Monday, April 23, 2007

Hubs and I just spent a night at the Ritz Carlton in Half Moon Bay for our 1st anniversary, which was super fun, but let me just say we were SO glad I had a $500 gift certificate. Because I'd be really peeved if I had to pay the final bill (more than $700 for one night and dinner) myself. I think what they're charging you for is the service, which is undoubtedly 5 star all the way. But frankly I've stayed in 4 star hotels that were at least as nice as the Ritz. Our room was called a Terrace Room and was advertised as having a fire pit on a patio and a coastal view. Essentially, it had a fire pit that was pretty cool, but the view of the coast was not really there, unless we could have developed x-ray vision to see through the golf course hills to the coastline. The room was rather small and (not to complain but c'mon, it's the RITZ!) just not really what I expected, frankly! There were some dirty smudges on some of the furniture and some holes in the curtains, that kind of stuff.

Anyway that was not going to deter us, of course. We went for a little walk down to the beach and then went back to the room to kill off a bottle of wine we'd brought with us (we are nothing if not frugal!) and talk about what we can do to make money aside from working in our current jobs. Then we got ready for dinner and jaunted on down to the Ritz' restaurant, Navio. We ordered up a bottle of the 2004 Sonoma Cutrer (our honeymoon wine!) and a crab salad for an appetizer that wasn't actually salad at all but was pretty decent. The service was excellent, of course. We had an ocean-view table, and as it got darker you could still see the waves crashing on the beach because the hotel shines lights on the ocean at night.

So then for dinner he got a steak and I got salmon. We polished that off and then ordered this tasty melty chocolate dessert thing. They'd written "happy anniversary" in chocolate sauce on the plates -- so cute! And they gave us free glasses of congratulatory champagne. Then they brought post-dessert dessert, which, hell, if we'd known they were going to bring us dessert anyway we never would have ordered the other stuff. Long story short, by the end of dinner we were extremely drunk and full.

We stumbled back to our room, changed and sat next to our fire pit for a while. I took a bath in the very cool tub and some flower petals that were apparently from someone else's luxurious bath snuck out of the drain and into my bath, which was sort of gross but I think I was too drunk to really care.

Around 1 a.m. I stuck our breakfast order on the doorknob. I'd optimistically requested a couple of orders of eggs benedict and a large pot of pressed coffee (they have the best pressed coffee), without really thinking about my inevitable hangover. For I was doomed to have a hangover, of course. Which was compounded about 43 times by the fact that my adorable husband kept me awake all night.

First it was that he had to get up to turn off the air, which, honestly, the Ritz should not have air blowing on your head when you sleep. Could they possibly figure some other climate control method out aside from the old blowing-on-the-head routine? That's, like, so Motel 6. B put it this way: "That thing was blowing icicles up my ass." Which I found very, very funny. That was at about 4 a.m.

Shortly thereafter I started having my own climate control issues due to the lack of air, and I realized I had a pounding headache due to the impending hangover and needed to ransack our minibar for a first aid kit, which I fortunately found and managed to pound some tylenol. Sadly, B had jimmy legs all night and at some point I recall him saying, "I think this bed is so luxurious I can't sleep in it." It was a down bed with a down comforter and down pillows. Quite warm and cozy.

Suffice to say I felt like dog doo at 845, when a kind Ritz employee wheeled our eggs benedict in. I couldn't even manage to fully enjoy them!

So we booked it out of there pretty quick after that, with visions of our glorious Sleep Number bed dancing in our heads. I slept a couple hours and still feel vaguely weird so will definitely be enjoying nighty-night time immediately following tonight's "Bachelor." :-)

Monday, April 09, 2007

This is simply hilarious.

BTW I was reading some of my old missives from Sonora the other day and I've decided I'm just not very funny any more. I apologize. I simply used to be funnier. Or maybe life was funnier? Anyway, since I am having a little trouble squeezing humor out of life right now, I thought I'd remind you of how entertaining I used to be. This is from May of 2003:

