Fuck Yelp

This is bullshit. Horse dung. Wombat feces. Any way I slice it, I'm rolling deep into cow pie central. My "job" is the sole responsible proprietor for the unnerving stench to which I am referring. I have used quotation marks around "job" because I am beginning to realize that this is not so much a job as it is a bad joke in which I am the punchline. Only I'm not laughing.

Lately, my mornings have become oddly routine. I wake up frowning, roll over onto my side and wait for the single tear sliding down my cheek to hit the pillow, and no that is not an over dramatization. Most mornings I threaten to quit to myself while I'm drying off after the shower or grumpily shoveling cereal into my mouth. "This is it! I've had it! What am I doing with my life! This is no way to exist! I'd rather be homeless! Revolt!" To be clear, I don't really think that I'd be in a better state if I were homeless but I have strongly considered relocating to a cheaper city, perhaps somewhere near Fargo, because that's an inbred town that strangely seems to have avoided the recession. Weird.

My wonderful boyfriend gently reminds me everyday that I cannot quit my job. "Honey, remember how long it took you to find this one? I know it's not great but isn't it better than worrying about how you're going to pay bills?" I love my boyfriend. I do. He's my best friend. A true confidant. I have nothing but the utmost respect and compassion for him and his opinions. I also want to punch him in the face every time he he says that I cannot quit my job. Well maybe a punch in the face is too strong of a sentiment, but if I had a cream pie handy in those moments, believe me I'd use it.

Not so long ago, whilst dangling in an unemployed state, I found myself being, well, more of myself. I began practicing yoga again, an activity that I enjoy more than anything else on the planet yet hadn't made a priority in over a year. I read some good books, went for some long walks and took the time to cook at home more. In a way I was quite content, almost happy. Since I've been employed again I've resumed some bad habits that I'm not proud of. I haven't been sleeping well. I'm cranky and my feet hurt.

So once again, as it seems to be with me, I find myself a bit of an unfavorable crossroads and the question that keeps popping into my head is that if this is the only life I am given to enjoy this time around the merry-go-round, what the fuck am I doing babysitting a crap business owned by a middle aged man who does nothing but hump his busted girlfriend and smoke doobies on his bootsy yacht?

Bullshit.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, I manage* a cafe in downtown San Francisco and today while helping some total crazy bitch with her soup selection, she informed me that she'd be writing me up on yelp for our exchange involving nutrition facts between the rancid chili and the gnarly corn chowder due to an "attitude problem" on my part.

BULLSHIT.

In closing I'd just like to declare shenanigans on myself for ever agreeing to this ridiculous job in the first place, and take the opportunity to give a shout out to yelp- may your wonderfully pointless, retardedly ambiguous reviews help me on my quest to the road to freedom.

Welcome Home

I'm moving. Again. Maybe always. I guess it's the same difference depending on one's perspective. However, before I divulge the details of my current state of existence, I would like to take the opportunity to provide an explanation as to why I have been selfishly evanescent these past 90 days or so. And because I happen to be moving, and because in spite of all the packing I tend to be a fairly indolent individual in times of relocation, please accept the following Constitution as an abridged end to justify the means of what I cannot spend the time to fully explain at present:

[ARTICLE 1]
Over the past 90 days I have not been well. My tongue swells up in my mouth with an unnerving regularity. Often I feel hot. I'm sweating more than my deodorant can handle, and I've also found myself nauseous, dizzy and I hear birds chirping. Loudly. At first, I tried to rationalize my bizarre symptoms as a simple case of crushing-on-a-bearded-man-itis, but over time I have come to realize that not only have I somehow found myself in a wonderful relationship with an equally wonderful man, but that I may (horror of horrors) actually be in love. At best, all I can figure is that I must have caught it from all of you jerks that are happily living with your doting domestic partners in a state of rainbow induced, coma-like bliss. Le Sigh.

