went to a Blue Angels rooftop barbecue after cleaning my old apartment. I missed the Blue Angels airshow but arrived in plenty of time for the snacks and drinks. A few hours later I met Joey for cocktails at the Latin American Club. On Sunday I went to Tony Nik's at about noon for mimosas and North Beach's annual Columbus Day parade. I had never been to that parade, and I must say, it was a sight. It's basically a small town parade that somehow finds itself in San Francisco every year. Too much. And if all that wasn't enough, my weekend ended with Carolyn and I enjoying fancy hamburgers and Burgundy last night in my new 'hood.

So now that life seems to be getting back to normal, I can focus on the important things: singing, boys and worrying about the upcoming election. (Honestly, if McCain and his crazy running mate win, I may have to hide under my bed for four years... or longer.) I also have to figure out what to be for Halloween. Any ideas?

Beer With Their Bickering

If you're going to watch the presidential debates, and I certainly hope you are watching them, I recommend doing so with an adult beverage in hand. Not because Barack Obama and John McCain's polite sparring is necessarily difficult viewing, but simply because politics goes better with a drink.

Last night, Andrey and I went to a small bar in North Beach (the name of which completely escapes me) to take in the second presidential debate, and I must say: it paired nicely with our bottles of Chimay. The bar was not at all crowded, but the few North Beach characters who dotted the barstools provided some fascinating debate commentary. Those pundits on CNN and MSNBC have nothing on these folks.

After the debate, Andrey and I treated ourselves to pizza slices and then went to Tonic in Russian Hill to check out an art show that a friend of Andrey's was having. It was a great way to turn civic awareness into a night out.

In other news, I've moved into my fabulous new apartment! I have to deal with some furniture I've left in the old place, but that will be handled this weekend. I will admit my new pad is darker and somewhat cooler than my former home, which got lots of sunlight and had radiators that always seemed to be on. However, the new place is much bigger; seems not to feature any nuisance neighbors; and is, so far, vermin-free. All of those things trump light and heat any day. I can always buy lamps and turn up the thermostat.

The Little Things

Sometimes it's the little things that make the happiest (or at least pretty darn happy). Cases in point:

1. The season premiere tonight of "Pushing Daisies," a cute, creative show starring my new TV boyfriend, Lee Pace.

2. And speaking of boys, the super hot guy who rode by me on his bicycle this morning and smiled. Attractive men are everywhere; so normally I wouldn't blog about such an ordinary occurrence. However, all the living space and moving stress I've been under lately has made me completely forget about boys. I may have to start remembering them.

3. One of the convenience stores near work deciding once again to stock Perrier after ignoring the vastly superior, in my opinion, bubbly water in favor of Pellegrino and poorly flavored Calistoga. This store will surely have my regular business again.

4. This is the very best one: the kindness of my friends who are helping me move. Specifically, Kurt for taking me to Bed, Bath and Beyond; Bill and Kim for taking me to Ikea; and Rebecca for taking me to Costo as I collect new stuff to fill my new apartment. Plus, Tom, Chris and Andrey for helping me carry the junk I already own over to the new place. I also think Bill and Kim may help me put together my more complicated Ikea purchases. That definitely will make me happy.

Okay, that's all for tonight. Sorry, my life just isn't that exciting right now. I've been invited to two parties this weekend, and I'll tell you about them if I am able to attend. Unfortunately, however, I suspect moving will overtake my weekend, forcing me to give my inner social butterfly a rest.

I promise to be interesting again in a few weeks.

Perfect Day

If you find yourself needing the recipe for a perfect day, search no more. I stumbled upon the ingredients this afternoon.

After a morning run, I took a cab ride across town to the Portola Nail Salon where Carla, Laura, Frances, Olena and I got mani-pedis for Carla's 30th birthday. Yay, Carla! Mani-pedis are relaxing enough, but get your nails done at the Portola Nail Salon on a Sunday afternoon, and you know what you get? Free mimosas! Oh, that's right, my friends. Granted, their mimosas are made with really cheap sparkling wine and Sunny Delight, but for the bargain price of free with your nail service, they are delicious.

I had three.

After our nails dried, we headed over to the Beach Chalet for brunch with Andrey and Berto. That photo above is of us as we're digging in. Yes, Ocean Beach is cold and foggy, but it's wonderful to watch the waves while you dine. Or in my case, chow down. I hadn't eaten all morning; so by the time we sat down to brunch at 2:30, I was a little hungry.

Now, I'm very full.

Regardless, mimosas tossed with mani-pedis and blended with brunch cook up to a golden, bubbly, perfect afternoon. I'm still feeling the stress of moving and the bad living conditions that are driving me to move; so I appreciate any perfect afternoon I get. The good news on that front, however, is that I've started moving stuff into my new apartment! My goal is to be all moved in by October 6th or so. That would give me a week to clean my old place and throw out anything I don't take to my new abode. And then I will be done, done, DONE with my nuisance neighbors, bad apartment managers and the once lovely apartment building that in recent years has become nothing more than an overpriced, dilapidated tenement house.

And speaking of the move, I must scoot and get back to the packing and purging. My crap isn't going to just get up and walk over to the new place. It sure would be nice if it would, though.

Love Reminder

Do you ever find yourself questioning your love for something? I suppose, in general, love is a pretty irrational emotion. All I'd have to do is line up all the men I've ever loved/crushed on/been hopelessly infatuated with, and you'd see quite clearly just how irrational love is. But this post isn't about men.

In the nearly twelve years that I've lived in San Francisco, I've been pick-pocketed, mugged, had my identity stolen and, most recently, plagued by nuisance neighbors and the vermin they have brought into our shared apartment building. All of this has caused me to ask myself, in all seriousness, why I love the City by the Bay so much. My career has gone really well, but I have the kind of job that is in demand anywhere. So I give San Francisco precious little credit for any success in that realm.

But then last night, I was reminded why I love my little town. After a quick drink and giddy conversation at the Attic, my friend Carolyn and I went to a party for Rodent Records in a warehouse on Minnesota Street (by the way, prior to last night, I had no idea where Minnesota Street was, even though it's mere blocks from Tom and Chris' pad). We were there to see the Kirby Grips play a reunion show, which we caught and loved. But this party was so much more than the Grips' set. There was a whole parade of bands, and the warehouse was an artist space adorned with the artists' work.

As I watched the Kirby Grips blast through power pop number after power pop number while some very strange film was beamed on the wall behind them, my heart swelled, and I remembered why I love San Francisco. Sure, you can go to a cool bar and then see live music in a warehouse in New York, L.A. or Chicago, but there seemed to be something so San Francisco about the evening. And nuisance neighbors, vermin and crime be damned, I was happy to be there last night and to be in the City.

We'll see if that love can survive the stress of moving to a new apartment and the few more weeks I have to live with my idiot neighbors and pest control issues.

In other news, the Emmy Awards are tonight. You may recall me telling you that my brother Michael was nominated for an Emmy this year. He and his band mates were nominated for writing the main title theme to the animated Disney series, Phineas and Ferb. Well, that particular honor was awarded with the other Creative Arts Emmys last weekend, and... my brother and his band mates didn't win. The main theme for some reality show that lasted two episodes before it was canceled won. What's up with that?!? I suspect a fix, frankly. I know it's supposedly an honor just to be nominated, but since I wasn't the one up for the accolade, I don't have to be gracious or have a good attitude. However, all was not lost, Michael and his wife Maki were able to pose for this photo with Steve Buscemi at the ceremony, which I think is pretty cool.

So even though you'll never again hear the title theme that the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences deemed best this year, you can hear the song my brother co-wrote on the Disney Channel on a regular basis.

Thank You, Rhode Island

I grew up in Southern California; the Los Angeles suburb of Pasadena, to be specific. I now live in San Francisco and am writing today from Honolulu, Hawaii, where my mother currently lives.

However, for a few years I was a New Englander. Well, not really. I attended Brown University, which I LOVED, and after graduation, I stayed in Providence, Rhode Island, for about four and a half more years, working in both Providence and Boston. I very much did not love living in Providence as a college graduate. In fact, I hated it. I worked with some rather unfortunate people, and while I had plenty of friends (most of whom also had attended Brown), I never felt connected to New England culture. By late 1996, I could not get back to California fast enough and high-tailed it to San Francisco in November of that year.

