Thursday, April 30, 2009

The brave souls of Ladytron

Tonight, we're going to see Ladytron and The Faint at The Fillmore. I told this to a coworker and she says, "Ladywha?" Ladytron, baby. Ladytron. Learn it, live it, love it. It's electronica. E-lec-tron-ica. I'm sure I'll enjoy the concert, since I enjoy the music, but I'm a little worried about the fans. Will they murder me on the spot if I wear an argyle sweater to the show?

I'm also worried about the fans having SWINE FLU. Faagghghhh. I honestly don't even want to go out in public and get breathed on by the infected masses. And to make matters worse, one of the guys we're supposed to go to the concert with has the fucking flu! Hubs went to his house to drop off his tickets yesterday, and the guy has quarantined himself in his bedroom so his cousin (also going to the concert) accepted the tickets. Hubs didn't sit down and didn't touch anything while he was there. He came home afterward with his hands held up, surgeon-style, and went straight to the sink to wash.

Our sick friend says he called his doctor and told him he has the flu, but his doctor saw no need for him to be tested for swine flu. Um. Ok. Is his doctor aware that we are on the brink of a pandemic here? One of the women at my work thought she had the flu and her doctor tested her for swine flu immediately. She was negative, thankfully. The point being that that is the response you would expect from your doctor during times such as these, no?

Gahr. So I am not sure if Ladytron is aware of the swine flu situation here in the Bay. If they are, perhaps they have taken precautions, and maybe they'll wear face masks to the concert tonight! That would be cool. I'd like to wear a face mask tonight. Actually, I'd like to wear a bunny suit tonight and then be sprayed down with bleach when it's all over.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Swiiiiiine gaaahhhh!!!!!!!!

You are reading a blog written by a person who is convinced that she is pregnant whenever her period is more than 40 seconds late and that each tiny pain in her body is cancer, slowly growing from different points in the body until eventually all of the cancers will merge into one giant cancer and a doctor will be forced to slowly shake his head and tell her that if she'd just come in, like, 14 years earlier, she could have been saved, but that unfortunately she has approximately 30 days to live and will now have to decide how to spend the short remainder of her days.

So if you think that the Swine Flu Pandemic has me a little worried, you would be right. Logical Me knows that the swine flu is much ado about nothing and that, after all, even if I did somehow contract it, it wouldn't be much different from the regular flu, which I seem to come down with every year anyway, so what is the big deal?!

Enter Illogical Me. What is the big deal?! I'll tell you what the big deal is!! The high school next to my house just shut down for a week due to swine flu and I've had a headache for 3 days! Spring break is still in full swing and loads of infected co-eds fresh off the plane from Cancun are probably walking around licking doorknobs and farting on movie theater seats. My admin just picked her daughter up from school because she didn't feel well -- am I the only one who realizes she and all of her classmates are probably crawling with swine flu?! I just spent three days in Napa, eating things touched and made by other people. And to top it off, this morning I spent half an hour in a facility where people are attempting to create a swine flu vaccine (don't ask). I am convinced swine flu virus particles were floating around in the air and landing on my eyeballs. I'll be bedridden shortly.

So, dear reader, I pray that you and I survive this pandemic together. If I should perish, I beg you to go on without me. Keep tonking that cowbell, keep blogging about the unnecessary. Keep raging about the immaterial, keep spitting out the distasteful. And most importantly, keep your face mask on.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Put the chocolate down and no one gets hurt...

I had one of those moments with my bathroom scale this morning where you suck your lips into your mouth and experience guilty flashbacks of every meal you've eaten over the last several days. The number on the scale was ugly today, but I've been doing some serious overindulging, so it's not like a huge shock that after a few days off work, gallavanting around Napa, tossing goblets of wine and gourmet food down my throat willy nilly, that I've gained a pound. Or two.

Typically after a bathroom scale experience like the one I had this morning, I'll engage in a conversation with myself in the shower about how I need to diet and exercise and how really, it's very simple. One eats less and moves more and one becomes smaller. I explain to myself that this should be an easy task for someone like myself, who managed to maintain a very reasonable weight for several years by eating healthfully and exercising every day. The mystery has been cracked in the weight loss department, Moam. Simply follow the map with the red X on it to your destination.

That, or continue to gain weight. EGADS. This is not an option. It cannot be an option. Is this an option? At what weight, exactly, will Hubs find me too repulsive to touch? At what weight will diabetes kick in? At what weight will my neck and chin officially disappear and become a chineck? How many pounds 'til I have cankles? When will my wedding ring need to be resized? How fat do I need to be to apply to be on "The Biggest Loser"?

