Wedding Vows

The wedding went off without a hitch. Reverend Jenkins was eloquent, the bride was beautiful, and the groom was handsome (and beautiful). I had a dream the other night that Andrea (the bride) was hysterical about getting married. All of us were trying to calm her down telling her that this was the happiest day of her life, all of her family and friends would be there to share in her love, blah blah blah, and yet she was still in a fit. Fortunately, not all dreams come true. It was a great ceremony and a fitting reception. Scott's daughter gave a toast that brought a tear to everyone's eye, even this one. They are made for each other. They are the perfect couple, and they are one that will outlast us all.

Nicholas Cage is a babe

That's all. I forgot how cute he is. I just watched Guarding Tess and remembered him. Haven't seen him in a while. Frankly, I have only seen a few movies with him in it anyway: Peggy Sue Got Married—saw that a dozen times; I don't know why—and Moonstruck which I do like a lot, and that's about it. He's kind of goofy looking, all tall and rugged, but he's got a certain something that is appealing. And he has enormous hands. You know what they say ...

Speaking of weddings ...

I had the most horrifying dream, horrifying, awful, distressing, you name it. For some reason, I married my first step-monster, the CBW (e-mail me for a definition). I can't remember why or how, I just remember moving in to a new house, unpacking my things in a separate room, dreading what I did, and fearing to leave the room because I didn't want to run into her and have to talk to her. There was a marriage certificate on the table in the room, and I realize that we're in Water Garden, Florida, which I take to mean Winter Garden or Winter Park, Florida. I remember R trying to console me. There was no financial motive involved. There was certainly no love involved. It was totally fucked. That woman is pure evil, dream state or not. I can truly say that I hate her, and while hate is not usually a good thing, I can't help it with her.

And then, I was about to drive to the bank this afternoon, and as I put my passenger window down with the one-touch down button, the window fell with a crash to the bottom of the door. Oh, damn, I thought, that can't be good. I tried to raise it up, but all I heard was crunching glass. Whoops. So I get right on the phone to the dealer and ask for a service appointment.

"The earliest appointment we can give you is the 18th."
"Of September?"
"Yes."
"Um, no, no, no. You don't seem to understand. See, my window is broken, it won't come back up, and I am not waiting two weeks for a repair. OK?"
"What kind of car do you have?"
"A 2002 GTI."
"Bring it in today."

Yeah, I thought so, you creep. As soon as you find out it's a vehicle under warranty, two months off the showroom floor (so to speak), you get on your knees and kiss my ass. What. Ever. So, I'm stuck with another rental again—they're paying for it. This time I got a Dodge Neon because (my angels had my back today) all of their Geo Metros were out. At least it has air conditioning. Let's see how long it takes to get this fixed.

Putt Putt

If your busy schedule prevents you from hitting the links, try this link instead. Just a bit of Shockwave fun.

Dear Hollywood:

You suck! What do you have to say for yourself and this year's crop of worthless cinema entertainment? I just wasted yet another ten of my hard-earned dollars because I thought you had the power to entertain me. Well guess what? You don't, and I want my money back.

You know, it's funny. If I bought a shirt at Nordstrom that I didn't like, I could return it for at least store credit. If I bought a CD that sucked from any reputable music store, I'd have at least thirty days to return it for my money back. Do you offer the same customer satisfaction? I should say not. And don't you dare quote me caveat emptor, either. You should know better. At least the girl at Century 12 had a good laugh when I asked.

You've had a long, mostly successful run, mesdames et messieurs. So what happened to the well-written movies that made us think? What happened to the cinema that had a message or that took a stand? Now all we get are stupid wastes of time and money that pander to teenagers and stupid, brain-dead Americans. I don't understand why Adam Sandler has yet another remake of the same movie he has already made three times. Or is it more? I've lost count. And Jackass: The Movie? Are you people out your minds? Why would I pay money to see stuff that I can get from Fox on the TV?