I pretty much have never looked back, save several trips back east to visit my friends. While I find New England to be beautiful, and I love to visit the area, there is no love lost between myself and The Colonies. I would never want to live there again, and I generally am not shy about saying so. However, this week, former Republican Senator (and fellow Brown graduate) Lincoln Chafee may well have redeemed the state of Rhode Island, and perhaps all of New England, in my mind. He showed insight, intelligence and frankly, common sense this week, and I, for one, and happy that he did not keep that common sense to himself. I usually keep politics off this space, but.... From the Associated Press via the CBS News website:

Former Rhode Island Senator Lincoln Chafee, who left the GOP after being defeated for re-election in 2006, called Sarah Palin a “cocky wacko,” but admitted to a Washington audience Tuesday that she has revived a “lackluster McCain candidacy,” the AP reports.

Speaking to the New American Foundation, Chafee was asked about Palin by an audience member and he responded by saying that her candidacy has “thrown this firestorm, this tornado, into the whole presidential election.” Chafee, who is supporting Barack Obama, said that her speech to the GOP convention also energized Democrats. “People were coming into my office, phone calls were flooding in, e-mails were coming in, ‘I just sent money to Obama, I couldn’t sleep last night’ – from the left. To see this cocky wacko up there.”

In an interview with the AP Thursday, Chafee said that he “found much of Palin’s convention speech objectionable, particularly her ‘mocking’ assertion that Obama was overly concerned with al-Qaeda terrorists getting” their rights read to them. That “got to the core of everything wrong with the last eight years,” said Chafee. “I consider that wacky, and certainly her tone was very, very cocky,” he added.

Cocky or not, that woman is a wackjob who scares the living daylights out of me. So thanks, Linc, and thank you, Rhode Island. I now am feeling like I didn't appreciate you enough while I was there.

Okay, all of that said, I only have 24 more hours left in Hawaii. So I'm off to the beach.

... All I Ever Wanted

This post has nothing whatsoever to do with the Go-Go's. It's just that I am in dire need of a vacation; so I have been humming that Go's song to myself nonstop. Luckily for me, I am leaving for Hawaii on Saturday afternoon, and let me tell you, this trip is not coming a moment too soon.

Not only am I dealing with the home issues I alluded to in my last missive, but I have had the world's most frustrating day. I had to take a day off work to go to St. Francis Hospital for a medical test that, as it turns out, I didn't need. Let me repeat that: I was in the hospital at 9:00 this morning for a test I didn't need. Now, the responsible doctor at the hospital assessed that I didn't need said test; so he didn't do it. However, I did waste time there and had to get an expensive scan. And as for my primary care physician... the one who insisted on this unnecessary procedure even after I asked if I really needed it... well, he's getting fired. Just by me, but still. I've decided that his services are no longer useful to me.

What is wrong with people?

Forgive me, I usually reserve this space for happy musings, but I am so angry about what happened today. This situation has illustrated for me at least a few of the many problems with our health care system. Not to mention giving me a better understanding of the ridiculous, over-inflated costs. On the bright side, after I left the hospital in the same perfectly healthy condition in which I had arrived, I called work to see if they wanted me to come in after all. They said no; so my friend Chris, who had come to St. Francis to drive me home, and I enjoyed an outdoor mimosa brunch instead. I suppose that's a way to make lemons into lemonade. Or mimosas, anyway.

Another bit of good news is that Gretchie and I went to see a good play last night: Yellowjackets at Berkeley Rep. I will admit, the script could use some editing, but the acting in this show is phenomenal, as is often the case at Berkeley Rep. I even began to develop a teeny audience crush on one of the actors as I watched his work. However, the characters are all teenagers, and I highly doubt, based on his program bio, that the guy I was crushing on is much older than 18. So nevermind. But still, it's a pretty good play.

We'll talk again when I return from Hawaii, or perhaps while I'm there. I'd tell you I'll miss you, but I so need to get away that, in all honesty, I probably won't.

Missing In Action

Sincerest of apologies, gentle readers!

For more than two and a half years, I diligently have updated this space an average of twice a week. Now look at me: I haven't posted in 14 days. Forgive me, I've been a little busy dealing with a few teeny problems in my living space. I love my quintessential San Francisco home, but these are trying times for the Sassy domicile. Between the nuisance neighbors, bad maintenance on the part of my property manager and some uninvited guests, I've started seriously considering other options.

Plus, my doctor is freaking out because apparently I'm a tad anemic. All this has taken all my energy for the past two weeks. I haven't even been exercising lately. You know that's not like me.

I have done hardly anything fun since my friend Emily's wedding in Napa on the 17th. I did go to Joan and Richard's going-away party last weekend, but that's it. Well, until last night, that is. Right after work, my friend Alison and I went to a party for Italian speakers at a fancy apartment building South of Market. No, I don't speak Italian, but Alison carried me.

There were no cute boys at the party, though; so after a few rounds of Italian (Alison) and apologetic English (me), we went back to Alison's place where we tried to make cosmopolitans. I say we tried because Alison had no cranberry juice, but we used fruit instead and created a whole new drink! I think we should call it "The Alison" and market it to bars around the city. We sipped our newly minted creations while watching several Sex and the City episodes on dvd. It was the perfect Friday evening for a Sassy girl who has been under a decidedly un-sassy amount of stress.

At least I'm going back to Hawaii in a week. Yay! That will take my mind off my poor, abused home.

Tainted Knowledge

There comes a time, I believe, in every music fan's life when she realizes that she is stupid.

Okay, maybe "stupid" is too strong a word. Perhaps it's more accurate to say that, armed with limited information, she made an assumption that turned out to be incorrect.

When I was twelve years old, drinking in all I could from my local radio station KROQ, I heard a little synth-pop tune by Soft Cell called "Tainted Love." It enjoyed a fairly heavy rotation on KROQ, alongside The Go-Go's, Missing Persons, Toni Basil and other stars of the day. I liked the song, quite a bit actually, as did many of my fellow sixth graders. I especially liked the occasions when KROQ would play the 12" version, where "Tainted Love" was married to Soft Cell's cover of the Supremes' "Where Did Our Love Go."

The song made Soft Cell the perfect little one hit wonder band.

I am fairly sick of good old "Tainted Love" now, given that somehow it managed to endure and take a seemingly permanent position on just about every adult contemporary radio station out there these days. I hate that I am the target demographic of radio stations that also play Celine Dion.

Anyway, I was perfectly happy living with "Tainted Love" in the background of my musical tapestry until it was thrust front and center this morning... when I learned that Soft Cell did not write it, Ed Cobb did. Soft Cell's version is an out and out cover of the song, which was first released in 1964 by R&B singer Gloria Jones, pictured above. Of course, the Gloria Jones version kicks Soft Cell's collective ass, but that's really not the point.

How could I have thought for 26 years that Soft Cell wrote that song? Or at least that they sang it first? I don't claim to know everything about music, but I know a few things. I know "Twist and Shout" was a hit for the Isley Brothers before the Beatles covered it. I was very familiar with the La's version of "There She Goes" before Sixpence None the Richer turned it into a U-S hit. "A Message to You, Rudy," by the Specials? Cover. And all that said, I'm certain there are scores of cover songs out there that I don't recognize as such. But to walk around for a quarter century identifying "Tainted Love" solely as a Soft Cell song? That's just wrong.

My friend Wendell pointed out that nothing else in the Soft Cell catalog is nearly so good as "Tainted Love"; so that fact, along with the pairing of "Tainted Love" with "Where Did Our Love Go" could have, decades ago, given me a clue that it is a cover. He makes a good point. "It's A Mug's Game," for example, while a somewhat cute new wave nugget, doesn't even compare. However, Wendell also noted that perhaps I shouldn't beat myself up for not knowing the Gloria Jones version.

Okay, I won't beat myself up, but I now vow to pay better attention. The next thing you know, I'll learn that the Monkees didn't write the vast majority of their songs. Oh, wait...