[ARTICLE 2]
I have been unemployed for damn near a month now and I don't like it. I happen to be one of those individuals that gets restless when there isn't much to do between Monday and Friday. Or Tuesday and Saturday or any other combination therein. The point is, I like working. I like being productive and accomplishing tasks set before me on a regular basis. Not to say that I haven't been keeping busy. Let me assure you that it has been quite the full time job to sequester employment in this laughable economy that has somehow grown into a full blown recession, that which has required many painful hours of devotion to weeding through the posts of craigslist, indeed.com, monster and so on. Not to mention the last few weeks of my fully paid gym membership that I have felt required to use more out of principal than anything else before the March 1st freeze takes hold of my account. All of this is in addition to the countless hours devoted to dinner parties, social engagements and sweet, sweet, tease-me, please-me lovin' that seems to be a side effect of the condition that I am presently suffering from (article 1). In any case, this is why I have been participating in more afternoon naps over the past few weeks and also one of the reasons why I have been writing less.

[ARTICLE 3]
Well here it is. The big confession (gulp). To be perfectly honest, I haven't really felt like sharing. Maybe it's because I've been preoccupied or perhaps it's due to the fact that I've been trying to figure some things out and trying to get more comfortable with who I am and the evolution of becoming more of an adult, but either way I just haven't had that much to say I guess.

So, back to my original point- I'm moving. On Saturday. My darling boyfriend and my beyond enchanting mother are helping me pack what little I own into a Uhaul so that I can transport the few, cherished boxes to storage, and embark upon a new adventure- moving to San Francisco. I'm going to be staying with friend Paul for at least a month while I continue to figure out how to survive the gamete of change that comes with the nature of life. All things considered, I'm excited. I'm also nervous. And scared and maybe feeling a bit of shame that I can't provide a roof over my head right now to call my own, but I suppose it's all relative. Or subjective or whatever. Timing could be everything. Or not. In any case, it's time for me to move on or forward or settle into a new stride. Well, for the moment anyways, because really, who the fuck knows? I sure don't.

For those of you reading, thanks for doing so. It feels good to be at home with my thoughts this evening.

Fondly,

Another Girl Named Jennifer

Silly Christmas Tree

CHECK IT OUT!

Elves on Horses!

My co-worker gave me a ride home tonight. Not on a horse though, like these festive pimps...sorry, hope you're not too disappointed.

Anyway, Rena (my co-worker) happens to be a really special person, sweet, genuine and has kindness shooting out of rear-end in that gumdrop, sugar-coated, puppies-rolling-around-in-window- displays kind of way. Also she's amazingly talented to boot. Some people have all the luck (I'll get back to this I promise, but for the moment I digress; humble apologies my Merry-Weather Comrades).

At a half past six Rena and I were sitting deep in rush-hour traffic going through the tunnel and I got a little lost in the view, the tiny red dots of tail lights that were smattered across the landscape, very similar to the soft glow of the spectacularness of Christmas, and while suspended as I was I felt so thankful for well, everything I guess. Tis' the season afterall.

So we made it through the tunnel and right about then I found myself telling Rena all about my life with an honesty and frankness that surprised me as much as it did her. Luckily, Rena's a classy lady and just rolled with it as her nature lends itself to a helping hand. I told her a bit about hanging by my fingernails on the edge of a cliff at this time last year, yearning for stability, how grateful I feel to the company for helping me find get to the other side of my troubles as my employment provided a kind of security that allowed me to be a happy person again and enjoy living with a joy that I haven't felt in years.

As we were zipping down the 24, headed toward the 580 Hayward split, I turned to Rena and said, "I can't decided if I'm trapped by my life right now or just feeling incredibly free," which is probably one of the more honest thoughts that I've shared with anyone lately. Rena looked at me sincerely through her 25 year-old eyes and with a kind of settled wisdom that could do nothing but reinforce my belief in past lives or old souls or whatever you want to call it, and said, "Yeah, I think that's a part of the puzzle that we all try to solve during periods of big change". Fuck. 25 years old and already a profit. Like I said, some people have all the luck. Stupid reincarnation (see first paragraph for further explanation).

It's not really much of a story I realize but I needed a way to explain the photograph* or not depending on how you look at it, and I really do love Christmas; it's a magical time of year, elves and trees and gingerbread huts and stuff- all very, very good. Plus this past weekend I did little aside from play, eat and look at the best that San Francisco has to offer in terms of holiday decorations which turned out to be even better than Seattle which was totally unexpected as I've never followed up a boss-like kind of experience like Seattle with a weekend that could easily be described as the stuff that movies are made of.