There are more people out there than the mindless automatons to whom you're pushing your dope, and we're sick of this shit. Get your heads out of your overstuffed bank accounts and earn your keep. This is ridiculous and embarrassing. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

Sincerely unsatisfied,
John Q. Public, et al.

PS. It pains me to say this more than it does to hear it, but you might as well cancel the Oscars this year because there isn't anything worthy of it.

Hillsborough House Hunting

We spent the afternoon yesterday looking at open houses in Hillsborough. They are only interested in living there, and they are willing to pay for it. So we narrowed the field down to houses under $2.5 million, and we found some great locations. But first, we had to endure the horror that is Darrell Drive, Darrell Road, whatever it's called. These are average sized ranch-style homes that are on the average of $1.5 million. They all have the same basic floor plan and have not a lot of land in front or behind the house. And you can hear I-280 roaring by in the background. It's just about silly. The only thing you're paying for is the Hillsborough, CA 94010 address.

So, that's when they upped their price to $2.5 million. They figured that they would have to pay more for a better location. Yeah, you're right. We found three houses, one that each of us liked, but it will eventually boil down to what R wants because W will accommodate. Whatever. He "says" he's happy in any of them, but he won't decide. Keep in mind, though, that this isn't happening this year, and maybe not even next year. It is a question of when, however.

So one of these fabulous houses had guest houses semi-attached. W actually asked me if I would be interested in living in one of them. Um, no thanks. I don't think I could bear that. R is so overbearing living where he is now, I don't think there would be room in the house to support his ego and two others, and one of these houses had 5000 square feet of ego space. On the plus side, they all had kitchens to die for, and views! I'm talking 180 degree views of the bay from SFO all the way down to the Dumbarton Bridge with the mountains of the East Bay in the background. They truly were breathtaking. None of them had pools, although there was plenty of acreage on which to build and expand.

I'm just amazed at what we're willing to pay for out here. Where I come from, a million-dollar house will get you oodles of acres, a three-story house with at least ten bedrooms, bathrooms for days, a fully delux gourmet kitchen with every appliance ever made, scads of miscellaneous rooms, an in-ground heated pool, tennis court, gardens, and probably a five-car garage. I mean, you can build a palace for a million dollars in Iowa. But Iowa is not California. California "is where millionaires are made," sayeth the old, wise sage, R. OK, tell that to my father. He's a self-made millionaire, and he did it all in Iowa. Sure it took him about fifteen years to do so, but he did it.

So rather than move in with them in their guest house, whatever, I'm going to find a studio or one-bedroom apartment in San Francisco and willingly pay up to $1200 a month in rent for it, and more than likely, it won't even have parking off the street. Who's the fool now? It's all what we're willing to put up with, right?

Does the drama ever end?

I'm back in Oakland after three-some months of Rancho Relaxo. I had finally had enough of listening to R always be right about everything under the sun. I know it's my problem, and I have to learn how to deal with him. I know it's his personality that I can't handle, and I can't expect him to change for little ol' me. So I left to find a haven in Oakland [sic]. I know it sounds like an impossibility, but it really is nicer. I'm working out every night now, swimming at the Y. I love it. I felt almost like a permanent guest over there. It got to the point where I didn't even know why I was there. Whatever.

Tomorrow's Friday.

And I'm still driving that rented, American-made sewing machine on wheels. What a pain in my ass. The parts needed to fix my window are on back order. Can you believe it? I mean, really. Back. Order. Um, scuse me, I'm sorry, I can't do that. Who knows when I'll get my real car back. I'm a little miffed.

Tomorrow's Friday.

WTF?

It seems that no matter what I do to try to extricate myself from the mess that was Rancho Relaxo, I just can't do it without a sticky, slobbery mess. The only thing I can do right is go to sleep in Oakland and dream.

I have been trying to figure out what happened to me for three, almost four months. I don't really know how to say it without it sounding clinical and diagnosed, which it certainly is not. I was in a state of denial more deep and afflicting than any that I've been in before. I was homeless for a year, and even then I wasn't in denial more than I was when I was living in Belmont.