(P.S. For the record, I know the Supremes didn't write "Where Did Our Love Go," even though I refer to it in this rant as a Supremes' song.)

Welcome Back!

(Feel free to hum the theme to "Welcome Back, Kotter" as you read this.)

My co-worker Rebecca has returned to work.

The lovely and charming Miss Re broke her leg back in mid-May and has been out just a few days short of three full months. Now, there are many people at work who have known Rebecca longer or are personally closer to her than me, but she and I are going to be working very closely together from now on. So I am just as thrilled as anyone that she is back. Maybe even more thrilled.

To celebrate her return to work and our plan to take over the world (oh, yes, we have that plan), Re made me a warm blanket with music notes on it, should I get cold in our place of employment. I am not the one who broke my leg, but I'm not going to look a gift blanket in the mouth. And it was very sweet of her to sew it for me by her very own hand.

I marked the beginning of our world take-over by procuring a sacripantina cake from Stella Pastry in Miss Re's honor. I had heard carrot cake is her favorite, but this occasion deserved the sacripantina, which is known in some circles (i.e. mine) as the greatest cake in the world. Re jokingly asked me if I baked it myself, only because about an hour earlier I'd told her that the contents of my single girl refrigerator currently are limited to pickles, champagne, filtered water, butter and about a cup of most likely sour milk.

Anyway, the cake was delicious, and it is wonderful to have Rebecca back. If you notice a world takeover anytime soon, don't worry. It's just us, and we're very benevolent.

Butterfly

There are hundreds of types of butterflies in the world, and over the course of the last week, I did my best imitation of the social variety.

It began Monday night. After a full and moderately exhausting weekend, I still couldn't stay in. After work, I met the boys at the Knockout for Monday night karaoke. When Andrey, Eric, Berto, Tom, Chris and I had not had our fill by the time the Knockout microphones shut down at 9:00, we piled into Tom and Berto's respective cars and headed across town to keep the warbling going at Encore. I think a lot of regulars were at Encore that night because several really good singers took the stage. We held our own, though.

May I just take this opportunity to make a general plea? I'm sure people are very tired of hearing me belt out "Downtown" over and over again, not to mention "Different Drum," but can we all agree to ban "All That Jazz" from the musical Chicago from any and all karaoke performances? Everyone I've ever heard take on that tune sang it very well, but the song itself is just sooooo boring. If it was a short number, I might be able to deal with it, but it drags for and incredibly repetitious four... or eight... or what seems like thirty insufferable minutes. Good lord.

Okay, back to our story. I stayed in Tuesday night and got about nine and a half hours of well needed sleep. Then on Wednesday I met Kurt and a friend of his at Tony Nik's for champagne and Shellac Shack, a 78-rpm record listening party. And on Thursday it was happy hour at 21st Amendment with Carla, Berto, Olena and Jack.

Friday was my favorite night of the week because I was joined by Sheela, Tom and Andrey at the Attic for Teenage Kicks. I've gushed on this space too many times already about Teenage Kicks, but it is just so much fun. If you're not yet convinced, let me just tell you that Victor began the night by playing Nick Lowe, and one of the last songs he laid on the turntables before I left at about 1 a.m. was "Since Yesterday" by Strawberry Switchblade. Could any music party be better? Survey says: no. Teenage Kicks was a little bittersweet this time around, however, because Friday was my last night to see Sheela before she moves to London next week. Sadness. She'll be back every summer, and she may be here for a visit as soon as December, but it won't be the same.

It's sad when your friends move away. Especially a friend as fun as Sheela. Poop.

Last night was Kevin's 40th birthday party in Potrero Hill, featuring drinks, pizza, cake, dancing and Kevin's parents, who were in town from Pennsylvania. That was super fun. I left a little bit early, though, and hit Javier and Daniel's wedding celebration at their fancy, grown up apartment in Noe Valley. Javier is incredibly excited that he and Daniel now legally can be married. I'm happy about that, too, but mostly, I was just thrilled to see Javier. He is wonderful, and I don't think I've seen him in more than three years.

Today I took a lengthy walk to the west side of Chrissy Field for Heidi and her husband Adam's going away party. I know Heidi through Gourmet Group, and it was nice to bid her farewell. (What's going on? Is everyone fleeing the Bay Area?) After all these parties and nights out, you'd think I'd take some time off from socializing, but no. A more mellow week does face me, but I'll still be out and about beginning with more singing tomorrow night.

Perhaps they should rename the social butterfly the sassy butterfly.

By Popular Demand

Okay, first of all, how did it get to be August already? I know everyone constantly marvels at how fast time flies, but seriously... August 2008? Wasn't it just 1985? I think it was.

Anyway. You may or may not recall that back in April I went to see the brilliant Nick Lowe at the Fillmore. The show was phenomenal, but the most incredible part was that the audience basically bullied dear Nick into doing a third encore. I had never seen such a thing before, but apparently it's not so unusual.

On Friday night I was back at the Fillmore to see the Alarm and the English Beat (also known as English Beat lead singer Dave Wakeling and the musicians he has hired to tour with him). The Alarm sucked because... well, it was the Alarm. I mean no disrespect to any Alarm fans, but that band stinks. Not to mention that the lead singer kept trying to coerce the audience into singing for him. Even when the band was playing a song that wasn't a hit. C'mon buddy, we paid to see you sing (unfortunately); don't try to get us to do your job.

The Beat was, of course, great, but they didn't play for very long. Perhaps I have been spoiled because Dave and the boys play in San Francisco all the time, and they usually play for at least two hours at every show. However, on Friday night, the set was only about an hour long. Sure, they played 60 minutes of great music, but there was no "Best Friend," no "Doors of Your Heart," no "Ackee 123." Drat. But after the second encore, when all was supposedly said and done, the audience wouldn't stop cheering. The lights came up, the roadies started disconnecting the microphones, and I, for one, figured we were done.

Then the band came back.

I don't know if it was the crowd or the fact that the band realized they hadn't yet played "I Confess," but they treated us to two more songs. After the roadies reconnected everything, that is. Another third encore on demand. Good stuff, my friends.

In other news from my weekend, I began my Saturday with brunch with Britney, Denise, Molly and Molly's brand new daughter Riley. Then it was off to my singing lesson, and last night Kurt, his friend Alana and I went to see our friend Beth Lisick in her latest show, Getting in on the Ground Floor and Staying There.

This afternoon I wiled away several hours drinking beer and enjoying snacks at Jupiter in Berkeley with Angela, Diana and Tihanna. Tomorrow it's back to work, but before that I intend to turn on my radio where it will be 1997 again. What's old is new, as always.

Viva Las Vegas!

I used to think I hated Las Vegas. The snob in me looked right down my nose at the tackiness, the gambling and the overall concept of the city. That all changed, however, in September, 2002, when the Go-Go's played the Las Vegas Hilton. Seeing the Go-Go's in Sin City was too hysterical an opportunity to pass up, so I corralled Daniel, Melanie, Sean and April, and we took a little trip to the desert. The concert was fabulous, of course, but more importantly, I fell in love with Las Vegas that weekend.

Everything I thought I'd hate about Vegas I loved: the excess, the tackiness, the sounds of the slot machines and roulette wheels. While I didn't gamble that weekend, I nonetheless loved the energy in the casinos. I then took three more trips to Vegas over the next six months. After all that, our love affair lost a little steam, and I hadn't been to Vegas in more than five years. Until this weekend, that is.

My friend Andrey (pictured here with me as the party was getting rolling) has celebrated his birthday in Las Vegas for the last four years, but for various reasons, this was the first year I could attend. The affair is about four and a half days long, and actually is still going on now, as Andrey, Tom, Chris and Eric, at least, are not planning to come home until tomorrow morning when they pile into their rented van and make the 10 hour drive back to the Bay. I couldn't take any time off work; so I joined the celebration only from Friday night through last night.

I didn't mind the abbreviated stay, however. In a city where 3 a.m. is considered early evening and sleep is for suckers, I figured I'd be awake for most of the 48 hours I was in town. And to a certain degree, that was the case (that just means I got less sleep than I do at home). It is said on commercials that was happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but I'll share some details of the trip.

