(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.

Thank God it’s Friday!

But I still want it to be over. Well, not the Friday, just the work part of Friday. Friday, starting 6 pm and onwards, is actually my favorite day of the week. Saturdays are nice, too, but Fridays give me the glass-full outlook. And, oh hell!! If there’s ever such a thing as glass-empty, it’s Sunday. I hate Sundays.

Though this Sunday might be more exciting than others. Leather, whips, chains, buttless chaps, all kinds of fun at the Folsom Street fair with Lele! (Which reminds me: I need to find a whip). I borrowed a cool digicam from my friend (cause mine sucks), mainly at Valancy Jane’s request (hey there, Valancy Jane!), but I suppose Sascha would like to see Lele and I getting arrested, too. Or at least handcuffed...

(I forgot about this entry for a couple of hours and am just returning to it.)

I now have work sitting in front of me, but I’m choosing you (and that means you). I’d rather bore you, than bore myself. I need to stay productive-looking, so I will keep these stacks of papers in front of me, waiting to be dealt with, until about 45 mins from when I get to leave. Then I will deal with them.

And after that, I will meet my friend Rohna, and we'll walk over to Opera in the ballpark, where it will rain and I’ll freeze my ass off, but I’ll feel cultured. Who knows, I might even run into a cultured guy (maybe even straight, next-to-impossible as it might be). I’ll feel all high and mighty for about 42 minutes, after which I’ll want to fall asleep but I won’t be able to cause it’ll be so goddamn cold. But hey, I’ll be doing something other than just going to a bar with friends on a Friday night. I’ll just bring the bar to the Opera. In a clear plastic container.

Magnetic Poem of the Day

my precious
pickled genius
you ferment me

Uh… umm… uh oh.

So apparently Doug is coming to the lunch for the Marketing Manager this afternoon. It also happens to be at Samovar, a place we both went to together for the first time and loved. Hmm…

I swear I’m over him. Even if it may not always sound like it.

Ha ha ha!

Jacob/Guillermo’s name is actually Alejandro. Or Alex.

On the other hand, I may have actually convinced Lele to let me take him to the Folsom Street Fair on a leash. You know, to make up for the other night.

Magnetic Poem of the Day

understand my translucent mind
manacle conscious grace
break experience
confess memory
and prostitute new thoughts

Magnetic Poem of the Day

she desires silent grammar
a strange play of words
a certain full-page voice
the dictionary heart
the manuscript brain


he is almost a poet
but finite
clichéd

"Are you still pissed at me?"

So last night, my roommate Renu convinced me to go out to Medjool with her, our other roommate Sabba, and some friends. I was kind of in the mood to stay at home and read my book (Love in the Time of Cholera) or watch rest of Season 4 of The L Word. I was just not really in the mood to go out, but then I got all dolled up, put on my brightest red lipstick, and walked the 1 1/2 blocks from my house to Medjool, just so I wouldn't be a party pooper. It was, after all, a Saturday night.

It turned out to be a great night for Medjool. It wasn't cold at all, and of course, the heating lamps were on. I was being social, talked to a bunch of random people, some of the crowd I was there with, and even a really cool couple who were visiting from New Zealand. I was having such a great time being out on the roof deck, in fact, that I had no desire to join everyone else downstairs, inside the bar, where the dance floor is. Medjool turns into a massive club on Saturdays and I've only been there once for it. Usually, I stay upstairs, but this time, Sabba convinced me, more so because I was trying to avoid a guy (Renu calls him a "cock-blocker"). Every time I run into this guy, anywhere in the city, he does not leave me alone, and acts like he's my personal body-guard, if not my man. Needless to say, I have absolutely NO interest in him.

Sabba and I got down to the mezzanine, where the rest of our crowd was, and we were standing, overlooking the dancefloor, and then at some point, I'm not sure why since I wasn't planning on getting another drink, I headed over towards the bar. I was doing whatever it was I had walked over to the bar for, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around. It was Lele.

Lele:
Are you still pissed at me?

Me:
Yes.

Lele:
Why?

Me:
Why do you think? You should have called when you said you would.

I told him all over again about what a jerk his friend was to me the night of the game, after we dropped Lele off at the Caltrain station, and he told me all about how he's been really sad because he thought he'd met a really cool girl and now he'd screwed it up. He had screwed it up, I told him.

Lele:
But I e-mailed you to apologize.

Me:
(Rolling my eyes) Really? Cause I didn't get it.

He gave me the rest of his spiel about how he sent me this e-mail from NY and apologized for being a dick, but of course I didn't believe him, since I never saw this e-mail. He told me how his friend, Jacob/Guillermo, finally called him after ten days and said he forgave Lele, but that Lele had better never pull something like that again.

Lele:
I thought when you wished me happy birthday on Facebook the other day, it was your way of saying you forgive me.

Me:
No. It was my way of saying you lied to me about your age. You said you were 32, but Sascha said you're 27.

So he pulled out his license and of course, dark as it was in there, I couldn't see it. I tried to get into the light and finally he found a perfect spot and pointed to where it said DOB: 09/19/1975.

Lele:
See? I wasn't lying. So will you hang out with me again? Please, please, pretty please?

Me:
I don't know. I'll think about it.

Lele:
C'mon I've been feeling really awful.

He says this with a very extremely fake, extremely pained look, which I can't help but laugh at. He clasps his hands in front of me, dying for forgiveness.

Me:
You're a dork.

Lele:
What? Why am I dork? That's not nice.

Me:
Well, you are.

Lele:
Ok fine. I'm a dork. Will you hang out with me? Please? Give me a hug.

So we hug and make up.

Kind of.

Not really, but kind of.

For now.

Sascha: Here's the thing.

When other people don't understand me, you do. When other people don't understand you, I do. But when I don't understand you? I know you're just being a girl....

Boxes, Boxes, Everywhere

So, I recently had two new roommates move in. Two chicks. It's been a long time since I've lived with girls. It's not as bad as a I thought it could be. Just that I realized that sometimes guys, who are notorious for not being clean and tidy (sorry, guys), can be cleaner and tidier than women. The girls have now been here for two months, but neither seem to be a big fan of unpacking their boxes or cleaning, and our place still looks like they JUST moved in.

I guess it's partly my own fault, because in my posting on Craigslist, I said I wasn't looking for clean-freaks. I didn't realize those words would attract all the people who hate to clean. I mean, after all, I never thought of myself as a clean freak. Until now. My last roommate, the clean freak, who prompted me make a point to say I wasn't look for another one, was seriously obsessive.

Brad:
(While vacuuming) Oh hey. So the cleaning lady is coming in an hour. It'll be about $25 each. Cool?

Me:
(Confused) Uh... ok.

Brad vacuumed, mopped, scrubbed, wiped all the way until the cleaning lady came. Then, the cleaning lady (who probably thought we must have way too much money to throw around if we hired her to clean a place that was already clean), vacuumed, mopped, scrubbed, wiped, and left. Meanwhile, I was out chain-smoking on the patio, drinking my coffee, reading my book, basking in the sun. When I came back inside, Brad was again vacuuming. When he saw me, he smiled and said:
Didn't she do a great job?

Me:
(Confused) Yeah...

That was one extreme. This is definitely the other. My new roommate, Renu, said she thought it would only take one of us to clean the entire place in two hours, tops. I looked at her incredulously, and said:
Ummm... I don't know about you, but it would take me two hours just to clean the kitchen.

Renu just looked at me, and I suddenly realized, to her, I was Brad.