If you get a chance this holiday season try to check out the lobby at the The Hyatt at Embarcadero.

Seriously, Sweet Jesus. Out of Fucking Control. BOO YA.




*special thanks to Stephen who's killin' me smalls one photograph by one

Ridiculous.

"Hey Paul, how'd you like to have dinner tonight?"

Famous Last Words.

You hear about this kind of thing all the time. Usually it’s noted as some kind of crazy urban legend told around the water cooler by That-Didn’t-Really-Happen Hardy or Tortured Joe. The New York Times has probably published an article and I have no doubt that at least one show on NPR has broadcast a tale similar to the one that will unfold here today. It’s a long one, epic in fact—some of you call me Jennie; many know me as Jen, but my name is Jennifer and the following account is 100% true, solid fact.

A little past four this past Friday Afternoon I cleaned myself up, but on my shoes and headed down to the BART station to meet Paul for dinner. The destination of choice was Velvet Cantina, a charming, little Mexican restaurant located in the Mission that serves up homemade tortilla chips and a mean margarita. I locked my bike up to a parking meter near the 19th Street station in Oakland and hurried downstairs to catch the train. I was excited to see Paul. It had been a while we’d last enjoy one another’s company and it was a spur of the moment decision to meet up for an early Friday evening dinner. I had also talked to my friend Stephen earlier that afternoon and invited him to join us after work if he felt so inclined. Nothing remarkable was in store. No special adventure to be had. Just an ordinary night out with good friends.

Paul has lived in the Mission for close to a decade. He also travels a lot for work but considers San Francisco to be home, so it goes without saying that he knows his neighborhood well. Paul also happens to be a nice guy and has made friends with most of the local servers, bartenders and restaurantaurs over the years. This fact will become an important catalyst in the story later on. Paul and I met each other at the restaurant a little after five, grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a round of margaritas. We had been catching up for about a half an hour or so when Stephen walked through the door. Introductions were made, menus were presented and another round of drinks ordered. The conversation picked up as we sipped on our drinks and casually browsed the menu. The evening was off to a terrific start.

Four shot glasses appeared on the bar in front of us. I looked at Stephen who was looking at Paul who was thanking our bartender, Gabriel for the surprising and unexpected on-the-house shot of the good stuff. I shrugged my shoulders, raised a glass for the toast and gulped down the expensive tequila in one swig. We still hadn’t ordered dinner but I was feeling good and figured that sooner or later we’d get around to it so I eased back in my stool and asked Paul if he was still planning on going to Disneyland for the weekend. Like I said, Paul travels a lot for work and over the past few months he has racked up a fairly serious amount of points that need to be used up before the year’s end. Stephen and I listened closely while Paul explained that he had nixed the idea of flying down to Los Angeles, deciding to head north and spend the night in Seattle instead. Paul had already booked a flight, hotel, made dinner reservations and purchased tickets to see a play at a theatre downtown. That’s the thing about Paul. He's one life loving dude and tends to tackle the world accordingly without so much as an afterthought or single hesitation. After Paul gave us the run down on his travel plans Stephen rested his glass on the counter and said,

“Gee. I wish I was going to Seattle for the weekend.”

Paul looked at me. A beat. Paul looked a Stephen. Someone on the other side of the room coughed. Paul looked at me. “What?” Stephen said looking from me to Paul than back at me. I cleared my throat.

“No. Absolutely Not. We are not going to Seattle for the weekend.”

And that was that. Glasses down, food ordered, hands washed of the whole unspeakable, filthy business.

The rest of Friday night was a blur but I think it went something kind of like this: iphones, credit cards, Typhoon, restroom, tequila, Nachos, margarita, restroom, black beans, rice, back office, loud music, chips, salsa, restroom, check, dogs barking.

