(Sigh…) Just What I Needed…

...Another addiction:

www.urbis.com

Magnetic Poem of the Day

climb into
the vacuum of sleep
confess to the conscious night
your dreams
and
give furniture a memory
of grace

IQ: 136

So I was on the internet the other day (as I am now...) on one of those internet networking/community/social circle things (not as I am, now) and I was checking out this guy's profile. Half way down, in his "About Me" section, was a mensa question that had me stumped:

Bill and Ben have a combined age of 91 years. Bill is now twice as old as Ben was when Bill was as old as Ben is now. How old are Bill and Ben?

I lost sleep over it that night, and spent at least 2 hours at work, the next day, trying to solve it. I got home later that day, though, and figured it out. But since then, I've been looking to torture my brain some more and today I took two IQ tests. Turns out, I'm somewhere between "Highly Gifted" and "Genius".

I know. Who'da thunk?

Girls will be girls!

Last Wednesday, Sara, Rohna, and I went to Americano for a drink after work. I had just gotten back from the east coast really late the night before and I was exhausted. I should have just gone straight home after work but, alas, I was dragged to the bar, instead. So, needless to say, I wasn't feeling up to socializing with strangers the way I usually would.

After some appetizers and a glass of wine, we were about ready to leave- bill paid, coats on, bags on our shoulders. Luckily, each of us have our contacts at the cool SF bars :O) and Sarah's friend Tessa insisted on getting us some "bubbles" before we left. So we stuck around to sip away at our ridiculously expensive, but giddily free glasses of Moët & Chandon Brut Impérial Rosé. I was laughing about something when I turned around and saw him. Tall, dark-haired, he was a better-looking version of John Mayer. He was with a bunch of other guys, all of them wearing suits, and he was watching me. I saw him say something to his friend, who turned to look at me and smiled. I smiled back. Every time I looked up the John Mayer look-alike was looking at me, but he did not come up and say hello, even as I passed right by him on my way out.

I had pointed him out to the girls earlier but I must've said something again as we were walking out because Sara asked, "Do you want me to go talk to him for you?" (since I'm always doing that for her) and I shook my head, vehemently so. I continued walking but the next thing I knew, Sara had disappeared. When she reappeared, she brought John Mayer with her.

I felt kind of silly, having had my girlfriend go grab a guy for me, but he was nice.

Sara:
(After introducing us) He's from Texas.

Me:
Really? I didn't hear an accent.

John Mayer:
(Raising his glass of wine) A couple more of these and I won't be able to hide it.

I laughed and asked him what he was doing in San Francisco and he revealed that he works for the Warriors. That, in fact, he and his co-workers had just gotten off a season kick-off cruise, which is why they were all so dressed up.

John Mayer:
Have you been to a game before?

Me:
Umm... I've been to a few Giants' games...

John Mayer:
(Smiling) The Warriors play basketball.

Me:
(Sheepish grin) Oh. In that case, no.

John Mayer:
Well, then. I guess we'll have to change that!

We talked for a few more minutes, he gave me his card, and then we said goodbye.

I had no intentions of calling him. I'd rather they call me, but I didn't have my card on me and I didn't give him my number. But once again, Sara stepped up and told me I HAD to at least e-mail him.

But I decided he wasn't that interesting after all. (And a little too young- 25, maybe). (I looked him up on Friendster, the way my roommate Renu always does). Even if he could have gotten us great, free tix to see the Warriors.

Oh, and did I mention...

...I will have gained at least 5 pounds (probably all on my face), by the time I make it back home?

Yeah. At least.

Brrrrr (*shiver*)

Boston is also cold, as ever. And it's not even winter, yet.

Last night, in fact, over the last few nights, I have been shivering in my bed. And I had a heater on! I dread the idea of stepping out of the house in the evening. Especially, if I have to take the train. If I drive, it's not so bad (though it's pretty awful for everyone else on the road), but then again, if I'm going to have a drink, there is no way I'm getting behind the wheel. I'm too paranoid about driving since the fiasco last year (Oh, I didn't write about that? It's probably a good thing) as it is.

How will I ever survive here after 4+ years in San Francisco?

It has, however, been wonderful to see everyone. Parents, sister, friends, cousins, the entire eeexxxttteended family. And Eid was fun, even though I had to wake up at 6 in the morning on a Saturday and head to mosque- something I haven't done since I left Boston.

Tomorrow I get to leave the semi-bitter cold, in exchange for the year-round mild cold of SF. But first, I'm headed to New York to see Hina, my other sister, thanks to whose miles I made it to the east coast for Eid :O)

Boston is...

... no different than before.
Suddenly, I'm not so sure I'm ready to move back right away.
Am I done with San Francisco? Have I had enough craziness?

Hmmm....

Magnetic Poem of the Day

boy is randomly funny
makes girl full of play-
matching genius
that muse

Magnetic Poem of the Day

read by shadow
the lines sleep
fire burns
beneath the silent page

The Examiner Horoscope: October 3, 2007

Let it all unfold without your control. Adventure winks at you. What happens after that is juicy enough to retell in the future. You could even write a book. Hey, why don't you?

“Remember those happy days when you swore you’d love me always?” –Delilah

Why are opera singers, specifically female opera singers, always so fat? Now if Samson and Delilah were live at the ballpark, I'd understand. After all, who can resist garlic fries? But alas! This was just a live simulcast from the Opera House. I don't know what they feed 'em over there.

I almost didn’t go because it was cold and it had been raining for a bit earlier in the afternoon, ok, drizzling, ok maybe it was just mist- it is San Francisco, after all. It didn’t rain again, but it was fuckin’ freezing and I can’t believe I didn’t think to bring a blanket. But then again, I also wore a white satin skirt, stilettos and fishnets to work that day, having forgotten all about the opera. Luckily, just before I stepped out of the house, I remembered, and threw a sweatshirt and jeans into my bag.

My bag is sometimes a bottomless pit, there's a lot of room in there. You can fit quite a bit in there and then forget all about it (and maybe that's why opera singers are fat- it makes for that perfect depth of voice). I found a pair of socks in there. And gloves. A Cliff bar. Oh, and the camera I borrowed from David, my Office Manager/friend. We sat in middle of the field, on the baseball diamond, something you’d otherwise never get to do. Our hot mayor was there (Hey there, Gavin!) (Oh wait, he’s never going to read my blog), looking smokin’. Must say, I’ve lived in both NY and Boston for just as long as I have here in SF, but I’ve seen Gavin (and I even went to an art show at Matt Gonzales’ office, during the campaign) at least 4, 5, maybe 6 times. Never saw Giuliani. Don’t even know who the mayor of Boston is. “Eat your heart out New York!” as Gavin said.

ANYWAY. The highlight of the night was garlic fries, and the guy at the garlic fries stand telling me I look like Rosario Dawson. Oh, and Gavin.