Family Weekend

My parents drove into town yesterday for a weekend visit.  Not until just before they arrived did I realize that I hadn’t seen them since Thanksgiving.  Six months ago.  We talk regularly so it doesn’t seem like such a bad setup, but when I stop to think about how long we go between visits, that’s when I start to miss them.

I’m going back to Idaho for a family reunion in July and then we won’t see each other until Christmas.

So while they’re here I will work on enjoying having them around instead of focusing on how they are stealing my bed and forcing me and Wes to sleep on an air matress.  Just kidding, they’re not forcing us at all.  In fact, we’re sort of forcing them to stay with us because it’s just so much easier than dealing with driving to and from a hotel every night.  It’s not like San Francisco where it’s all fairly convinient to get to.   Here it’s much easier to get cozy in our apartment.

Also, as my dad pointed out, we don’t have to be as strict on the alcohol consumption.   Which is ideal when we get back from dinner tonight and enjoy more wine and perhaps a fun game of dominoes.

Other things on our plan for the weekend are fun things in LA.  Like the Farmer’s Market.  The Griffith Observatory.  Possibly the Getty Grounds again because it is gorgeous and my dad could take some amazing pictures here that I would totally pass off as my own.

Pole Paddle Pedal

Holy shit, y’all.  We fucking kicked ass!  2nd place out of four teams in our team group (sex and age).

Some pictures:

It doesn't look fast, but I am speeding! Giving us a second place start.

Peah looking strong

Uh, the one in the red.  Not 900 who’s all, “Dude, where’s my fucking skier?”

After the pass between runner (go Sunny!) and kayak (Go T!)

Go T!

Our Sprinter finishing it off!

It was great to see friends we haven’t seen since September and weird how we went form weekly dinners to get yearly visits, if that.  We’re hoping that in the next year or so we’ll be able to find our way back up to the northwest, but until then we’ll just have to find excuses like Pole Paddle Pedal to get us back there.

And Pole Paddle Pedal has also gotten me stoked to start competing in things seriously.  So possiblyl some running, swimming, biking races.  Maybe all three at once.

Who doesn’t love a blow up mattress?

I just realized that for the next four weekends I won’t be sleeping in my own bed.  I knew I was going out of town or having someone visit, but I just really didn’t put together what that means for my sleeping habits. 

But!  That’s four weeks of fun to look forward to!

This weekend we’re headed up to Bend, OR, to compete in Pole Paddle Pedal with some friends of ours.  Girls against boys and it’s tough to say who will win.  Boys may be stronger, but at least all of our team knows how to do the sport they’ve signed up for.  I think.  Ah, who cares.  It’s going to be fun.  Plus, we also get to see Wes’ niece before she’s old enough to walk.

The following weekend we head up to San Francisco to see my friend Jessica graduate from law school and visit other various friends we left up there.  Like Ashley and Dave who are newly engaged and I will get to ooh and aah over her fancy new ring.  And Josh’s new baby, who really isn’t that new any more but will still be just as adorable.  And just seeing San Francisco again will be so much fun.  I can’t believe I’ve been gone for almost a year.  I guess I can no longer tell people in the OC that “I just moved here.” 

The weekend after that my parents come into town and I’ve got to put together an itinerary that is more than just a Dodger’s game (lame).  Perhaps some places with great photo opportunities for my dad, who has lately been living behind the camera (and has some pretty awesome pictures to show for it). 

And, dear god it never ends, the following weekend we separate: Wes back to Portland for some work stuff and me back to San Francisco because the tickets were fucking cheap and I get to see people I missed because they dared to go out of town for Memorial Day. 

And then two weeks off while we recover and do laundry and do nothing but watch t.v. and movies before we pack up again and head to DC to see our lovely friends Brette and Wiley who were nice enough to put us up for a week so that we could experience the Fourth of July in the nations capitol.  We’re pretty stoked about it.  But the closer it gets the more we realize that we need to sit down and plan out the week so we don’t end up drunk and hungover and miss out on everything that is DC. 

After all the fun travelling, the weddings start.  Oh, god, the weddings.  Four weddings in four months and only one is local.  I guess this is the year that everyone gets married.  A friend of mine said that in her 27th year she went to 13 weddings.  13!  I’m complaining about four and she went to 13.  I think I would have to start paring that number down and just send gifts instead of myself.  I told Ashley and Dave that they weren’t allowed to have a 2009 wedding because it would just be too much for me.  Already my head wants to explode with all the travel and gifts involved in a fucking wedding.  Hopefully it calms down in 2010 – or at least becomes a little more spaced out. 