As would be expected in the desert in July, it was very hot. 100 degrees, in fact, when my plane landed at 9:30 Friday night. It clouded up and rained a little bit Saturday morning, however, and the temperature dropped about 15 degrees, making Saturday afternoon quite pleasant. The mercury climbed again yesterday, but I just spent most of my time indoors.

I still don't really gamble, but I do enjoy the nickel and penny slots in Vegas. Here's the thing, though. Because I'm not a gambler, I tend to regard slot machines more like video games that happen to cost money. It never occurs to me to bet aggressively or strategize in any way because I like the game and am not thinking about cash. That said, I did win $7 on Saturday night and $5 in the airport last night as I waited for my delayed flight home. That may not sound like much, but keep in mind, I'm talking nickel and penny slots. My new favorite slot machine is the I Dream of Jeannie game, and yes, it's just as horrifying as you would expect.

Like the television show, which, for the record, was my favorite when I watched it in reruns at age 7 (I had a huge little girl crush on Larry Hagman's Major Nelson), this game is extraordinarily sexist. However, once you get past that, it's really very funny. Jeannie talks to you as you play, calling you Master and saying things like "I thought you'd be pleased!" and "I am happy here with you!" when you do well. Also, when her bottle pops up during a spin, she proclaims "YES!" in a tone of voice that really sounds like she could use a little privacy. The game is so ridiculous, it's nothing short of incredibly entertaining. All in all, I spent about $50 over the course of my stay to win 12 bucks, but given that I'm just interested in playing, as opposed to winning, I didn't mind dropping $38 for the privilege of participating in the game. I'm such a high roller, I know.

As for the birthday party itself, we revelers danced, drank, ate and spent a lot of time by the pool at the Mirage. On Friday night we went to a club called Revolution, which was created by the Cirque du Soleil people in honor of the Beatles and Love, which is playing at the Mirage. You'd think that I'd love a club like that, but except for the decor, there was nothing Beatles or 60's era about the place. The music was the same horrible techno, hip-hop nonsense you hear at any dance club these days, but I made the best of it.

After lots of pool time Saturday afternoon, the entire party gathered at the Paris hotel that night for Andrey's official birthday dinner. Toasts were made, wine and champagne were consumed and lots of delicious food was enjoyed at Mon Ami Gabi. Do we not look well sated in this post-dinner photo? Frankly, I think I'm still full. Not so full, however, that Patti, Kevin, Chris, Eric, Tom, Andrey and I couldn't go to the Bellagio for a three hour champagne brunch yesterday afternoon. Yes, three hours. We drank more than we ate and played games (Keno and non-gambling games the boys made up) at the table. I may not gamble, but I'm all about the Vegas indulgence.

The only part of my trip I didn't enjoy was the journey home. My 9:00 p.m. flight was delayed two hours, and when we finally did land in Oakland, we sat on the tarmac for 40 minutes until a gate opened up. I was sad my mini-vacation was over, but after all that, I was very happy to see the inside of my apartment when I finally got home.

Not only am I still full, I'm still tired. 48 hours in Vegas apparently is enough for me.

Sharing the Spotlight

I am one step closer to being in a band.

Now, if you have been a regular reader of the ramblings to be found here, you may, at this point, be thinking, "Um... Sassy, haven't you been in bands before?"

Well, yes, I have. There was Fake Band, which formed in the fall of 2006. In fact, it was Fake Band that gave me the confidence (some may say delusion?) to engage in my subsequent musical endeavors. After I left Fake Band in the spring of last year, I spent a few months as the second vocalist for Daydrinker. That was super fun, but Higgins' wife Jayn recently had a baby. Why does that matter? Higgins was the driving force of Daydrinker; so the birth of little Peaches meant the end of that band. At least for next 18 years or so.

Then there was the Sub Rosas, but we really were only a band for a few open mics, one party and one official gig. For the last few months, I have been pursuing my solo career via open mics with Jackie accompanying me on guitar and karaoke. There's nothing wrong with being a solo artist, but I've had band fantasies since junior high school, and I seem to insist on chasing those fantasies.

And that leads us to the present. Somehow, probably over too many cocktails and too many evenings at karaoke bars, I managed to convince my friend Andrey to sing with me. He has a great voice and excellent pitch. That puts him one up on me, as I have great voice but just pretty good pitch. I figure he can harmonize with me and provide the extra dimension of a set of male pipes.

So Andrey and I decided to take on the Blondie's Open Jam last night. We got together with Jackie on Tuesday and worked out renditions of U2's "The Sweetest Thing" and The Kinks' "Better Things." U2 is one of Andrey's favorite bands, and I chose "The Sweetest Thing" because the lyrics break down easily for two singers. I've wanted to sing "Better Things" for while because that is one of the happiest songs ever written, after maybe "Downtown" by Petula Clark and Pat Johnson's "The Very Last Time." I also planned to pull out "Perfect" by Fairground Attraction without Andrey, and Nick Lowe's (or Elvis Costello's, if you must) "What's So Funny About Peace, Love and Understanding."

Unfortunately, the open mic was a bit of a train wreck. The reasons why don't matter, but neither Andrey nor I were particularly happy with our performance. A whole mess of our friends had come to see us, and they all liked it, but that might have had more to do with Blondies' 16-ounce martinis than our musical prowess. I do think some people were genuinely impressed, though. My friend Carolyn is a huge Elvis Costello fan, and when I dedicated "Peace, Love and Understanding" to her, she said it was the best moment of her life. Obviously that was an exaggeration, but I don't think she lied about enjoying our version of the song. And Chris got three hot Frenchmen from the crowd to pose for a photo with me. Good performance or bad, that was a winning moment.

Despite this less than stellar outing, Andrey wants to keep singing with me. Our friend Eric wants us to join his band, which would just be the three of us harmonizing while he also plays guitar. Andrey and I think that idea may be a bit out of our reach, but we're willing to try. So I could find myself in another band before I know it.

In other news, today at work I was on You Tube scouring the collection of Schoolhouse Rock vignettes to be found there. No, I wasn't slacking. I actually have the kind of job that occasionally warrants hopping onto You Tube to find a Schoolhouse Rock song or two. Anyway, talk about happy. Those little ditties about multiplication put such a serious smile on my face that I may never feel sad again.

(But don't count on that.)

Headed For the Red Carpet

Every family has a star.

For many years I arrogantly assumed the star in my family to be me. Not that I'm famous or anything, but I figured my overall fabulousness makes me a star. Well, apparently, arrogance doesn't mean anything because my brother Michael took full control of the family star power this morning.

When he was nominated for an Emmy Award.

That's right, an Emmy. It's all thanks to the animated gentlemen pictured here. They are Phineas and Ferb, and my brother, along with two of his band mates, wrote the main theme music for their show. I have to admit, I'm a little confused because I just hopped on to the International Movie Database and the title sequence theme seems to be a song written and performed by Bowling For Soup. Bowling For Soup does perform the song but written by them?

I'm guessing that IMDB is wrong, but does it really matter? No. Bowling For Soup wasn't nominated for an Emmy, and my brother was! I have been basking in his reflected glory all day long.

I also already have begun lobbying to go to the ceremony. Of course, my brother's wife Maki might have other ideas about who gets to go to Emmys, and even if I get by her, I'll probably have to wrestle my sister for the honor.

Maki might be a problem, but my sister? I think I can take her.

The Mics Are Open

After a hiatus from singing due to bronchitis and just being busy... I made a triumphant return this afternoon when Jackie and I played the open mic at the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge on Van Ness and Lombard.

It was super duper fun.

At the Black Magic, you can play a bunch of songs, and we played six. Even though we haven't worked out anything new in weeks, we've never performed at the Black Magic before... So no one there yet had heard our overplayed version of "Different Drum." What's old is new, my friends. We also played the Beatles, the Bangles, Icicle Works, Fairground Attraction and Elvis Costello. In my opinion, I sang better during our rehearsal in my living room beforehand, but I'm getting better in front of an audience. And as always, our "set" was very well received. People seem to insist on thinking I can sing, and I like the idea of believing them.

If that's not enough, the drinks at the Black Magic are really cheap. So you can sing and get a good buzz on without breaking the bank. I don't know about you, but that sounds like the perfect afternoon to me.