I thought it was the best possible solution for me. I was without any mode of transportation to Palo Alto from Oakland. I needed help there, and they helped me. They helped me get a car. They helped me get rid of the old one. They helped me with other stuff, and then it got to be too much. Then June came. Then July. Then August. Then September, and as I said earlier, it got to the point where I didn't really know why I was still there, I just was. It became a habit for me. It was easier to comply than it was to stand up for myself and get on with my life.

I don't know when I started to change my mind. I'm afraid to admit that it might have been during my drive back from LA. I was so upset about falling asleep at the rest stop and losing three hours of driving time because I didn't want to keep them waiting for me. I didn't want to get there too late. And I got angry at myself for letting that happen. Then I started to get resentful. I started to hate them for the perfect little life that they have and that I don't. I started to regret working for them. I started all of these self-destructive mood swings.

So I made up my mind, I got out of there, and went home again. Oakland is really not that much better, and I am wide awake to that. But, H and I know our limits with each other. We know when to leave well enough alone and when to leave each other alone. We know how to allow each other our own space and privacy when necessary. That is something that Rancho Relaxo has a lot to learn about. So I don't have a washer and dryer or a dishwasher. So it's not peaceful and quiet outside at night. I miss living in a city anyway.

Now I have to accept the fact that I am still a flawed human being. I have to accept the situation I'm in and I have to learn to forgive myself for being so mean and unrelenting. I wanted them to change and all that shit, but it wasn't going to happen. They're almost fifty years old for crying out loud. Why would they change their personalities for me, someone they barely know? So, I've taken the responsibility out of their hands where it never should have been in the first place, and placed it in my own.

I have to learn to let this stuff go. And maybe I really do need to seek therapy. I'm not being dramatic, either. I have a lot of things wrong with me and my own personality that don't seem to be getting any better. It might do me good to talk to someone neutral about this, so maybe they could help me.

I know it's silly, but...

this is my favorite part.

Oh my, this afternoon we go over to the city for to buy some things at Costco so we get on the Bay Bridge at 10:30-ish and don't get to the store until closer to noon. There was a big accident taking up two lanes of the bridge. All of the cars were stuck at a standstill. And then!! There were bees, lots of bees, buzzing this way and that all over the bridge. I am not a fan of bees, no sir. I am not allergic to them, but they still aggravate me to no end. I wonder if it's my shampoo. I always like to have shampoo that smells good, and the brand du jour is Herbal Essences Fruit Fusions with blackberry, mango, and avocado, and it smells really goooood. And of course, H is asthmatic, so he won't turn on his air conditioning so we're forced to drive with the windows down for to breathe the fresh sea air, and voilà if there weren't bees in the car with us. It reminds me of one of my favorite "Far Side" cartoons. The lady driver with—funny coincidence—a beehive hairdo and cat's eye glasses with a giant bee in the back seat, she's saying to herself, don't panic and maybe it will go away...or something to that effect...only I did panic and made a fool out of myself next to a big white semi driven by lesbian truck drivers.

And that reminds me of my sister because for one of my teen birthdays, she got me a "Far Side" coffee mug on which were featured a bunch of dinosaurs standing around smoking with a caption that read: The real reason dinosaurs became extinct. So of course, my mother, who was not clued into the fact that I was smoking by the age of fourteen, asked why that mug was so appropriate. My sister and I had to laugh, but still, she more or less ratted on me.

That's all.

No More Sewing Machines!!

I finally got my car back yesterday. Two weeks later and just to fix a damn window. Whatever. I forgot how much fun it is to drive. And actually, I had gotten in the habit of driving in the slow lane behind slow people because the sewing machine didn't have any pickup and it was easier to just ride it out however slowly. So, when I remembered that it was my car, I took care of matters.