In order to prepare for this weekend I’ve got to make a play list for our team.  I have been dreading this ever since I got the job because just the thought of searching through my itunes library gives me a headache.  I may have to call in some reinforcements (I’m looking at you, Porter) to help me out.

Easily Cheered

Last summer I decided that I wanted a road bike.  Well, no, that’s not entirely true.  I’ve wanted one for years, but last summer is when I decided that my budget could afford it and I started getting serious about buying one.  I asked for money for my birthday to take some of the sting out of the outrageously high prices.  And then Wes and I started looking – bike store after bike store and bike after bike we looked.  For weeks and then months.  And then it went on hold while the holidays and travel came.

Then we started looking again.  Starting over from square one because we’d heard about this Cannondale that sounded just amazing.  And the Cannondales I’d already test ridden were awesome so this other one that was supposed to be more awesome was surely The One.  Only, no one had it.  We called so many bike stores looking for this bike and the closest we got was the one lower than it.  So I rode that and compared it to the Trek that I was looking at and decided that even though the lower one wasn’t the greatest, I was confident that the one above it was the bike for me (this is how I bought my skis as well because K2 had a problem with all their demo bindings so I couldn’t demo them but bought them anyway and they were perfect so maybe I was a little prejudiced by that).  Two bike stores said they could get it for me and I played them against each other to get the lower price from the bike shop closest to me. 

I went in for a fitting and the owner, who was helping me, said that he could probably have it within the week.  So I was pretty bummed when his wife called a couple of days later to say it would take a month to get it in.  No worries, I said, I’d wait.  A month, afterall, wasn’t that long, and we did have a lot going on. 

So I waited.  And waited.  No word from the shop and I called them at the beginning of May to see what was going on.  The owner seemed a little caught off gaurd and said that it still wasn’t in and he wasn’t sure when they would get it but he was seeing his rep and would ask. 

Saturday afternoon we bought some more bike gear and I started to wonder when the hell I was going to get a bike and if, maybe, buying all the accessories didn’t seem a bit silly since I still had no bike and no idea when I would get one.  And then I was in a funk because I just really wanted a bike.  I had been thinking about this for years and when I was finally ready to shell out the money for one NO ONE WANTED TO TAKE IT. 

So Wes bought me a pen because I needed something to cheer me up.  And this was absolutely it.  I have a thing for pens, you see. 

Something to make me happy

And after the pen came Star Trek which was really fucking good.  When I was younger my parents rented all the Star Trek movies.  I fell asleep in the middle of the first one and woke up to the credits rolling on the last one and said, “Now let’s watch the next one.”  That was the last time I attempted to watch the movies and I still loved the new one.  Supposedly it answered some questions left open in the other movies, but it was a fine stand alone film.

After the movie we called every Cannondale dealer in Oregon, California and Boise.  No one had my bike and most shops didn’t sound too happy with what was going on with Cannondale – moving all production overseas.  The bike that I wanted was made in six week waves and wasn’t set to be made again until the end of June, according to one shop.  According to another, all production had been stopped while the move overseas was made.  So maybe June, maybe not. 

And then one shop metioned a Trek Madone 5.1 2008 that they had on sale.  So we packed up the car on Sunday and made our way to the shop, an hour away.  And I loved the bike.  The salesman helping us said that the Madone was a much better bike than the Cannodale I’d been looking at and even shared a story about how crashed at 50mph and his bike frame came out unharmed. 

So I was sold.  And that’s how I ended up with this beauty:

new bike

We went on a short ride yesterday after we got back and I’m happy to say that I really do love it.  I’m happy with it.  I’m looking forward to not being so slow on it in the future.  Perhaps even completing a triathlon.  We shall see what happens.

Mother’s Day

My mom is one of the few parents who has learned to navigate Internet and text messages.  Sometimes this is awesome (when I’m having a bad day and on of her “I love you” text messages pops up) and sometimes this is not so awesome (when it’s 5:30 in the morning on a Saturday and I’ve had too much to drink the night before), but I know it’s always done with good intentions in mind.  My mom likes the little gestures; she always has.  In high school she would randomly put miniature cards in my lunch.   And I loved it.  My friends loved it.  She sends cards for all holidays and is helping both me and my brother with our Disney movie collection.