Suzanne also came to fill her role as a Sassy fan, and after the singing, she, Jackie and I grabbed a little dinner at La Barca. We needed it. Did I mention that the cocktails at the Black Magic are cheap? Anyway, in between songs and bites at dinner, Suzanne and I talked about plans to spread our fabulousness around the City and share it with worthy boys. Those boys are going to be so lucky.

So that was my Sunday. Tomorrow it's back to work, but a bunch of us are planning to do karaoke at the Knockout tomorrow night. It's just one party after another here in Sassyland.

Get Your Kicks

Most people get their kicks on Route 66, but I'm talking about Teenage Kicks at the Attic. I've mentioned Teenage Kicks on this space before, but it has become my absolute favorite DJ night in all the world. So it deserves a little repeat coverage.

Teenage Kicks features 60's pop and 80's indie. In other words, it's a night of music seemingly designed for my pleasure. Every song is always better than the last, and they're all top notch, even and including the tunes I don't know already.

Allow me to back up a bit, though. Last night, Teenage Kicks capped off what was actually a rather long day. It began after just six hours of sleep with a morning doctor's appointment and continued with work. After work, I took my friend Phil out for a drink, as he left town this morning and is going to be gone for just over three weeks. Boo. How San Francisco will manage without Phil, I can't say. Anyway, he and I hit Tony Nik's for cocktails (me) and a beer (him).

Phil needed to get home early to pack for his trip; so he and I parted ways at about 9:00 p. m., and I beat a path for the Attic where Tom, Adam and I enjoyed drinks and the music. I bopped on my barstool to song after song, beaming with delight the entire time. Much to the amusement (and probably eventual irritation) of Tom and Adam, I proclaimed nearly every ditty to be my favorite ever, whether I'd heard it before or not. The highlight of the night, however, was when one of the DJs played "Jet Fighter" by the Three O'Clock.

Yes, the Three O'Clock. Needless to say, I was in heaven. Maybe it's just me, but in my opinion, there is no happiness quite as great as hearing a song you love as you sip Chimay in the Mission on a Friday night.

Star Spangled Three Day Weekend

Ah, the 4th of July, also known as Independence Day, also known as America's birthday. It's a time for barbecues, parades and of course, fireworks, like these pictured here. However, if you live in San Francisco, you didn't see anything like this photo this year because the City by the Bay was socked in by fog. As it is probably four out of every five Independence Days. The City sponsors a fireworks show each year, anyway, and I'm certain 2008's display lit up the fog quite nicely.

There were plenty of illegal fireworks to see, though. So no one really missed anything.

With the 4th falling on a Friday this year, lots of folks have been treated to a three day weekend. Okay, I'm not one of them, but I worked early on Friday and was done by noon. So it has felt like a three day weekend for me, and it's been full of good times.

After work and a power nap, the 4th found me at Anjolie and Dave's for a barbecue. There was so much delicious food: grilled skirt steak, chicken, corn on the cob, asparagus and burgers. Yummy. Plus, there were homemade desserts. I couldn't stay at the barbecue too long, however, because I had to make my way across town to Kevin and Valerie's for the home edition of Margarita Club. This Club meeting featured a grill your own quesadilla bar (which I skipped due to some slight over consumption at Anjolie and Dave's) and all the margaritas we could drink. Margarita Club is one organization I highly recommend you join, if you can.

Yesterday began with a mimosa brunch at Town's End with Katie and Teri, followed by a nap (yay!) and a trip to the gym. Then I met Gretchen at Tony Nik's, and after a while Katie, Steve, Bill, Kim and some other friends of Bill and Kim's joined us, too. That was ridiculously fun, even though I probably had one too many cocktails. Or two too many. Katie, Steve and I wisely stopped for pizza on the way home.

This morning was a bit slow with me snoozing until almost 11 a.m., but after a six mile run/power walk and an afternoon pedicure, I'm good to go. And I'm going with Carolyn and Andrey to see my musician friend Pat Johnson play tonight. Sheela and I were supposed to go to the Knockout tomorrow evening, but she just had to cancel. That's probably for the best, though. I may need some rest after my weekend, and I'm supposed to be practicing for my next open mic appearance, which is theoretically next Sunday.

Karaoke at the Knockout would only get me so far in that endeavor.

Belting Them Out At the Knockout

Pssst, I have a secret. The very best karaoke in all of San Francisco and maybe the world is at the Knockout in the Mission.

I'd heard about Krazy Karaoke, as they call it, before, but my former work schedule always forced me to miss it. However, now that I have more normal hours, I can do anything... including belt a tune at the Knockout. To that end, Sheela and I went last night.

Oh, my god, you have never seen a karaoke song list like this.

Want to sing "Stand and Deliver" or "Kings of the Wild Frontier" by Adam and the Ants? Done. How about "Hero Takes a Fall" by the Bangles? Absolutely. "I Love the Sound of Breaking Glass" by Nick Lowe? Easy.

If those numbers don't strike your fancy, you can choose from multiple tunes by the Beautiful South or the dozens of Jam selections. That's right, dozens of songs by the Jam. And the Beautiful South; I don't think I've ever seen that band in a karaoke song book. This is just the tip of the iceberg, my friends. So many songs by so many artists, including tons you never stumble upon in regular karaoke bars. Plus, it wasn't the least bit crowded last night; so I got to sing three times over the course of just two hours.

I definitely will be going back to Krazy Karaoke. In fact, it's likely I'll become a regular. This is the best thing to happen to karaoke in San Francisco since Julie's Supper Club stopped having it on Wednesday nights.

The Knockout was part of my weekend fun, as well. On Saturday night, Denise, Carolyn and I bellied up to the bar for beer and 60's music at Teenage Dance Craze. The music was awesome, but it was super crowded. So we left by about 11:30. Truthfully, I could have stayed all night, but when good music is in the air, I become oblivious to everything else around me. Including wall to wall people.

Other weekend activities included singing (of course) and watching Spain defeat Germany in the Euro Cup finals. I felt a little bad about the Germans' loss because I was watching the match with some Germany fans. Not to mention that my brother Peter lives in Munich, but, oh well. Only two years until the World Cup, right?

This coming weekend: margarita club, a mimosa brunch and some live music. Summer 2008 is shaping up quite nicely, my friends.

Girls Night, Great Idea

About a week ago I was feeling a little melancholy. Instead of wallowing, I decided to rally the troops and summon Suzanne and Zeina for a girls night out.

Given that we're all fabulous and busy women, it took a full seven days for us to get together. I'd shaken off my blues long ago, but a girls night out is a girls night out, right? So last night we began with cocktails and acoustic music at Blondie's and then moved on to Ramblas for snacks. The conversation was brilliant all night (what else would it be?), but it was at Ramblas that we took our brilliance to a new level. For some reason I can't even begin to remember, spin the bottle came up as we indulged in our small plates, and that's when the idea hit Zeina.

She wants to have a spin the bottle party this summer.

The idea itself is fabulous, but it certainly doesn't hurt that Zeina says her male roommates are hot. Is it wrong that I'm really looking forward to this party, whenever it happens? Probably, but if wanting to attend a kitchy party where I get to kiss hot boys is wrong... I don't want to be right.

Okay, off to sing. Carla, Andrey, Berto and I are taking over some karaoke microphones tonight.

Summer In the City

Summer 2008 has arrived and already has brought some good times.

Spring went out like a lion this year with a heat wave that began in the middle of last week. On Friday, the last day of spring and first night of summer, the mercury topped 92 degrees in San Francisco. In case you don't live here, I'll just tell you that the City rarely reaches such temperatures. The rest of the Bay Area was even hotter with fires breaking out all over the region.

My sister Fabulous Patti visited this weekend, and on Friday night, she and I went to the Latin American Club for cool beverages with Terry, Joey and Phil. I'm not sure I've ever been so hot in a bar, but we made the best of things as we sipped margaritas and pear ciders. The stagnant air and continued hot temperatures made the evening a little bit unbearable, but I love hot weather. So I'll take a heat wave anytime.