It's awful and scary. I am my own worst enemy and biggest cheerleader at the same time. You're doing so great on this diet! How 'bout a donut? YUM. I feel too tired to go to the grocery store and we end up eating nasty take-out. The cycle of feeling tired continues due to lack of proper nutrition.

There is some kind of brain block happening here. I continue to sabotage myself and I'm not sure why. Sounds like it's time to turn again to my trusty "When You Eat At The Refrigerator, Pull Up A Chair." Maybe Geneen knows.

Friday, April 24, 2009


Three days off work and I am feeling fine, thank you!

We spent our 3-year anniversary in Napa, at La Residence Country Inn, which is actually a really nice place that is very reasonably priced and comes with a hot breakfast in the morning.

The inn's one major flaw is that it is right off of Highway 29 so not as countryish as desired. And there were a few condoms left in a drawer in the nightstand (ribbed for her pleasure, eeewwww)and someone had left a piece of cake in the fridge. But it was honestly a great place that I would go back to. The bedding was excellent, with awesome pillows, which is so rare in hotels.

For our anniversary dinner on Wednesday, we went to Martini House in St. Helena, which I found in the Chronicle's Top 100 restaurants in the Bay. We were prepared to spend major skrill for this dinner but ended up paying around $200, which included two full four course dinners with wine pairings.

Words simply do not describe this dinner. It has to have been the best of my life. I got the mushroom tasting menu, which sounds strange and has no meat in it, but is simply divine. I can't describe this meal to you, I really won't do it justice. Simply go to this restaurant, and order this meal. With the wine pairings. It's $99. You will be so glad you did.

On Thursday we took the wine train, or as we joked, the Octogenarian Train, or Geriatric Train. In fairness, there were other young couples on board the train but they all seemed angry. Maybe they knew what was to come! I can't, in good conscience, recommend the wine train. It's just pretty much a rip off. A lot of the food was sort of awful and I didn't think of how the motion would affect me while trying to eat. The train went about 30 mph down Highway 29, for a distance that would take you about 15 minutes in your car but took an hour and a half on the train. So it was a 3 hour trip and I was so ready to get off that damn thing when it stopped. They did, however, give us these Anniversary balls, which looked a little like something else to us...

Later yesterday evening we went out for a decent dinner and bottle of wine. We immediately slipped into twin comas when we got back to the room (we're true romantics).

Today we enjoyed our free breakfast (sausage, eggs & potatoes!) and then skipped off to Castello di Amorosa, which is this giant castle in Calistoga that you can pay $30 to tour. We didn't but we did pay $15 each for wine tasting. The wine was decent. I'm sort of lame because I didn't take any good photos of that place. I was taking video, haha! No joke.

Then we hit up several of the wineries on the Silverado Trail, many of which have beautiful views and great cabernets.

We bought some wine, ate some Taylor's Refresher (#2 hamburgers in California, purportedly) and then battled traffic on the way home. I'm gonna hit up the couch for a nap and then we'll move on to the rest of the weekend...

Happy Friday!

Monday, April 20, 2009

No Name to Take Over 105.3 Morning Show

Update! According to The Poop, No Name, aka Mike Nelson, will be the new host of 105.3's morning show, which will be called, creatively, The No Name Show.

I will tidily skip over how I think the name "No Name" sucks and the title "The No Name Show" sucks even harder, because better kvetchers than I have gone there before so I'll let it rest. No Name, as you may remember, was once co-host of the morning show at Alice 97.3, before he was unceremoniously booted off, presumably for being unrelatable to the show's mainly female listeners. Now previously ex-communicated Vinnie has been reinstated as Sarah's whipping boy of the moment at that particular station.

I could never quite decide if I liked No Name or not. It irritated me when he would talk about shit and vomit at 7 a.m. So, I think he'll probably fit in well with the mainly male listeners at 105.3, provided he's a good little rule follower. As we know, his predecessors, Woody, Tony & Ravey, were axed for playing a 30 second clip of a new Greenday song. Which, LAME.

Woody seems to know about No Name's hiring, although he has little to say about it, judging by his Twitter feed. He's said to have already moved to St. Louis for another gig.

Interestingly, both 97.3 and 105.3's offices are housed in the same building in SF, so I am thinking there could be some awkward hallway encounters. Best of luck, DJs!