For the better part of my 26 years my mom has been embarrassing me.  Not on purpose but because teenagers are so sensitive (I know, I was one).  They care about everything.  My mom?  She doesn’t care what anybody thinks.  And so, yes, for years this embarrassed the hell out of me.  Why couldn’t she just be calm like other moms? No dancing to music in movie theaters, no handing out my number to waiters  (who were probably too old for me), no telling of dirty jokes.

I moved out of my parents’ home just two weeks after graduating high school and haven’t been back for more than two weeks at a time since.  It’s been almost 9 years since I left and since then I’ve gotten to understand my mom a bit better because I started to get to know myself a bit better.  And you know what?  I dance in the movie theaters and I tell dirty jokes.  I have fun, though twelve years ago I would have said I was embarrassing myself.

Today, when she visits, there is a lot of craziness on both sides.  If she dances, I dance with her.  If she tells a dirty joke, I laugh loud.  Luckily, she’s stopped handing out my number to boys.

I got my mom’s crazy streak, her tendency to bruise easily and her ability to cry at anything.

And I couldn’t be happier about that.  Well, I could probably do without the bruises.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama.  I love you and wish I could be home today.

Like Blockbuster, But With Books

God, books are expensive.  I mean, like really expensive.  Especially if you’re like me and you really really really love books.  Love owning them and displaying them on bookshelves and, yes, even smelling their new pages.  I can’t seem to get out of a bookstore for less than $50; double or quadruple that when I’m in a badass bookstore like Powell’s or Elliot Bay (PS – what’s the deal with California having some shitty fucking independent bookstores?). 

So last year I broke down and got a library card.  Normally I don’t like libraries because they take the fun out of reading, what with the no talking and all the return dates and rules rules rules.  Which I understand because every time I loan out a book I do so with the stipulation that they be returned to me in the exact condition they were loaned out in and if they are not then they owe me a new book (true story, a friend of mine actually bought me a new copy after she dropped a splash of soy sauce on mine).  I’m doubly enforcing that rule because I lost a lot of books that I gave to another friend who then left them in Africa while she was there.  Not cool.

Also, have you seen this library in person?  7 floors of scary.  There’s so much space and quiet in there that I was always afraid of being murdered in the stairwell.  But I was also wary of getting on the elevator with strangers (did I mention I’m a little dramatic?).  So after years of studying and gathering information in the Scariest Library Ever I was just over libraries all together.  Why rent it when I can own it? I thought.  All the books I read are right at my fingertips if I need to find a passage or just want to read it again. 

But then, last year, I decided to read 100 books.  And, man, that shit got expensive.  For the first six months I read everything on my book shelf (almost) that I hadn’t read before.  And then I supplemented that with some other material. But by July I was running out of things I already owned and, newly jobless, regular trips to the bookstore just weren’t possible. 

And that’s how I ended up at the Huntington Beach Public Library to get my very own library card.  The first public library card I’d held since living in Boise that didn’t have to do with my education.  And you know what?  It’s not half bad.  Yeah, it’s old looking.  And it doesn’t have an exclamation mark (which has totally grown on me and I know think is awesome).  But it’s well lit and open and easy to find things.  There’s even a cafe (I think, but I’ve never been there so I could absolutely be making that up).  Outside there is a large park and lovely fountain and if it fit into my schedule I would probably spend a lot time reading over there. 

So I’m a convert.  Especially down here where the only independent bookstores I’ve found are used ones that carry things like this.  Sure I like watching it, but I’m not paying money – even $2 – to read it. 

The best part about libraries?  You don’t end up owning the shit books you read.  In my possession I have two Nicholas Sparks novels and The Shack.   I could punch myself in the face for being dumb enough to buy those.  From now on, I’ll go to the library to get the books I don’t want people to know I read.

At Least We Don’t Use That Lobby Anymore

Monday night I had to got bed at an absurdly early hour so that I could wake up at an even more absurdly early hour.  So early that it was still light outside and kids were still playing with their remote control cars or scooters or whatever.  And those fuckers were loud.  But I couldn’t shut the window because it was still light outside and still really fucking hot. 

Luckily I am a very good sleeper and I was able to mostly sleep through the night.  I woke up once to see the clock read 2:59 and thought Fuck, I have to wake up.  And then, Wait a minute, why didn’t my alarm go off at 2:45 like it was supposed to?  And then, Oh, nice, it’s only 12:59.  I still have two hours of sleep.  And when I did wake up at 3:00 I felt okay.  Rested, even. 

At work we have two shifts and we try to open all activities to everyone, which means that sometimes schedules are changed.  Instead of forcing the night shift to come in late and stay late (which makes for a very long day the following day since they only get about 4 hours of sleep when we do this) we decided to have a cinco de mayo breakfast.  At 6:00 am.  Which we had to start setting up for at 4:00 am. 