It was still fairly toasty on Saturday afternoon when Fabulous Patti and I took in Shanghai San Francisco, an interactive theatre piece my friend Valerie is in. Shanghai San Francisco is part walking tour, part play, and it begins at Coit Tower, marking my second visit to the landmark in the eleven and a half years I've lived here. Because San Francisco is the size of a postage stamp, I quickly learned that Valerie is not the only person I know in this show. My downstairs neighbor Jamie is also in it (who even knew she was an actress?), as is Glenn, a guy I took a very intense acting class with just under ten years ago. They say it's a small world, and if you live in San Francisco, you'll definitely believe it.

The sea breeze kicked in late Saturday afternoon, making for a very comfortable night. After swinging by Sebastian's birthday party at the Hi Dive, FP and I made our way to the Napper Tandy to join Valerie, her boyfriend and some friends of theirs for karaoke. Here is what I learned about doing karaoke when you're recovering from bronchitis: don't. However, if, like me, you are intrepid (read: foolish) enough to soldier on with a compromised respiratory system, I recommend picking a very low song.

Honestly, I wasn't planning to sing at all, but it took all of ten minutes for me to want to belly up to the microphone. So I chose "Stay" by Lisa Loeb, thinking I could handle such a simple melody that is free of any really belty notes. Well, not so fast. Normally I sing "Stay" quite well, but given that I currently am operating without an upper register to my voice, things went differently this time. "Stay" isn't even a terribly high song, but what remotely high notes there are just faded into an asthmatic wheeze. Having learned my lesson, I chose for my second number The Pretenders' "Back On the Chain Gang," which is just the teeniest, tiniest bit too low for me. I must say, I've sung that song dozens of times, including with Fake Band, but this was the best I've ever done. One mildly higher note during the key modulation was a little dicey, but otherwise, I pretty much nailed it. So I've learned not only to avoid high or even mid range songs while recovering from an illness but also to avoid imitating Chrissie Hynde unless I've recently had bronchitis.

Life is about learning, right?

The heat wave completely broke and the fog rolled back in just in time for me to attend an outdoor concert in Golden Gate Park today. Brr. I shivered the entire time, but the free snacks and drinks alongside the tunes kept me warm inside. I certainly found myself wishing every Sunday could include free music in the park. But now here I am back at home, where it's warm, and where I will snuggle on the couch in front of Oceans Thirteen before hitting the sack.

If every summer weekend proves to be like this, I'd say it's going to be a mighty fine season.

Stream of Consciousness

Okay, I was wrong. I'm not on the mend and will be heading to the doctor for my precious antibiotics tomorrow. Ah, well.

It's very warm today. I was able to walk to work this morning in my little dress without a sweater or a coat. That may mean nothing to you, but in San Francisco it is quite the coup.

I'm organizing a karaoke party with some of my friends next week, and last night I had a dream about all of us singing. Is that wrong? Don't bother answering that question; I know it is.

This weekend I'm going to "see" some interactive theatre piece taking place on the streets of San Francisco. My friend Valerie is in it, and we get snacks and drinks, too. I'm excited.

My love affair with Nick Lowe continues. I downloaded a few songs from iTunes the other night, and I want to hug him every time I hear him sing. Sigh...

Okay, I think that's all for now. More once I stop coughing.

On The Mend

I seem to have stumbled upon a new cure for an old problem.

I have chronic bronchitis. I'm a lifelong non-smoker, but pediatric asthma and an allergy to cigarette smoke (among other toxins in the air, I'm sure) has rendered my weakened respiratory system susceptible to regular bouts of this ailment. I usually only suffer from episodes every 18 months to two years or so, and I just had one in December. So I was surprised on Monday evening to feel my chest tighten up. In fact, I wasn't so much surprised as in complete denial as to what was going on.

However, by early Wednesday morning, when I awoke at 4 a.m. with a chest that felt like lead, I had to acknowledge what was happening.

Here's how this disease usually progresses. It starts with a virus and over the course of the first week gets worse and worse with me coughing and trying to clear lungs that won't clear. Supposedly it's just a cold at this stage, but there are never any other cold symptoms. Mornings and late evenings are the worst, but I'm pretty much miserable all day every day. After about a week and a half to two weeks, I trot over to the doctor's office for antibiotics to treat the bacteria which, by that time, has settled comfortably into my lungs as well. Once I get my drugs, everything clears up in a few days, and I'm good for another couple of years.

I took Wednesday and Thursday off from work, suspended all exercise (in my opinion, the most painful part of having respiratory disease) and officially set up a sick bay on my couch. It didn't seem to be too bad this time, but that's what I kept telling myself back in December, and that turned out to be one of the worst episodes in a while. However, there were a couple of tiny problems plaguing my recovery. For one thing, after two days on the couch, I was bored out of my mind. For another, the weekend was fast approaching, and I had social engagements to keep. In particular, Teenage Kicks, my very favorite monthly DJ night at the Attic, was happening on Friday. Tom, Carolyn, Andrey and I had already planned to go, and I just couldn't wrap my mind around missing it.

So I went back to work Friday morning and took it all one hour at a time. By Friday night I did have the inclination to just curl up in bed, but nothing was going to keep me from the music. I doubted I was still contagious; so I figured I could be congested at home or be congested while Victor, the host of Teenage Kicks, and Pete, the guest DJ that night, played me some music. I wouldn't drink, and I wouldn't stay out too late.

Ah, famous last words. At 2:30 in the morning, after three Chimays and lots of tunes, I realized that I was feeling better. My lungs were relatively clear, and while I was coughing, I wasn't coughing too much. Yesterday, that guarded feeling of well being continued. I'd lost my voice, but I still felt better. I even went to the gym, and a spell in the steam room there did not produce the coughing fits that would have come if I'd been terribly congested.

Could it be that this little virus is clearing up on its own before becoming bacterial, thus saving me a visit with a physician?

Well, I'm not counting on anything, as I am still a little congesty. And I certainly hope I haven't jinxed my recuperation by writing this. But as I continuously knock wood and hope to avoid a course of Zithromax, I can't help but believe that the music and beer on Friday might have done the trick. I primarily credit the music. Everyone knows that music heals all, no matter what ails you.

Including, perhaps, an issue that has nothing to do with my lungs.

These Are Days

Life is bubbling right along here in Sassyland, and it's all been quite lovely.

My new work schedule is great, although I am still getting used to it. It's amazing how much of an adjustment can be necessary when your days off change and you work when the rest of the world works. But I am loving it.

I made a return to the open jam stage at Blondie's on Wednesday night, and it was... okay. Actually, several of my friends came, which is always really fun for me, and I'm starting to accumulate other fans. Several people who attend this weekly jam seem to think I have a great voice and can really sing. They may be a bit deluded, but I'll take it. At one point during my little performance, the guitar and bass were playing in two different keys, which offered a bit of a challenge. However, as my friend Steve pointed out afterward, I merely had multiple keys to choose from.

That's about all the happenings from here. Last night I took advantage of having my Saturday evenings free once again and went to Solstice for snacks with Suzanne. We then took residence on a couple of bar stools at the Latin American Club and enjoyed many a cocktail with Joey and Phil, who caught up with us later in the evening. Very fun, but I must say I am remembering why I decided last year to cut my drinking to only two days a week. Sassy as I may be, my 38-year old body prefers sparkling water to vodka. Later today a bunch of my coworkers and I are going to a restaurant in Oakland to get together with our former coworker Tihanna, who is in town this weekend after taking a fancy job out of state a few months ago.

On a final note, I've learned something terribly unfortunate about some people I know. It really isn't my business to tell you, and I shouldn't even know, myself. However, for various reasons, this information has reminded me that trusting your instincts is a really good idea. About eight years ago, I did exactly that, and while I didn't regret it even then, I'm even happier about my decision now. I know I'm being cryptic, but that's all I can say.

Trust your instincts, my friends, and don't look back.

Black, White and Parties All Over

As is often the case in my life, all this weekend's parties happened at the same time. Last night my friend Michael threw some kind of (second) primary election primer party, Katya celebrated her birthday at Kell's, and San Francisco society gathered, along with us riff raff, for the Black and White Ball.