Heat wave

Hubs insisted that my rash needed ultraviolet light in order to dry itself out, and being the obedient wife I am, I put on a skimpy tank top and some stretch pants (it was quite a sight to behold) and gardened for a few hours in the back yard on Saturday. I came away with a burned rash. After washing up, we noshed on Lunardi's sandwiches (decent) and then watched Terminator 2, since Hubs is on a mission to get me to watch all of the Terminator movies before the newest Terminator movie with that maniac, Christian Bale, comes out. It was good. Better than expected, I guess?

We've been watching the TV show, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, and the nerds are all in a tizzy over the finale. What was that plane thing? Was the plane part of Shirley Manson? If so, since when can liquid metal become a mechanical object? Was the whole thing a ruse by the liquid to get John into the future? If so, why? It's all highly dorky. But it's definitely kept my interest.

Sunday was spent trying not to be hot. We set a heat record in SJ yesterday and expect to set another one today. I decided to go on my semi-annual shopping trip to find some much-needed tops and jeans. I found the desired objects, but not without several painful (and hilarious) moments in various dressing rooms. Also yesterday, I tried a Wallaby Darned, a peach bellini from Outback Steakhouse. Totally delicious, although the alcohol content is questionable. Those places always screw you on alcohol.

Congrats on surviving Monday! I'm biding my time til Wednesday. Wine country, here we come!

Thursday, April 16, 2009

I Seek You

My opthamologist says it's possible I have glaucoma. Unlikely, but possible. Ruling this out, as we've been trying to do for the last year, involves lots of visits to the doctor, drops in my eyes, things poking my eyes, lights shining in my eyes, and me with a pirate patch over one eye and my head in a box.

Yes, that's right. My head in a box. This, of all of the tests, is the least invasive, but the most annoying. It's called a field test. You rest your chin on the chin rest (how imaginative I am!), place a patch over one eye, stare into a glowing red cross in the center of a circular box thing, and wait for tiny pinprick lights to flash on and off in the box. When a light flashes, you click a button. This is supposed to test your peripheral vision.

The first time I took this test, I flunked it. The second and third times I took it, I passed with flying colors. A word to the wise: Taking this test is not as simple as it sounds. If you simply stare, bored, into the red cross, you will miss a number of flashing lights and your doctor will think you have a disease and will want to start poking your eyeballs.

So here is what you have to do. Although you are wearing a patch over one eye, you must close this eye in order to properly see the flashing lights out of the open eye. Doing this is not as easy as it sounds, since the test lasts approximately 7 minutes PER EYE. After a while, your cheek will start to shake from the effort. You must also open your eye that is being tested as wide as possible in order to see as many flashing lights as possible. At first you will think, Huh! I see all of the flashing lights. This is a piece of cake.

Do not be fooled. Soon, the lights will stop flashing. You will think you saw a light flash, but maybe you didn't? The lights flash at different speeds and brightnesses. At one point, you may think all of the lights have flashed at the same time. You may sit for 20 seconds with your finger poised over the clicker, waiting for a light to flash, while you're squinting one eye and black mirages are dancing across your vision.

Don't forget to breathe! I almost passed out during this most recent test because I was focusing so hard on the flashing lights that I forgot to breathe. I used to do this as a child when my mom cut my hair. I'd stand as still as possible, focusing on not making any sudden movements so that she wouldn't accidentally poke me in the face with her scissors, and I would start to weave dangerously from lack of oxygen.

Anyway, now that I've finished this obnoxious head-in-the-box test again, I'll be subjected to another test in a couple of weeks. It's state of the art, my doctor tells me. So brand new, not even Stanford has it yet, although they will soon. We'll see what the new test determines.

So it is Friday. I have been really bad at the blogging this week. It was due to a mixture of distraction from the rash (still here but clearing up, I think) & burnout. Life burnout. I need to press my big red reset button. It will involve lots of lying around, prone, and ocassionally lifting a beverage to my lips. Preferably one spiked with tequila.

Thankfully, Hubs and I are taking off 3 days next week and heading to Napa. It's our 3 year anniversary and we plan to spend it drinking copious amounts of wine. I feel quite confident it will help me decompress quite a bit. We've yet to plan our "big" vacation this year, hopefully 2 weeks on the road, driving to Washington. Perhaps in July.

Happy weekend! See you next week.

Monday, April 13, 2009

I'm so rashy rasherton

I can barely even think straight, I'm so rashy right now. It's just contact dermatitis, whatever the fuck that is. It's medical speak for "We don't know what the hell that is. Take Benadryl and call me in two weeks."

Honestly, I haven't been to a doctor yet, and won't go unless this persists until the end of the week, because those quacks won't know what it is either, and I'll probably just end up having to pay extra money for some useless blood tests. It's a bumpy red rash on my arms and legs. And it farking itches! Grrraaaahhhhhhhhh.