By the time I showed up to the room, everything was mostly set up (that’s what I get for stopping at my desk to check e-mail) and I was sent off to get tin foil and spoons.  The second floor of our building is shut down because we don’t have enough office people to keep it open so there’s a lot of dark spaces.  Normally these don’t bother me because it’s during the day and there’s enough natural light coming in that it doesn’t seem like something or someone could attack you out of the shadows.  At 5:00 in the morning, though, it absolutely does.  I took the elevator up one flight (don’t judge, it’s really dark up there) and grabbed the goods I had come for.  But instead of taking the elevator back down I decided to take the stairs. 

And holy hell were those fuckers dark.  No lights and dark (midnight) blue carpet is not a good combination.  Luckily, though, I noticed this beforehand and took the first part of the stairs very slowly, looking at each step to make sure I stepped on it correctly. 

The second set of stairs, though, I think I got a little cocky.  The light was starting to shine through the windows and I was over-confident after successfully maneuvering the first step.  Hubris, it gets you every fucking time. 

This time I’m looking around the unused lobby (did the janitors clean it correctly?) and as I’m stepping onto the last stair I look up and notice that the phone there, which no one uses, is blinking that it has a message.  I completely miss the first step and roll my ankle on the ground floor. No, this is not one of those almost-falls.  I didn’t catch myself just in the nick of time.  I fell face down on the floor.  And the pain I felt was immediate.

I picked myself up off the ground and hobbled back to the conference room to help set up.  Laughingly I told everyone what had happened and our HR rep insisted that I go to the clinic just to make sure everything’s okay.  So after an hour or so at the clinic I limped out on my sprained ankle with an ace-bandage type brace and a prescription for generic Aleve. 

Advice from my brother afterwards: “It’s fine.  Just elevate it and don’t be so clumsy.”  Which I surely could have used before I fell.

No, My Parents Do Not Want to Remortgage Their House to Get a Free Crusie

Yesterday I did some blog jumping.  And I found this blog and some entries about dating services.  And that reminded me of when I first moved to the Bay Area in 2005.  My best friend was working at a dating service and I was all alone in Palo Alto.  So, naturally, she sent me out on dates – mostly when she couldn’t find anyone else.  Some were pleasant, some were bearable, and some were just down right awkward. 

Like the time the date showed up to the same restaurant in a different town and it looked like I got stood up.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. 

The first date was shortly after I moved to Palo Alto.  We met at Spago’s, which was walking distance from my apartment.  The first date (if it can be called that) is just drinks so that if things are awkward there’s no staying for dinner. 

I had fancied myself up a bit.  Nothing over the top, but I was wearing heels and a nice top and nice jeans.  He showed up in baggy jeans, sneakers and a warm up jacket.  He was a teacher who did something in finance on the side.  Or something along those lines.  As we settled down with our wines we told our stories on how we ended up at the dating service.  Mine was a little embellished in parts since I didn’t pay to go on the dates, but still grounded in truth: my best friend worked for one of the offices and convinced me to join the one near my home.  His reason for joining?  He got drunk and hit on one of the employees.  She had a boyfriend but sold him on joining the dating service.

A great start, wouldn’t you say?  Right after that he told me that he never pays for a first date and became clear why he had to pay a datign service to get dates. 

After our wine was finished we grabbed a slice of pizza.  At which point he started discussing this financial thing he did.  They were having some sort of deal where you get a free cruise if you refinance your home.  So, naturally, he asked me if my parents needed to do that.  My parents.  Who live in Idaho.  He really wanted to get them on that cruise. 

After pizza he offered to drive me home and I accepted because dame these heels were hurting.  As he pulled up to my apartment we exchanged our pleasantries.

“It was nice meeting you,” I said as I unbuckled my seat belt.

“Yeah, it was nice meeting you too.”

“Have a nice evening.”

“You too.”  Pause.  “You know, I could stay the night if you wanted me to.”

Excuse me?  Did he really just ask to come up stairs and spend the night with me?  Yes, he absolutely did. 

“I think I’ll pass,” I told him.  And quickly got out of the car. 

Unfortunately earlier in the night we had exchanged numbers because we were both running a race and, let’s face it, I could use some friends.  I was really regretting that I’d done that and for the next three or four months I would ignore phone calls and text messages. 

Surprisingly, that wasn’t really the worst dating I experienced in my first four months there.