Grease is so the word

I got my copy of Grease in the mail today, thanks to Amazon. I was silly enough to pre-order it in July, silly because when it was released a week before it was mailed to me, I had to sit on my hands not to run and buy it at the store. Good things come to those who wait, blah blah blah. I didn't get to watch all of it because we had to leave to go swim, but I saw my favorite parts. I love DVDs.

That's all.

Did you know that...

...the City of London once had an alley favored by prostitutes called Gropecuntlane? I love that. I'm reading an enchanting story of my native language called Mother Tongue: English and How It Got That Way by Bill Bryson. It's a good read for anyone who is interested in the origins of modern day English.

This morning, I started a new adventure, although I'm not too sure how long it will last. I have been commuting from Oakland to Palo Alto (about 110 miles round trip) every day now since I've been back at home. OK. One month. I had forgotten how horrible it is. Forget the number of miles. I'm talking the other drivers on the road: rude, inconsiderate, arrogant people who think their journey is of greater importance than any other driver's journey. Whatever. I know, I know, there's no arguing with anyone about commuting. We all share similar, hateful stories about the road. Some people can handle it better than others. I would fall into the latter...being absolutely unable to support this type of activity any longer. The other day, as I was driving home, I had finally made it to 580, which is pretty much the home stretch for me, and I was finally in fifth gear again, when this person pulls in front of me and slows down to where I have to brake as well. This always irritates me, but it gets worse. They were on their mobile, chatting away, bouncing from lane to lane as if no one else were around. Every time I would attempt to pass this person, they would change lanes ahead of me. It was all I could do not to flip my fucking lid. I was so angry that when I finally pulled in front of my apartment I was shaking. That kinda signalled that I should find an alternative method of transportation for my commute considering that my boss won't allow me to telecommute two days a week like he does...and he lives only fifteen miles away. Whatever. Different story.

So, I went to the beloved Internet and found a route. At first I thought I would have to travel via San Francisco, hopping off BART to MUNI to CalTrain, but instead I found a more direct route from BART to Union City and then a bus across the Dumbarton Bridge to Palo Alto. Hurrah! I thought it would be splendid. It's a little cheaper, and it takes almost as long as driving, but it's without the hassle of actually driving.

So today was a trial run. I woke up at 6 a.m., an un-Godly hour, I must say—and so much earlier than my usual 7 a.m.—and left home at 6:30 a.m. to walk to BART. It was still dark out. I was really pissy because I was still half-asleep. I instantly thought this would turn out to be a $45 mistake (the cost of the monthly bus pass on the bus to Palo Alto). We'll see how it works out. I got here at 9 a.m....about an hour earlier than usual. I got some early morning exercise as well as some good reading out of it. And, I spared the air. I'm just glad that it's starting to cool down a little.

That's all.

Seventy-five cents, please.

This morning, I get to Union City, and the driver says, "Seventy-five cents, please." I say, "No, I have a flash pass." He says, "Where are you going? Palo Alto?" I say, "Yes." He says, "Seventy-five cents, please." I said, "But no. I have a flash pass." I was getting angry. He says, "It's for local use only. You must pay to get there." Fine, fuck you. So I paid him. It was one of those instances where I knew it would have gotten ugly unless I did what the fuck-in-charge told me to do.

Then I get off the bus and call customer service. Friendly funny Leo helps me out. He says that the flash pass is only good on the Peninsula side. It does actually cost me $2.75 in one direction to get over here from the East Bay, and the same on the return to Union City, although the bus cuts me a deal charging me only $2 westbound and $0.75 eastbound. "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. You dig?" And the fact that I rode free last week, and was only charged $0.75 this morning led Leo to believe that because I had a flash pass, the drivers were being a little friendly. "Ride and smile." So my arrogance and ignorance pays off, yet again.

So I don't know if it's worth it after all. One of the conveniences of this bus pass thing was not to have to carry cash around for the fares. It's still going to cost extra, and since this is an added fare, it will end up costing more for the commute than driving will. What a deal.

Damn I was a bitch when I woke up this morning. It was another instance where I could have thrown my alarm clock against the wall just to shut it up. I would have if not for the fact that I can't find another one like it to replace it. It's a cheapo $10 clock from Target, but it's got a big digital face, and a nice blue glow when I hit the light button. I want to keep it. So I spare its noisy ass in the morning.

That's all. I hope this day will get better as it drags on.

It was a matter of time...

You remember what happened to my window last month? Or was it two months ago? Can't remember. Whatever. It happened this afternoon to the driver?s side. I noticed it was getting a little sluggish crawling up, and then POP!! The window comes crashing down, again. Well not really again because it happened on the other side. At least I was at home when it happened. I was at Costco earlier, and that would not have been pretty.

So I call Boardwalk VW only to talk to people who wanted to appease me. The service guy kept trying to calm me down with, "Yes sir, I'm sorry, sir." I don't want to hear a fucking apology. I just want the damned thing fixed!! And then the parts guy, who could barely speak English, told me another two weeks "because of back order."

