One Night in North Beach

I headed out to Grant & Green in North Beach this evening.  Warsaw Poland Bros were playing.  As I parked my car, I realized something, that the chapter of my life that’s ending started on a night in North Beach, just a little over two and a half years ago.

I was out to see a show, what else.  It was Deal’s Gone Bad and King Django.  Life had already started to make a turn, as Dieter had left our house that week.  I didn’t really have any expectations that night, besides seeing some friends and dancing to some music.  Little did I know that that night was going to steer my life for two years, or that I was going to go with the flow on a wave that dumped me head first on another beach last night.

There was a friend of a friend at the bar that night, and before I knew it, everything became so serious and so necessary.  I found myself on a plane to South Carolina within a few weeks.  My whole world was heading in this direction and then just as quickly, Dez was gone.  The whole thing was over in a flash.  I never intended to be without him, and it was like someone punched me in my chest when I read the last words he ever wrote to me.  I was terrified of my life, so I went out and did the scariest thing I could think of.

Of course, shortly, very shortly, afterwards, I was scooped up and set up as a girlfriend I wasn’t sure I could be.   It lasted much more than I thought it would back then.   All along I was afraid, and all along, I felt like I had to prove myself.  Going with the flow, again, but this was more like a roller coaster most of the time, up and down, pull me in and push me away.  Yes, I’m shocked, again, and scared of my life, again.  It should never be easy to hear your lover tell you that they don’t love you anymore.

And it all goes back to that one night in North Beach, and I didn’t see it until tonight, what a turning point that was. Tonight I parked my car in the same spot I did the last time I saw Dez without ever realizing it until I was walking across the street.  Then I realized I was wearing my Deal’s Gone Bad shirt.

I’m right back where I started, I suppose, and in a weird way, it’s like time stood still.   I still have no expectations.

Oh Snap. You Got Me Steve Colbert

In addition to reading more and writing more, I am also watching way too much fucking TV. It’s not all bad. Some of it is really bad though.

And then there’s Comedy Central. There’s the Daily Show. And there’s the Colbert Report.

So, in case you weren’t watching last night, Colbert did this whole thing on water. It was all about how America is too dependent on water.

The best part was a graphic that was to explain how “the scientists say” the water cycle works. I would love to have found the graphic on-line, and I probably would if I waited a week to write this, but let’s face it, I’d forget.

Here’s the synopsis of the slide from

First, the sun causes ground water to evaporate which then condenses into clouds; then Feminists and taxes make God cry and the ocean gets replenished.

Emphasis mine. I guffawed. So, to those of you out there who think feminists have no sense of humor, I’d like to counter that you’re not funny; the Colbert Report is. This is how you make funny about feminism.

Thanks Steve. I needed the laugh.

The Upside

Not being able to fall asleep until after three in the morning sucks. However, it does provide me the opportunity to read more blogs and news stories, as well as post some myself.

Last night, I found this article on New York times about a bunch of older women who were having a knit in against the war.   I think it was linked from Feministe.   Anyway, the wisdom of elders is undeniable when you read things like this quote from 93 year old grandmother Marie Runyon: “Give Iraq our Constitution, we’re not using it!”

Not Sleeping Again

I’m having trouble sleeping again.   I’ve been exhausted for weeks, and tomorrow I’m supposed to be up early for a breakfast meeting/event.  It’s an unending cycle.  But when I turn out the lights, and turn off the computer or TV, and it’s just me, I get pretty lonely.

I get what I call the random lonely girl thoughts:

I really am all on my own.

What if I snap being by myself so much, and I lock the door and never leave my apartment again.

What if I fall and break a hip in the shower.

If I die, how long will it take someone to find my body.

What if I’m all alone forever.

So, I was sitting on my window sill, having a little cry, and I heard some noises and voices out in front of my apartment.  I peeked out between the blinds, and saw a guy leaning into the window of a car in front of my apartment.

New lonely girl thought –

What if a drug dealer shoots me through my front window for spying on him.