I woke up in San Francisco at 6:30 in the morning on Saturday. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn't still a bit on the drunk side of things when I came to. I also had a paper boarding pass crumpled in my left hand for a Seattle bound Alaska Airlines flight scheduled to depart San Francisco at 3:30 that afternoon. I got up, fumbled with clothes, drove to Oakland, packed a bag and went to work for a few hours. I then got on a train. A train headed to the airport. I pulled out my phone and send a text message to Stephen letting him know that I was on my way. Stephen’s a pretty smart guy and planned out his MUNI trip so that we would end up on the same BART train headed to SFO, and we did, which was nice. We talked a little on the ride over, both of us still pretty hung over and tired until we ran out of words somewhere around San Bruno. Stephen gazed out the window."Funny,” he said, “I kind of feel like we lost a bet or something."

At the airport I purchased one hard-boiled egg, a pack of mixed fruit mentos and my favorite in flight magazine, Lucky (don't ask me why). Stephen picked up the latest issue of Wired and we sat at the gate waiting for the plane that would take us to Paul.

After a quick hour and a half flight, we landed in Seattle and hopped in a cab to go meet Paul at the waterfront restaurant where we was patiently waiting for us to arrive. The ride over provided little insight to the Emerald City and other than a signpost here and there marked “Vancouver” I may just as well have been in San Francisco. We had limited time for dinner as Paul had purchased tickets to the play for both Stephen and I as a kind of “thanks for joining me in Seattle” gift, so we quickly got down to scouring the menu to see what appealed. As we contemplated what to order Paul, being the decisive individual that he is, suggested that we order appetizers and then split two entrees between the three of us. Paul had already settled on Chinese eggplant, Stephan was eyeing a fall curry special and because I was too tired to care, I readily agreed to their entree suggestions.

Totally Worth It Moment #1: The fall curry that Stephen ordered was to die for. Really. Probably the tastiest dish that I’ve had the pleasure of consuming in months if not years. I don't know why it was so special but it was and all three of us were in solid agreement from the very first bite that the curry was indeed, spectacular.

After dinner, we hopped in a cab to the theater. We were off to see The Adding Machine at ACT. I was a bit nervous on the quick ride downtown. I really love theatre and at this point, at least in terms of the Bay Area scene, I would consider myself an avid theatergoer. Paul is in the business too and holds a masters degree from Yale in directing. Stephen on the other hand as no association whatsoever and I was concerned that if the production turned out to be a miserable experience- an uninventive load of crap, a true pile of excrement, poop wafting onstage- then Stephen would never forgive me for asking him to have dinner with me and Paul the night before. Luckily, I was in the clear.

Totally Worth It Moment #2: The Adding Machine, produced by New Conservatory Theatre, an up and coming Seattle group, was nothing short of brilliant. Although we were still exhausted from our Friday night shenanigans, not to mention all the traveling, it was unanimously decided that the play was one of the finest pieces of theatre currently onstage today.

After the play, it was off to The Sheraton where Paul had booked his room that which he was so kindly sharing with Stephen and I to offset some of the trip’s costs. Paul had warned us at dinner that the room was a little disappointing as there were too many conventions in town for the weekend and he had been unable to flex his frequent traveler status for an upgrade. I don't know how Stephen was feeling, but honestly I was so tired that pretty much anything short of a cardboard box on the cold street corner would have been awesome. Now I like hotels a lot. I believe them to be a real treat and this hotel in particular was no exception. Upon walking into Paul’s room I was delighted. I didn’t even take notice of its size and I became instantly enthralled with the basket of purchasable treats resting on top of the television, so pleased in fact by the giant glass jar of gummy bears that it took me a few moments to notice that Paul was trying to get my attention. I walked toward him as he smiled slyly and yanked open another door that I hadn't even noticed.

Totally Worth It Moment #3: We were duped. Turns out Paul had been upgraded to a suite that would have made Snoop Dog proud. Upon opening the door, a full living room, table set for six, kitchen nook and secondary bathroom were revealed. Paul then proceeded toward yet another door, gave it a tug and showed us the secondary bedroom outfitted with a Queen sized bed and full bath. That’s right, you heard me. Three Bathrooms. BOO YA.