I've been going to the gym every night since my return to Oakland. It's very odd, I must say. Before, H would push me to going to the gym with him. He would always insist that I shouldn't waste my body sitting in front of my computer. I always pushed back saying that it was none of his business. Since I've been back, though, I have wanted to go every single night. I have to push him to go with me. I will go by myself, for sure, but it's more fun with someone else. And all I do is swim. I've been swimming at least a mile every night. That's not bad, considering. And it is addictive. I want to go all day, every day. I love the water. If I didn't have any other responsibilities, I would probably be hanging out at the pool all day long.

So then, before I even get to the pool last night, a strange thing happened. I was showering with my suit on, and I turned around to see a guy taking off his swimming suit. For a split second, I forgot where I was and almost told him to pull his suit back up, for crying out loud. And then I realized that we were in the men's locker room where it is (most certainly) OK for men to walk around naked. And then I had to go soak in cold water for a minute....

La tee da

Not much going on. I'm so broke because of Uncle Sam, his taxes, and my employer's inability to organize. I'm still a contractor to the company who will supposedly hire me someday. I just question whether that someday will come or not. So, I have to pay my own quarterly taxes, and that takes quite a bit out of me.

I don't know why I'm so thick-headed. It took me ten years to realize what I really wanted to do with my time and life. Well, I don't know it all completely now, but I have a better idea. I was looking for another job online at Craig's List and I noticed that most of the jobs that I am qualified to do require some sort of certification to prove the qualifications. Well that just about sucks. I mean, I can do the job, I'm ready, willing, and able, and these people want a piece of paper to guarantee that I know what I'm talking about. Well fine. So I went looking for classes in page layout, typography, graphic design, and such like that, and I found what appears to be a great course of study at City College of San Francisco. So, I'm enrolling for classes beginning in January 2003, and I'm really excited. For some reason, I have eschewed this possibility solely on the basis that I can't draw to save my life, and I can barely coordinate my colors. After reading most of the course descriptions, I realized that I don't really need that. So I've been misleading myself for so long! Whatever. Now, what else can I do?

I should add that I will take the courses in January if I don't go to Chicago first. I've been offered a contract in Chicago somewhere from December through about April. We don't know yet if I'll be needed for the assignment, but if I'm interested, I can have it. I said yes because I love to travel and also because it could be fun, and I could see my family at Xmas. But that would just prolong the inevitable. Not the classes. I mean leaving this job. I hate it. And I don't have much say in it. I was going to wait until the end of my current assignment to give my notice and find something better suited for me, but then the Chicago thing came up, and I thought that might be fun. Plus, I know that the next assignment would be here in Palo Alto, and I definitely do not want to commute here anymore. It's a bitch and a half, and I hate it. Plus, it would get me farther away from Steve, the lost (and subsequently spoiled) opportunity. Everytime I see his cute brown eyes, I want to wither up and die. It's horrible to be constantly confronted with one's mistakes.

Does this make any sense at all? I can honestly say that it does for me. I've got a hump in the future, either Chicago or school. That's all I can see. If Chicago comes, school gets pushed back to summer. If Chicago doesn't come, the hump is school and that means that I'll probably have to quit this job. It only makes sense for me, I'm afraid.

The season premiere of Buffy is on tonight. I sure hope it's better than the other season openers I've seen so far. I have to say it is difficult to write time-travel stories and do them well, but I figured that the Star Trek franchise has had so much experience doing time-travel that they should have it down pat. I was a little disappointed by the season opener of Enterprise. I don't know what exactly I was expecting, but it just seemed a little too easy. And then there's my witches. I waited all summer long for Phoebe to flip around as a mermaid and Piper to cower in fear and Paige to sass off to everyone? In Heaven there is no TV, I just know it.

And I've waited about six months for this, but finally, in about a week, I'll be upgrading to OS X. I can't wait. I have been reading a book on the upgrade, and it is just too much to contain. I can't wait. I'm so excited.