Now I’ll never get to sleep.


I talk to myself. I talk to myself a lot. Right now, I’m talking to myself. Last week, when we were talking about that movie, I was having a full blown conversation inside my head. Tomorrow, on that conference call, I’ll be talking to myself. I do it all the time. All the time.

I know. I know. I know. I must be bat shit crazy. I am out of my freaking mind, ridiculously, completely, entirely, unconditionally out of my bloody mind. I can’t even lie about it. Not even going to try.

What are these conversations I’m having with myself? They’re every conversation I’ve ever had with anyone, the conversations I only wish I’d had, the conversation we may have next week, and the conversations I wish I’d never had. Of course, it’s not verbatim the way it did or will happen. Each run through my head under goes subtle editing to make them the best possible versions and outcomes of these conversations.

I cannot emphasize enough that these are quite possibly the most mundane moments of my life, rehashed, reworked, and rewritten over and over in my head.  These are conversations with family, friends, acquaintances, co-workers, etc..  There’s no moment in life, real or imaginary, too significant for me to obsess on.

And even when there’s not the conversations playing in my mind, there’s what I like to call “The Narrator.”  Every moment of my life goes through my head like a story.  Not only that, but depending on what I’ve been reading, the style of the narration changes.  For example, if I’ve been reading “Pride and Prejudice”, The Narrator turns phrases in a way that reminds me of Jane Austen.  I’m sure you’re not aware that my life is the world’s most tedious novel yet being written.

The thing is, sometimes when it’s quiet, or I’m just bored, or I’m alone, or feel like I’m alone, I get into it, and I make facial expressions, sometimes move my lips, and even gesture.  I’ve caught myself, riding BART, walking down the street, sitting in my cube, and I’ve been terribly embarrassed.  But that’s nothing.

A couple of weeks ago, Wonder Dave, my amazing hair stylist who I adore, was cutting my hair.  He suddenly turned to me, and asked, “Are you whispering to yourself?”

That’s right.  My hair dude caught me talking to myself and called me out on it.


But hey, my hair looks good!

Just sayin’.

Corporate Debate Rages On

Today, my co-workers and I, from three separate offices, had an exhaustive debate over a critical matter. Then I dragged some friends into the discussion. All across the internet, associates and acquaintances both personal and professional asked that most vital question:

Who’s hotter?




Don’t give me any of this, ‘they’re the same guy’ bullshit!

Han Solo has the more stroke-able hair, and much more of a bad boy appeal.  He hangs out in the gnarliest dive bars in the galaxy.   Han clearly has the sexiest ride ever, the Millennium Falcon.

Indiana Jones is a little older, highly educated (PhD), scruffier, dirtier, and let’s face it, he’s got a nicer arms. Also, there’s the bull whip.

Han Solo stuck it to the Evil Empire, and I don’t mean Starschmucks. Indiana Jones opened up a can of whoop ark on some Nazis.

Indy’s daddy is pretty smokin’, but Han’s best friend is a Wookiee.

Han wears tighter pants; Indy’s got that hat.

It’s nearly impossible for me to choose.

Care to weigh in?

Wanna Hang?

OK – to be honest, I don’t really know who all is reading this. That being said, this might not be such a good idea, but I’m going to let you all know where I will be next Saturday night. Hopefully all the Mark David Chapman’s of the East Bay region will stay home.

At any rate, long time friends, and even longer time rockers Los Hooligans (Fresno, CA) and Monkey (San Jose, CA) will be playing, along with close acquaintances SOL (East Bay, CA) at the Starry Plough next Saturday. This promises to be an excellent show, and I promise to drink at least one beer. Los Hooligans don’t play often, so it’s always a treat when they make it to the Bay Area. (Yes, it’s capitalized. ‘Cause I said so.) So, if you’re in the vicinity and you want to hang out and hear a variety of takes on the sounds of Jamaican ska, please stop by.

Starry Plough Flier