I took an oatmeal bath last night. It was my first bath in the tub at our new home, and as it turns out the tub was designed for midgets. Lying down, my top half was still protruding from the water. Let me tell you, there's no better way to get a reality check on your body than to take a bath. With no bubbles. Take a bath and take a look at your blubber. It's depressing.

Baths and showers aggravate my rash. God, aren't you so glad you're reading this today? I must be the most attractive person imaginable. Anyway my rash turns really red after I bathe. I slather it in calamine lotion. I tried Benadryl last night before bed and I think it helped a skoch. Unfortunately I'd also eaten coffee ice cream so I had jimmy legs all night and slept like crap.

So basically I am a wreck. A fat, rashy wreck. *sigh*

Friday, April 10, 2009

What the f#@k happened to Buca?

Sorry about the image, that's my lame attempt at writing "FAIL" across the Buca di Beppo logo. You didn't know they let the mentally challenged write blogs, did you?

So anyway the whole point of that graphic is that Hubs and I went to Buca last night and to our utter horror, all of our favorite dishes had been changed. Traditionally we can rely on Buca to have the best Italian food around. It's always hot, fresh & delicious. Last night was a rude awakening.

The first thing we noticed was that they'd done away with the wall menus. You used to have to look at the wall to view the menu, and now they've covered the old menus up with giant photos of 1940's ladies slurping spaghetti and you'll receive a spiral bound menu, a la Cheesecake Factory. I kind of used to like the wall menu thing, man. It was so, "this is how we do it here, take it or leave it."

Also, the staff was being very friendly, overly so. They introduced us to the managers as we walked through the kitchen, asked us how we were doing, and sat us with well wishes for an enjoyable meal. Usually the staff are complete assholes, which I kind of liked. If a person isn't kind to you, then there's no need to be kind to them!

Despite the foreshadowing of the menu situation and the friendly employees, we ordered chianti and settled in for our expected feast of yumminess. We always order the same food because it's tried and true, and we love it. So we ordered mozzarella garlic bread, cesar salad, and chicken parmigiana.

First the bread showed up. It was cut up and placed in a basket, unlike how it used to be presented, in the pan in which it had been cooked. And it tasted different -- not as good. I guesstimate there was about 20 percent less bread than usual.

Then the salad arrived. Hubs had already been told he could no longer receive anchovies on the side because no one liked them and the restaurant had decided to do away with them. The salad was also presented differently, in a smaller bowl rather than on a long platter. There was no shaved parmesan, as there normally is.

The chicken was the biggest slap in the face. Buca's chicken parmigiana was to die for, before. If I were a prisoner on death row, I might request it for my last meal. No longer, I'm afraid. Where there used to be a thin slice of prosciutto, now there was none. No more chunks of tomatoes and garlic. The chicken wasn't as well-seasoned as we're used to, and the cheese lacked taste. There were two pieces rather than the normal three.

So we received sub par food, in much smaller portions than Buca normally doles out, but we still paid the normal price. WTF, Buca?

No one on the interwebs seems to have wised up to this, but I'll tell you what; we won't be going back unless the menu reverts to its previous, much tastier state.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Tackiest ad of the year award goes to....

No effing joke, the ad above is on a site that shall remain nameless *coughMikeOzcough*.

What kind of awful insurance company publishes an ad depicting a child crying, presumably in front of his parent's freshly erected tombstone? We all pretty much know the idea behind life insurance is that there will be money for your kids in case you croak. But to show a picture of this scenario is simply tacky and tasteless.

So there!

Today I am feeling quite smug and self-satisfied because yesterday's post garnered me a host of new readers, albeit temporary. It's actually an official record for me, something like 200 unique visitors in the last 24 hours. They all want to know why Woody & crew were fired from their radio show, and as it happens, no one had blogged or written any news articles about the event. Until me, bitches!

It's weird to me that a show listened to by so many people could suddenly be off the air, with no explanation from any news source. I wonder if this is typical, or a product of our new, newsless society?