With my days of being able to do it all long behind me, I had to skip Michael's party. However, I made it to the other two affairs, beginning with with the Black and White Ball. My friend Tom (pictured above with Angela and me) was my date, and several of my friends from work attended, as well. Dressed to the nines, we sipped cocktails, nibbled snacks, and enjoyed the music. Unfortunately, it was typically cold in San Francisco on this late spring night, and I was positively freezing.

Although it was fun, nothing terribly earth shattering happened at the Ball, and at about 10:30, Tom and I began our search for a cab to whisk us away to Kell's. It took a bit of time, but we arrived soon enough and found Katya's party in full swing. The birthday girl did find time to pose with me for this photo (as well as several others), while playing the perfect hostess. Kell's is hardly my favorite bar in the world, but it was pretty fun to dance and sing along to the cheesy music with Katya, Andrey and the rest of their friends.

Sadly, I was somewhat over-served and at 1 a.m. made a beeline for my apartment. I realize now that I didn't even say goodbye to anyone, but they were all still partying at full steam and likely didn't notice my departure. Once home, I decided that ordering Juno from On Demand would be a good idea. Of course, I fell asleep on it, but since I never sleep well when I've had too much to drink, I woke up after just a few short hours and watched it again.

I would have loved to lay on my couch and simply recover all day today, but instead, I joined Katie at the ballpark to watch the Giants play the Padres. And the game was well worth it. Not only did Katie and I have a chance to catch up after not having seen each other for several weeks, but the Giants actually won the game. In the bottom of the 10th inning, no less. It was very exciting but not too much for my fatigue or hangover.

Tonight I need to practice for my upcoming open mic appearance, but needless to say, I'll be going to bed early. And hopefully, I'll sleep better and longer than I did last night. Um, I mean this morning.

So Wrong, But Oh, So Right

Okay, I might officially be a huge geek.

I have mentioned on this space before that I rarely, if ever, see movies in the theatre. The only film I've seen on the big screen this year is Juno, and that was back in January. And frankly, I can't recall if I set foot in a movie theatre at all last year.

Well, my 2008 tally is about to double because the Sex and the City movie comes out tomorrow, and you bet I'm going to see it. In fact, I am going tomorrow night. And I already have my tickets.

That's right, I purchased tickets in advance. For a movie.

I will, in fact, be spending more than two hours on a Friday night, prime cocktailing time, in a dark theatre.

This isn't like me, but it's Sex and the City, for cryin' out loud. Maybe I'm the cliche of an urban single girl, but wild horses wouldn't keep me away from this film. I was feeling a little embarrassed by my advanced ticket purchase until I learned that my friend Megan is going to see Sex and the City tonight at midnight. Plus my coworkers Christine, Angela and (the other) Christine all have an enthusiasm for the film similar to mine.

So at least cosmo-swilling geekiness loves company.

***Edited on May 30th to add*** What a shame the movie turned out to be such a disappointment. It doesn't do the series justice. However, before the film, I saw one woman slap another... hard... because she thought the second woman had taken her seat in the theatre. Needless to say, the slapper was removed and the police were called. This at an 8:30 p.m. screening of Sex and the City in San Francisco, the city of peace, love and happiness.

Fifteen Pounds of Bacon

Everyone has traditions. Some people take the same vacations every year; some stick to the same holiday rituals. As for me, one of my traditions is to attend Tom, Chris and Nick's annual Memorial Day weekend barbecue. They've had eleven so far, and I've been to every one.

Between the three of them, Tom, Chris and Nick generally invite about 400 people to this party, ensuring it is always a well attended affair. Snacks are plentiful; libations flow; and kids and pets are always a hit. Easily the most popular guest this year was the puppy pictured above with Elena, Dave, Katya and Eric. That dog probably got more love than all us other partiers combined.

The rest of us did have fun, too. And as the afternoon became the evening, several things happened: it got a little chilly (read: downright cold); we continued imbibing with everything from vodka punch to beer to hot toddies available; Roach, Tom and I posed for this photo; and Kevin threw fifteen pounds of bacon on the grill.

Yes, you read that correctly.

Apparently, another guest brought bacon to last year's party (I have no idea); so Kevin took upon himself to make sure this year's soiree was similarly stocked. After finding a $100 bill on the street, he spent 44 of those found dollars on fifteen pounds of bacon purchased from a Mission butcher. Don't worry, he didn't try to cook it all at once. The bacon was grilled in the very civilized manner one would expect of barbecued bacon. I have to admit, it looked kind of gross, but it tasted delicious.

There are occasions when I always seem to eat things I never would otherwise, like hot dogs at baseball games. And barbecued bacon at Tom, Chris and Nick's party.

The Sub Rosas Take the Mission

We came, we saw, we rocked the house.

Okay, not really. Given that the Sub Rosas play music more of the emo/indie and pop genres, there was no rocking involved at all. The closest we came was getting our legions of fans to bop on their barstools and even dance a little to our renditions of "Someday, Someway" and "Different Drum." That's close to rocking the house, isn't it?

Whether we "rocked" or not, the Sub Rosas debuted at the Blondie's Volume One Music Showcase on Monday night. No three-song open mic appearance here; this was a full 40-minute set gig. I have to admit, I was a little disappointed in our performance, but it's possible I'm being overly critical. Especially since Doug, who joined us on bass, hadn't really practiced prior to 24 hours before the show. Given that, we probably did really, really well.

Rosa sang several of her original songs and one cover, while I played the role of a low-rent, indie-type American Idol contestant by singing only cover tunes. It's because I don't write music. Yet. You never know what might happen tomorrow. As I mentioned, Doug played bass, and Jackie generously offered us some lead guitar lines.

Regardless of what I thought of the performance, the audience loved us. Yes, the audience was mostly comprised of our friends, and a few of my friends were drunk, but still. We'll take the love. I will tell you that after our set, I was approached a random guy who wanted to know when our next gig was or if we have a MySpace page. Embarrassed that my answers to those questions were "I have no idea" and "Um... no," respectively, I took the guy's email address and promised to add him to our mailing list.

I guess I have to start a Sub Rosas' mailing list.

Regardless, given that he was a stranger, I'd call that guy our first official fan. Yay! Unfortunately, I'm serious when I say that I don't know when the Sub Rosas will perform again. Or if we'll perform together again.

In the meantime, I'm headed back to the open mic circuit, bolstered by the knowledge that I, as a member of the Sub Rosas, have one fan.

The Best Policy?

Sometimes being honest is quite the challenge.

I should know this already, as my tendency to be honest actually has gotten me into trouble in the past. In fact, it caused a whole bunch of drama about three years ago, but that's another story. (For the record, I stand by my choice to be upfront and honest in that situation.)

Anyway, this particular tale involves money. A major, upscale department store, which shall remain nameless so as not to embarrass anyone, seems to think I have a credit on my charge card bill, when, in fact, I owe them money. It's kind of complicated and not exactly an exciting story, but it boils down to a swim suit I bought for my recent trip to Hawaii. The suit is quite lovely, and I wore it very well in Waikiki. For reasons of pre-sales and gift cards, I ended up getting said swim suit for just $45.26, down from $96. Yay! However, due to a mistake made during the convoluted sequence of pre-sale charging, returning and re-charging to accommodate my gift cards, the store has not only forgiven my actual debt but has credited me $43.28.

Now, I imagine many people would just take the credit and run. I believe this because I was tempted to do that, myself. After all, it wasn't my mistake; I got my bill and trusted it to be accurate. However, in the end (or at the beginning, I perhaps should say), I decided that I should be honest and not allow this store to pay me for donning a new swim suit on a Hawaiian beach.

The first thing I did was call the 1-800 number on my bill. I carefully (and charismatically, if I do say so, myself) explained the situation to the agent who answered the phone. She understood where the mistake had been made but didn't know how to fix it. After thanking me for my honesty, she put me on hold so she could ask her supervisor what to do. When she returned to the line, she told me that there was nothing that could be done at billing headquarters since apparently, this was a mistake made at the store. So I'd have to go there and clear everything up in person.

I bet at this point you're hoping I just decided to take the credit. Nope, no such luck.