I woke up early on Sunday and eagerly helped myself to both the view and the hotel coffee (Starbucks, naturally) and as I sat there looking out the window, I noticed the foothills of Mount Rainier peeking out from around the corners of the Downtown Seattle shopping district. Unfortunately, every other aspect of the mountain was obstructed by the various hotel buildings and mall towers. By the time Stephen and I ended up on the 32nd floor to enjoy the executive continental breakfast, again provided by Paul and his pimp status, I casually mentioned that although Seattle seemed like a nice place to visit, that I didn’t understand its appeal as a destination point for living. Stephen pointed out that I hadn’t really seen anything other than Nordstrom and The Sheraton and then asked me what I would like to do to feel like I had seen Seattle as we had about an hour and a half to kill before we catching a cab back to the airport. I couldn’t think of anything other than trying to sneak into an elevator in one of the adjacent buildings to try to get a clear view of the obstructed mountainside. Well Stephen, again being the smart guy that he is, quickly suggested going to the Space Needle. We finished our breakfast, took a bagel and some berries down to Paul who was enjoying his morning of doing nothing, and headed down to the monorail. Seattle’s monorail only goes one place, the foot of the Space Needle, and no matter how brief the trip on the monorail turned out to be, it was super fun and totally boss. Every city should think about investing in a monorail. Seriously.

Totally Worth It Moment #4: I was standing on the deck at the top of the Space Needle. It was almost time to go but I just wanted to hold onto the view for a few seconds more. As I stared out over Puget Sound, across the snow capped mountains and felt the cold air around me, I got a little choked up. It was so beautiful, perfect really in every detail that only the glory of nature can create. I don’t think Stephen saw me crying a little, thank goodness because that would have been a little embarrassing.

At 12:30 on Sunday afternoon the three of us were comfortably seated on a plane back to San Francisco. I don’t think any of us slept on the flight as there wasn't really a point in taking up the nasty habit of "resting" at that point in the game, and somehow or another the idea came up to end the weekend where it all started. And so, a little past five the three of us were seated at Velvet Cantina, drinking beers, eating chips and just enjoying one another’s company. I ended up staying in the City on Sunday too because I think I might have killed someone (probably myself) if I would have had to get back on a train and find my way home. On Monday morning I took a long walk down the Embarcadero, looking out across the bay and enjoying the fog before I headed back to Oakland. When I got off at 19th street the weekend was fading, like a dream that you can’t really remember the details of five hours after waking up. I walked up the stairs and started to head home when I noticed a bike locked around a parking meter bearing an uncanny resemblance to mine. Then I realized that it was mine. And remember that I had locked it to that parking meter. On Friday. Or a lifetime ago. Totally Funny.

I guess you only live once. Well, at least Paul does. The rest of us should probably steer clear of the tequila when that guy’s around. So far the only plans I have for this upcoming weekend is to watch the Christmas Tree Lighting at Union Square because I think that's about all the excitement I can handle right now. But I'll keep you posted.

Garage Sale

I'm a little confused with all this work crap right now. The other day I was talking to my friend Kyle (an old college friend who currently lives in Boston and spend his summers employed as a bad ass pedicabbie) and somehow or another we got on the topic of actualizing the realities of life and somewhere between the how's-it-going's and the did-you-hear-about-so-and-so, a thought occurred to me; I am never going to be one of those people that makes a significant amount of money in their lifetime. The conversation with Kyle brought up a lot of issues along these lines such as desired location and dealing with the price tag that comes from choosing to live in a city that is a recognized as a National destination point. Perhaps I was raised just over the side of spoiled because as expensive of a place to live as the Bay Area is, to me it has always been home. I grew up here. My childhood memories seep through every crack of the sidewalks from Albany to Golden Gate Park. My family is here, my closest friends, my sense of self and everything that keeps me grounded. The Bay Area is where I learned to walk, talk and drive a car. I had my first employment experience, lived my last day as a child under the security of my mother's roof*, and lost discovered the teenage joy of making out in a bathtub or umbrella room after one too many cups of Skipper**.

I am 27 years old which is both incredibly young and irritatingly old depending on how you choose to look at it. Sometimes I feel like I have all the time in the world to find my home. What I mean by that is to find a city that is both welcoming and accepting of my nature, beliefs and disposition aside from this wonderful place where I was was fortunate enough to be raised. However, sometimes I feel like if I were to make that choice, to explore and start all over again in a new place with new friends, finding new coffee shops and cozy neighborhood bookstores, I would be walking away from somewhere that has always been such a large part of who I am.