So then I call McNevin VW in Berkeley, and I speak to the very nice parts lady there. She tells me the whole scoop: Apparently VWs all around the US are having the same trouble with the window regulator kit. VW knows about it, and they?re doing the best they can, propping up the window from inside the door until the parts come in. She said, "So if you see people handing their toll through the sunroof, you'll understand why." She was very nice about the whole thing, and if I came across pissed off, I was, but she managed to calm me down. It doesn't take much really, just an explanation. I don?t want to be appeased. Please don't even try. It will make things so much worse...for you. Ha ha.

So, now I get to spend another unnecessarily extended period of time driving a sewing machine. Granted they're still paying for it, but I don't like it. Unless I can get them to take me to CalTrain where I can still get to work, and then I'll take the bus home.... My mind is racing. This sort of thing happens when tragedy strikes. "Tragedy?" you say. Why yes, I don't have anything tragic in my life, so little things like this set me off. Aren't I lucky?

Yeah, uh huh...

Gotta love this. A "a former drag queen and homosexual prostitute" now married to a former lesbian...I guess there's no argument or love lost when neither of them feel like having sex...with each other that is. I can't believe people actually fool themselves into believing they can change who they are, down to the core of their being, in the name of their god. It's as repulsive to me as my lifestyle is to them. Why can't we all just agree to disagree and move on? There are so many better things to talk about than who we choose to love. Isn't it enough that we choose to love at all? Whatever. I'm over it already.

Seen on a bumper sticker in this morning's commute: "If only closed minds came with closed mouths."
Also see on a bumper sticker this morning: "Abolish Southern California." Amen to that. Just kidding.

Am I here?

Last weekend, I helped Ken and Paul move their house to LA. Well, not entirely. The house is still there in San Francisco, but the contents of the house are all down in their new home. I knew this day was coming, and when Ken called with a plea for help, I was like, "damn." You just can't put off the inevitable.

So I went over on Friday after work. I would have been there sooner than six o'clock if Clinical had had their...ducks in a row, so to speak. Review, edit, review, edit. And of course I'm the only one making the edits. Whatever. I got there at six. I had been up since six thirty that morning. I was up until eight thirty the following night. What is that? Thirty-eight hours straight? What is wrong with you? I had a couple of cat naps here and there, nothing longer than twenty minutes, but mostly wide awake, packing boxes. I'm glad it's over for their sake. Now comes the unpacking...and hopefully they'll find my sweatshirt, which was inadvertantly packed away with who knows what else.

While I was awake, and towards the end of the thirty-eight hours, I started to remember what had happened the previous day as if it were days or even weeks distant. I lost track of time, and I couldn't judge time any longer. It was a bizarre experience.

Anyway, I slept for twelve hours which was wonderful.

Sunday, Ken and I went to see the 49ers beat the Cardinals 38–28. I had never been to a pro football game before, so it was a treat to see them live, with 64,000 other screaming idiots. It's funny how some people get so excited about certain things. I don't know "first down and thirty" from a field goal or a touchdown, and why a field goal is three points, and why a touchdown is six points and then you have to kick for an additional point to make it seven, but these people do, and they'll tell you when the referee, or the zebra, is full of shit.

My father wanted me to play football when I was in high school. He wouldn't let up on me for a minute. He played football all his life until semi-professional football after college. Then he stopped. But he loves the game. When we were kids, my sister and I would have to fight with a football game on TV for attention from him. Maybe that's why I don't like the game. But I can see its draw. I wanted to see the Giants play in their new stadium this year. I don't necessarily like baseball better than football; it's just that I know how to play baseball and can follow at least what's going on.

Anyway, sitting in the stands at "The Stick," watching the 49ers in person surely had to raise my butch quotient a little, n'est-ce pas? (And the fact that I said n'est-ce pas brought it right back down.)

OK, so after the Great Escape from Rancho Relaxo, I went back to eating my trail mixes from Trader Joe's with abandon. My diet has come back down to earth and rejoined the sensible. RJ thinks that fish and broccoli every night for dinner is an acceptable diet. WTF? So, natch, I'm eating red meat, pasta, chocolate, etc. like a real person. And natch, my seven to ten pounds are probably gone by now. So, I'm swimming at least a mile every night, and H has introduced me to the weight room at the Embarcadero YMCA. We're not doing free weights, mind you, please... We're using the Cybex machines and the Lifestyle (?) machines to work the parts of our bodies that are not as affected from swimming as are the other parts. So far, it's painful and intimidating, especially when the really cute guy on the treadmill can look into the reflection of the window in front of him and see me grunting and huffing and puffing and making weird faces while I try to work off my gut. Oh well. The price we pay for beauty, right?

I've found a few other interesting ideas on the web, like: Nervousness, Bookcrossing, and 1000 Journals. These are the great ideas that the Internet can spawn. I love them. It's as much fun as having penpals and having those books that you would add to and pass on to someone else to add to and on and on and on. I can't remember what they're called anymore, and that's sad. I loved having snail mail pen pals. Now, everyone wants e-mail addresses and websites. I miss mail. I miss being creative and inventive. I miss interaction with other people.

That's all.

Um, yeah...

Cheney will not attend Wellstone memorial, White House says

Can ya read between the lines on this one? So subtle. So respectable.

How could I forget this?

I saw the most hilarious license plate on the bridge yesterday morning. It was a vanity plate that read: ABLKBTM. Um, hello, advertise much? He was cute, too. Too bad I was driving 65 m.p.h. I would have asked for his phone number.