This afternoon (my last weekday off before my work schedule changes, by the way), I trotted over to the upscale department store to explain the error. It didn't go quite so well this time. A tiny language barrier forced much repetition of my story, and the customer service rep still thought I was trying to tell him I should have a bigger credit. When I finally was able to explain clearly that I actually owe the store money and would like to pay it, he told me not to.

Not yet, anyway.

In this man's opinion, it is "likely" that the error will correct itself. How, I'm not sure, and I don't think he knows, either. Regardless, I am to wait through another billing cycle, and if I still have a credit, I can come back to the store and have it fixed. He did tell me he'd never had a customer come to his desk to correct a billing mistake made in her favor. I guess he'll tell me that again if/when he sees me in 30 days.

Being honest certainly can require of degree of tenacity. And it can give you a headache.

Some Kind of Monday

Have you ever asked for something really good, gotten it and then felt overwhelmed? Almost like you're in shock?

Just wondering.

Romy and Michele Have Nothing On Us

Twenty years ago this June, I put on a beautiful white dress, carried a bouquet of flowers and.... graduated from high school. (Well, what did you expect me to write?) This weekend, members of Polytechnic School's Class of 1988, many of us pictured in this post, gathered at our alma mater in Pasadena to celebrate our 20-year reunion. And it wasn't just about high school. Poly, as we call it, is a private prep school; so many of us, like me, spent most of our secondary education there. I put in 11 years at Poly, from 2nd through 12th grade, and literally grew up with my classmates. There is something really great about connecting with people who have known you since you were seven. Some of these people I still see and talk to regularly; others I haven't seen since the last reunion. Or since they left Poly back in the 80's.

Just to make sure my reunion experience was as authentically high school as possible, my skin decided to break out. Okay, it wasn't that bad, and I'm probably the only one who even noticed my blemishes, but still. How appropriate. Otherwise, I'll risk arrogance and tell you that I looked great, especially compared to my overweight adolescent self. It's so nice that adulthood lasts so much longer than our teen years. Especially if you look better as you get older.

The reunion began with courtyard cocktails and mingling. Actually, there had been a picnic earlier in the day, but I skipped that. As I told many of my classmates, I saw no need to begin my reunion until the liquor started flowing. After cocktails, there were class pictures and then dinner. Officially, the reunion ended after dinner, but do you think we Class of '88 partiers stopped there? Oh, no. Once dinner was done, many of us took off for the bar at the former Huntington Hotel (I'm not sure what they're calling that hotel this week).

It was at the Huntington that our collective composure really loosened up, as you can perhaps tell from the composition of this particular photograph. Champagne and wine flowed, enlightenment was shared and bonds were strengthened. As Saturday night turned into Sunday morning, the crowd thinned, but the party didn't die. Those of us who closed down the reunion (that would be Gabriella, Vince, Ella, Bobby, John and myself) finally wrapped things up at about 3:45 a.m.

That's right, a bunch of near 40-year olds out until almost 4:00 in the morning. Does it get better than that? I think not. The drinking aside, of course, high school itself should be this much fun.

First Stop: Tiki Ti

I mentioned before that I planned to take a little mini-vacation to L.A. this month, right?

Well, that's where I now am. I arrived yesterday afternoon and will be in the Southland until Sunday morning. What has brought me to the City of Angels this time around is my 20-year(!) high school reunion in Pasadena. There are several reunion activities scheduled, but I likely will only attend the cocktail and dinner parties on Saturday night. I should probably go to everything, given that I'm on the reunion committee, but there's only so much high school I can take. I liked high school and all, and it will be nice to see my old classmates, but really, now.

One thing I already have done is pay a mandatory visit to Tiki Ti. Tiki Ti is a teeny, tiny tropical drinks bar on Sunset that I was introduced to a year ago by a Bay Area acquaintance. These days it doesn't exactly look like it did in this 1961 photo, but it's still in the same location and still offers dozens upon dozens of different tropical drinks. But no beer or wine, so don't bother asking. My sister Fabulous Patti and I went last night and enjoyed Lemonhead cocktails, as well as the excellent Tiki Ti atmosphere. I love it there.

Tonight I'm going to see the Morning Benders at the Echo. The Morning Benders are a Bay Area band I really like, but I haven't managed to see them up north. So I've traveled 350 miles to finally check them out. A friend of mine (and by "friend," I mean a guy I met at the Good Luck Bar the last time I was in L.A.) who works at the Echo put me on the guest list for tonight's show. So I get the pleasure of music for free. Yay!

Other than the Morning Benders and my reunion, I suspect it's going to be a pretty mellow visit. Several of the friends I usually see when I come to town are otherwise engaged this weekend, and I kind of feel like laying low, anyway. My sister and I want to check out the 4100 Bar, also on Sunset, but we'll see if we get there. I intend to go shopping this afternoon for a reunion outfit, but I feel a nap coming on.

Once I get back to the City by the Bay, it will be all about rehearsals. The big Sub Rosas show is coming up on 19th, and we have to make sure we're ready.

Seriously, Why Isn't Life a Beach?

So here I am, home safely after eight glorious days in Honolulu. And my question for you is: why? The lovely photo to the left is Waikiki Beach in the late afternoon. I snapped a whole bunch of shots like this one because the reflection of the setting sun on the water is just so beautiful. How could any sane person leave that?

Well, I have no idea because I did leave, but I certainly had a blast while I was there. I think my vacation can best be summarized using the following categories: exercise, beach, food and singing.

Exercise. I know I've mentioned this before, but it bears repeating... there is nothing more lovely than a morning run on a tropical island. Every day of my vacation began with a jog or visit to the hotel gym. The outdoor runs were a little more satisfying than the gym, given that it is always warm by 7 a.m. in Hawaii. Living in San Francisco, I'm not accustomed to running in 75-degree temperatures or higher before noon. But I certainly enjoyed it.

Beach. Every time I go to Hawaii I threaten to move there. What stops me is the idea that if I lived there, I likely would have to get a job and have a life that didn't necessarily revolve around laying on a beach and playing in the ocean all day long. There are never enough hours in a day for the beach. After my morning endorphin rush, I'd wash up, slather on the sunscreen and head for the waves. And most early evenings found me walking along the water as the sun set. Should I ever write a personal ad, I could say that I enjoy walks along the beach and actually mean it.

Food. There was a lot of food, and I ate it all. Yum.

Singing. So I mentioned in the previous post that my mother found some Waikiki karaoke. It's every night at the Shore Bird, in case you're wondering. However, in addition to that, my friend Emily and I stumbled upon a karaoke room nestled inside a bar in the basement of our hotel. The bar itself was pretty horrifying, but the karaoke room was great. Singing set us back $1 per song, but it was so worth it. On Monday night we stuffed the machine with $30 and sang our hearts out. After a more traditional karaoke experience at the Shore Bird on Tuesday, we were back in the basement karaoke room on Wednesday night, our last night. We didn't sing as many songs on Wednesday, at least I didn't, but we still gave our inner rock stars a work out. Emily has told me several times since our Monday marathon that she doesn't think she knows anyone else who would have been game to sing for so long with her. Good thing she recently started doing karaoke with me.

I suppose there could be other categories to describe my vacation activities, like boys. They were everywhere, but none were really that interesting to me. Emily had a field day (or days), but I wasn't really into any of the boys we met. Another indication that when I go to Hawaii, it's all about the beach. Also, while San Francisco may have cold, bitter beaches, the boy selection here is rather lovely.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end, including vacations, and yesterday saw my return to the Bay. Before bidding Oahu farewell, I took a run/walk and strolled along the beach one last time. That's where I posed for this self portrait. I wasn't as sad to leave as I usually am, but I think that's because I'm going back to Hawaii in just four and a half short months. Yay! Also, now that my vacation is over, I can move on to my mini-vacation next week. That's right, next Wednesday I head to L.A. for jogs along Los Feliz Boulevard, live music in Echo Park and my 20-year(!) high school reunion in Pasadena.

And after that, we have the Sub Rosas show! Then, Tom and Chris' annual Memorial Day barbecue, as well as the Black and White Ball. Lots of good things happening in May, and when they're all done, I'll be that much closer to my next Hawaii get-away.