A quick note about LA; for me, Los Angeles was a place to grow, a city full of struggles and hardships. Los Angeles also provided a wonderful opportunity to become comfortable with who I am and what I believe in; that's the thing about harsh cities, they are unyielding, unmerciful and unrelenting and they can force you to take a look in the mirror and ask yourself some uncomfortable questions. It took awhile for me to wrap my head around that fact that I did not fail some great test of life when I decided to leave LA. I am thankful for my time spent living there and I don't regret a single moment, choice or day that was spent in a place that was a horrendous fit at the core of who I am, but I would have not have known that if it were not for the fact that I tried it on for size.

Which leads me to my next point-- I think a lot of us do this, try things on for size continuously throughout life, until we find something that seems to make any kind of sense for the moment. Sometimes we remain there longer than we ought to because we're scared or unsure, or our faith is brought into question as is reinforced by a society that seems endlessly fixated on striving toward an series of impossible ideals that penetrate our self worth. We sacrifice too much and not just once or twice in our lifetime, we sacrifice everyday whether it's choosing to ignore the lost man on the corner humbly asking for directions or sitting at a desk staring numbly into a computer screen while our talents and unique gifts are auctioned off to the highest bidder or the employer with the best benefits package.

Realizing that I will never been one of the elite individuals for which extreme wealth is bestowed upon has been liberating in its own way. I can only be responsible for myself, my actions, my path and my journey and the rest of everything else is just distorted noise which I can choose to listen to or not. I don't have a fucking clue what's next. All that I do know is that generally speaking I feel happier than I have ever felt in my life up to this point. Sure I'm concerned; my timing could not be worse as this is a ridiculous time to be cruising the job market. But it's only a job, right? It's not who I am?

So...anyone have any thoughts on this one? Any thoughts at all- because I'm about ready to sell all my worldly possessions and go live down by the river with my backwards thoughts if something that resembles a decent job doesn't shake down out of the tree soon.



*it's all fun and games until you realize you may have to move back in with your folks.

**Skipper: 6 pack of Natural Ice, handle of vodka and two lemonade concentrates all mixed together in a big ass tub. Classic.

Eat Fresh.

The workplace has been a bit stressful as of late. As an office, we all have a shit load of deadlines that seem to go hand in hand with the rapidly approaching holiday season; end of the year mailings, marketing campaigns, production constraints and what not. Days have turned monumentally long and tedious as we plow through the endless piles of administrative nonsense that only makes life seem all the more wasted as hours turn into days that spill over into the weekend. Luckily, Derek and I have each other's backs. We've been scolded on more than one occasion in regards to our shenanigans at the office, like last Thursday when Derek walked into my office every hour on the hour, grabbed my chair from behind and before I had a chance to figure out why I was facing the other direction, licked my face from chin to cheek before calming returning to his office as I wiped his spittle from my rapped, traumatized cheekbone. Somewhere around 5 o'clock I figured out what he was up to and threw an over sized cookie at his head before he could get his tongue anywhere near me, which naturally also happened to be the moment that our boss walked into my office and received a rather unpleasant backlash of chocolate chip crumbs to face. After that, Derek and I decided that it would probably be best to start going out to lunch to avoid any further mishaps regarding an all day joke that only seemed to cause friction among the ranks.

A little after noon today, I found myself comfortably seated in Derek's sweet ass Saturn SLR headed to Subway to get our sammich on, and somehow or another tea bagging came up in conversation. That's right, you heard me correctly, I said tea bagging dammit. Now the really great thing about talking about sucking on some balls with a homo is that the conversation quickly transitions from amusing to downright fascinating. All I have to say on that note is that I learned a few things on the way to Subway that took me several hours to fully comprehend, if you know what I mean. Anyway, by the time we were actually ordering our sandwiches the discussion had erupted (no pun intended) into the do's and dont's of full blown (again, my apologies) nut guzzling, at which point Derek turned to the horrified sandwich wench and said, "Well I'm afraid My Dear that six inches doesn't quite do it for me, better make mine a Footlong," and with a small appreciative nod toward the poor girl anxiously tugging at her rubber gloves, turned back to me and suggested that I may want to consider starting to refer to my special place as a beef taco or the beef for short. Classic.

Hmm. I may have shared too much on this one. Sorry.