Monday, April 06, 2009

Woody Show Bites The Dust

In what I am hoping is not an elaborate and extended April Fool's joke, Woody, Ravey & Tony have been fired by CBS from their morning show on 105.3 (in the SF Bay Area) for playing a 30-second teaser clip of a new Green Day song, according to Woody's twitter feed.
Greg & Menace are still apparently employed by the station, but obviously the Woody Show can no longer be, without Woody.
Woody says he can't go into further detail as to why three of them were fired and two weren't, only that it's now a legal matter. He's been interviewing with stations around the country and expects to have to move to stay in his line of work, which is typical for DJs. Meanwhile, his wife is 7 months pregnant, so he's a little pissed off about the whole ordeal.
Ravey also expects to have to move, and explains she is packing her shit up for the Salvation Army. It looks like she and Woody may be a package deal.
So as Hubs puts it, this officially gives us no reason to listen to this radio station any longer, since the music sucks major ass. If I wanted to listen to nonstop Red Hot Chile Peppers and Sublime all the farking time, then I would buy the CDs. Which I didn't. Because I don't want to.
This whole thing is rather strange to me. There is obviously something about being a morning DJ that means your employment is not guaranteed on any given day. After all, Mike Nelson was fired not so long ago from Alice's (97.3) morning show, also for mysterious reasons. Presumably, the show's mainly female listeners could not relate to him. The station brought back previously fired Vinnie to co-host with Sarah, but Vinnie openly admits he was fired because he was an addict who couldn't get his shit together.
Long story short, good luck to 105.3, cause they're gonna need it.

**Update: No Name of Sarah & No Name fame (97.3 morning show) has been hired to take over the morning show at 105.3. Read about it here.

Friday, April 03, 2009

Bitching so you don't have to.

To the teeth, from the lips: Please stop biting me repeatedly in the same exact area so that I am unable to heal. I know that I am delicious and meaty, but I am not actually meat. Thank you.

To your windshield, from my windshield: I understand you are filthy, and I am filthy, too. Yesterday at lunch my idiotic owner parked next to someone who ran over a cup of coffee, which squirted all over me. So believe me, I understand filthiness. But please do not squirt and wipe yourself on the freeway while driving 65 mph, when I am behind you. You fucking douchebag.

To coins, from the wallet: Pardon me, but you are too numerous. I've been carrying you around in my meager coin-holding area, waiting for my owner to empty you into the fishbowl on her dresser so that you may eventually be taken to the Coinstar machine and exchanged for an certificate. Because you are useless. Do you understand that? She finds you utterly useless. She is not one of those annoying people who forces others waiting in line to wait for her while she counts out correct change. She finds the activity heinous and deserving of a Singapore-style caning. The only thing worse is writing goddamn checks at the grocery store. Anyway, coins, you've finally busted me. She was given more of you, she attempted to shove you into my meager pouch and zip it closed, and you broke my zipper. I am beyond repair and now destined for the trash once I get replaced. Thanks a lot. Have fun jingling around on the bottom of the purse.

To tumors, from everyone: Fuck off.

To episiotomies, from vaginas: You suck.

To people who pronounce the word "drowning" "drownding," from journalists: Do you also pronounce nuclear "nucular"? Do you enjoy reading books in the "liberry"? While drinking "expresso"? You are annoying.

To the public, from newspapers: We are dying. Do you understand? You are about to become extremely uninformed. It was bad before. There was no way we could tell you everything that was going on; there weren't enough underpaid reporters to write about it all. If we die, you may be left with TV, radio, and the Internet. We think this is dangerous. Just sayin'.

To people who repeat themselves incessantly, from the rest of us: Stop it.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009


Last night I had two and a half margaritas that apparently contained brain-blasting amounts of tequila. I am not sure what possessed me, on a Tuesday night, to drink somewhat heavily, knowing that despite my greatest wishes, I would still have to get up at 6 a.m. and go to work.

And I have been dragging some major ass today.

It reminds me of how, as an intern in Florida, I would go out on a Wednesday night with some of the people that worked at the paper and we would just get blasted. I mean, blammo. It was a no holds barred, Wednesday night drink fest. Shall we order another bottle of wine? Need you really ask?! Glug glug glug BLAMMO.

I've always suffered worse hangovers than your average Joe, and I used to wake up, sticky in the Florida humidity with a stinger of a headache and my stomach threatening expulsion of all contents, and I would somehow drag my ass into that newsroom and who even really knows what I did during that internship. I have a number of humidity-ravaged clips proving that I wrote actual news articles while living for several months in the armpit of America, but I'm not sure I quite believe it was me.

Today was like God saying, "Woman. You are 30. If you think you can drink that much tequila on a weeknight and not suffer the consequences the next day, I've got something to show you."

Today was abnormally punishing as far as physical activity was concerned. Normally I'd be able to nurse my hangover from behind my computer but today I was literally staggering around all day in my high heels, for various reasons.

God, whaddup dude. I learned my lesson, k?

So after what has seemed like an eternity, I am finally home, forcing myself to update the blog, and in a few short minutes, if you want to find me, I'll be curled into the fetal position on my couch.