Michael and His Big Mouth

I made a mistake today, although it wasn't as big as it was made out to be. I asked R for the electronic file of my resume. I didn't have it on this computer, and I wanted to send it off to someone else today. He comes over and says, "Let's go for a walk." So we head out to the parking lot where he looks at me with disbelief in his eyes and asks if I'm looking for a new job. Ooops. Does he read this? Ha ha. I tell him no, although it was a slight untruth. I am looking at a weekend position answering phones and doing office stuff for extra cash. But if I told him that he would get all like "oh why didn't you tell me? I can pay you more..." and shit like that. It's like, no, you pay me too much for the work that I'm doing now, and I must be a fool for doing this, right? My point was that he got all paranoid and I can see him convening a meeting with the Founders to discuss me and my future. "Oh, he's leaving. Oh, he's the only one that does this job for us. Oh, we have to hire like fifteen people right now in case he bails." Not that I do the work of fifteen people, you see, it's just an over-reaction to my request. It's like, it just can't be easy, can it? And it is true that I am the only one who does this job and what a load of pressure it is on me to have to stay....

On to other things: I'm a little mixed about last night's Buffy premiere. They all look so grown up first of all. Secondly, what's with the Dawn the Vampire Slayer thing? Oh, right, self-protection. OK, gotcha. And Buffy, the Guidance Counselor? Good way to bring back old story lines on the new school grounds. Xander, I'm almost embarrassed to admit, is looking really good as a grown-up. I guess I'll have to give up expecting that TV is going to be good. Smallville was OK, too, I guess. It was only a matter of time before "Superboy" learned to fly. I kinda wish he would tell someone about his little tricks, though. This "little white lie" thing is getting old. Oh, I forgot, West Wing premieres tonight, and though I can't watch it because of our abysmal TV reception, that is quality television. Can you believe, NBC, a broadcast channel, and we can't pick it up even with rabbit ears? No, I will not succumb. I will not get cable, because if I did, I'd watch nothing but Trading Spaces because I love Genevieve, and then I'd have to get Tivo, which wouldn't be so bad, but then I'd just become a couch potato again. There's not enough time in the day.

X

I finally upgraded my computer and brought it into the future. It is now running a sleek and rock-solid operating system to rival all operating systems. It is so cool. I just don't know where to start. So I won't.

I will say, on the other hand, that Windows sucks as much big donkey dick as it can. I was working on H's PC to install an additional hard drive, a replacement DVD/CD-R/RW drive, and some more RAM, and let's just say that one out of three ain't bad. The hard drive doesn't have anywhere to live. There are no more ports on the cables that are in there. So we thought we could get a PCI bridge card to install further IDE devices. No big deal. $40 at CompUSA—which I keep forgetting is over-priced and full of idiots. But nooooooo, Windows 98 gives back a bad ROM error when, after unscrewing myriad screws, and dashing to the bathroom for Band-Aids to cover the cuts received from the hard metal edges of the chassis, and the moans and groans of six unsuccessful restarts, all we have is a new DVD drive, and only half of that because we can't get the software to recognize the new drive. I suspect that we'll have to reinstall the software. The RAM, the easiest thing in a computer to upgrade, wouldn't work. Or at least the PC won't recognize more than 512 MB of it. What. Ever. And fuck the PCI card. I don't even know where to go with that one. Far beyond my expertise, I must say.

Now back to the Mac—25 minutes to take the bottom off of my iMac, swap out the old 10 gigger for a 60 gigger and reassemble. Twenty-five minutes. And then a half an hour to install the OS and necessary software. And then, I get the rest of the day to play while the PC is half-naked sitting on the workbench waiting for someone to come by and put it back together again.

Macs rule.

Reason No. 132 to Love the Internet

I found this sort of by accident. I can't believe how cool this is! I love getting mail from other people who aren't trying to stick me for cash. And...AND...it fosters communication and friendship with our fellow humans. How wonderful! I love this. Plus it gives me an opportunity to revive one of my long lost hobbies...making homemade envelopes! Look out, world.