In the news this week: Adidas is being taken to court by the state of California for selling a sneaker it aptly calls "Predator" that's made out of kangaroo hides. Under a 1971 law, you can't sell stuff that's made out of elephants, crocodiles, sable antelope, jaguars, cheetahs or polar bears. This is the most random grouping of animals I have ever heard of. What if you wanted to sell sneakers made out of koalas or humpack whales?
Next: I was covering a story about this arch in Twain Harte. It's a big wooden arch, as you might have guessed, and it says "Twain Harte" on it, big surprise. They're repairing it, but some elderly residents are rumored to be up in arms about the mud swallows that live in the arch and how they might be displaced or something. So I'm calling around and I finally find this guy who's repairing the arch and his name, it turns out, is Woody. Never mind how this guy is one of about three people on the planet who willingly calls himself Woody, the other two being Woody Harrelson and Woody Allen. His real name is Steve. And he owns a business called Woody's Cabinets or something. Anyway, as soon as I say peep about birds he goes off the deep end and starts ranting about how if I write an article about birds in the arch, French women with hair in their armpits (I am not making this up) will come to Twain Harte to protest. I have no idea what he's talking about so I just say, "I see." And further confusing me, he starts calling the people who are worried about the birds "old birds." Anyway, I get off the phone with him and about 10 minutes later this guy, Doug, some hoity toity fellow in Twain Harte, calls my editor and wants to know why we're making a big stink about the birds in the arch. He insists we not write anything remotely negative about the arch. And my editor assures him that we have no intention of writing anything about birds in the arch, but not because he called. It was because I couldn't find a single person who gave two poos about the stupid birds in the arch. But this Doug guy is all in a panic and my editor says, and I quote, "We're dropping it because no one gives a rat's ass about the birds, Doug." Ah. That was a fine moment.

So yeah. I thought that was pretty damn funny, but maybe it's just cause I was there and it was really funny for me.
Some of the funniest stuff I've ever written (I think) was from Florida and the resulting drive back with my mother. That's no longer in my computer, though, so... too bad! I did have a very kind friend who printed out all of my emails from those few months and put them in a binder for me, so it's kind of cool to be able to read them now and then. Embarrassing, but cool. :-)

Thursday, April 05, 2007

I hereby declare today The Day Of Declaring What You Really Want To Declare!
My upstairs neighbor just said very loudly and snarly (if that's possible) "I'm tired and I'm upset!"
I believe she is on the phone. Otherwise she's just stomping around (oh, to be the upstairs neighbor, for once) and complaining about some bitch who ruined her day to, perhaps, her cat, Kiki.
That is not the only surprise declaration I have heard today, in case you were wondering. And also in case you are wondering, it really only takes two incidents per day for me to declare it the day of that thing.
Ok, so earlier, around 430 I was at work and I was speaking to a customer on the phone and I said, "How are you?" as is customary in our society, for God knows what reason. We never actually say how we are. "Gee, not so well, my 'roids are actin' up and the kids have been a real pain in the ass lately."
Usually this customer of mine is very brief and to the point, but today he sounds hoarse and tired and he says, "Well to be honest, not very good."
So I said, "Oh, I'm sorry."
So he says, "A good friend of mine is in the hospital and it doesn't look like she's going to make it."
Um, yes. I think there is something about grief that makes you want to tell people to fuck off because you're hurting and you sort of end up telling all kinds of people why you're hurting, whether you should or not, and whether you think they care or not.
I do care. I am very sorry to hear about his friend, and I tell him this. And after speaking with him, I hang up and stare at my screen and feel very sad and just wish that for a little while, everyone would stop getting sick and dying. Because I'm tired. We're all tired. And we're sad, and we can't really deal with all of it at the same time. If you sick and dying people could just have a little courtesy and space out your hospital stays in, say, 5 year increments, that would work a lot better for me.
So anyway. I didn't mean to bring the mood down, geez! Today IS still the day of declaring what you really want to declare! You still have 5 hours to make some assertive and truthful declarations! Start thinking about this!

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Bachelor Happenings

All right! Another season of The Bachelor has rolled its way into primetime programming, and here I am once again to nickname all of those annoying bitch gold diggers who go on that show.
Allow me to begin. First, let it be known that approximately 50% of the contestants are named Tiffany. The other half are named Stephanie. Oh, ye children of the late 70s and early 80s!!
Here we go:
Sorority (Real name - Peyton. She's a professional sorority recruiter, somehow)
The Home Team (Real name Bevin (whawhawhat?), she's from Palo Alto)
Slutsky McCoy (Real name Kate. She wore a skirt so short you could see into the last century.)
Toothy (Real name Alexis. Enough said)
Dead Boyfriend (Real name Danielle. She felt compelled to tell the new Bachelor, Andy, about her college boyfriend who died)
The Dark Horse (Real name Amber. I just named her the Dark Horse because I like the sound of it and didn't have a better name. To her credit, she hasn't yet made a fool of herself.)
Tiffany. Enough said.
Divorce (Real name Tessa. Another who felt compelled to tell Andy about her parents' divorce. She's from SF, so her second name could be The Home Team Part II)
No eyebrows. (Real name Nicole. Enough said.)
Paris Part II. (Susan. Enough said.)
Amanda. Another who has managed not to tarnish her name quite yet.
Paris Part I. (Real name Erin, unfortunately. Enough said.)
Anthem (Real name Tina. She felt the need to sing the Star Spangled Banner to Andy. God knows why.)
Flip. (Real name Stephanie. She did a flip.)

There are no favorites yet but I'll keep you apprised of the situation.