It's All Good Fun Till Somebody Loses an Eye

A Lesson in Chicago Diversity

2008-10-03T15:26:00.000-07:00

As my boss had her baby last week, I had to leave my cushy Loop office and be babysat by our marketing team at their South Side location. This required that I bus from my northside Lakeview apartment to the Loop and then transfer buses to the South Side. Now, Chicago has always had a "Northside"/"Southside" rivalry, the most visible of which is currently ongoing between the Cubs and the White Sox in the playoffs. The "Northside" traditionally homes the wealthier and the "Southside" traditionally homes the poorer.

However, this week, I actually saw the demographic change. I was the only white person on the bus to and from the South Side. Then, when I transferred buses, I noticed there were very few African Americans. That shouldn't be! I thought we lived in a 'diverse' society. Nowhere have I seen this less illustrated than on the Chicago bus this week.

While discussing this issue with my friend Nayeli, she praised San Francisco's uniqueness on this issue, saying "it shelters us from a lot of the hard issues that are found in other places. Not that SF is perfect, but other places have so many more issues." To which I responded, "I think SF is a unique place. It is odd to have to think about diversity because I think true diversity exists when you do not notice it or its lack."

While Nayeli surprisingly exclaimed that I was 'almost poetic,' wouldn't that be a poetic moment? And where can it start? On the Chicago buses.

A Pregnant Pause

2008-09-28T13:43:00.000-07:00

After months of searching, I finally landed a wonderful position. On my first day at work, I felt like a child on her first day of kindergarten: full of nervous excitement. I found the building, entered the office, and greeted my boss. Overall, no surprises lay in store save one: my boss was pregnant. Furiously wracking my memory, I could not understand how I had not noticed her pregnant status during my interview. She only looked about 5 or 6 months pregnant. She must have just started to show, I rationalized. Since she had just started to show, I thought that my first work week was not the time to have a conversation regarding her pregnancy. Well, apparently we should have had that conversation, because she went into labor on Thursday. Labor! She wasn't 5 months pregnant. She was 8.25 months pregnant. Suddenly, as she gained a baby girl, I gained a massive migraine. Oi vey! I know I have a master's degree, but I had kind of hoped I could apprentice for a little while. You know, at least a month! Never before have I experienced a pregnant pause quite like this one.

An Unexpected Ethnic Celebration

2008-09-16T18:56:00.000-07:00

Today, after a long period of inactivity, I have decided to resurrect my blog from its bloggy grave. It was cold. It was damp. It was devoid of Sarah stories. Never fear. Now that I have a big girl apartment and am in Chicago, I am ready to infuse Chicago personality with SF observations. I didn't realize I would have the opportunity to do so so soon in my Chicago life.

This week, I am couch surfing at my friend Jess's. Yesterday, she was working late, so I decided to take a 45 minute walk. Since Jess lives in West Loop, I figured I would walk the brief 20 minutes to Millennium Park and just see if anything was happening. The summer series is long over, but I figured that even without a concert performance, there would be something to see. Oh, and there was something to see indeed. As I approached Millennium Park, I was very confused by appearance of a chain link fence surrounded the concert arena. At my first glimpse of security searches, I paused, thinking that there was a ticketed event. Curious, I continued, holding out my two pocket contents: iPod and mobile phone (I know, I know, no wallet, but I am digitally connected!). There are no tickets but I am drawn to the attractive sound of an orchestra performing. I move to a position in the lawn and enjoy the symphony. As I listen, I start to look around, hoping to identify the reason for this concert. As I look, I realize I am surrounded by persons carrying/wearing the Mexican flag. Children are spinning circles saying "una mas vez!." People are wearing ponchos. The skyscrapers say "viva viva" in lights. Suspicious, I text my friend Nayeli and ask "? I am standing in Millenium Park and am surrounded by Mexican flags. Is today a Mexican holiday or something?" To which Nayeli replied "Yes, it is actually. Independence Day. Have fun and cheer for my people!" Darn! Where is a Mexican flag when you need one? Oh wait!

On Two Things I Don't Understand: Hip Hop and 2 Ply Facial Tissues

2007-02-27T20:20:00.000-08:00

It does not come as a surprise that I would somehow find a way to connect two seemingly unrelated items. However, it is not a random tangent today that seared these two thoughts into one blog. Oh no. Rather, its pure laziness. That's right. Laziness. However, I really don't understand hip hop nor 2 ply facial tissues.

First, to hip hop. On two different occasions, I have been at a party where the DJ was mixing hip hop. Most of the time, I just stand there looking very white and very confused. How can hip hop been classified as music? Now, a good DJ should always be able to seamlessly transition between songs, always maintaining the same beat. With hip hop, not only is the beat the same, but so is the bass line. The only thing that changes is the lyrics. If you cannot distinguish between the songs, you can't find an easy out from dancing with some creepy guy. Which leads me to my next point of confusion. Dancing to hip hop. I just do not understand how it works. My friend Kim has explained that it just comes from the knees with people in very tight quarters. In other words: grinding. Seriously though, unless I am dancing the tango, I am a fan of maintaining a very slight difference between me and strange drunken men. Hip hop goes against that intuition. In fact, usually you end up dancing with multiple drunken men. Combined with the lack of musicality, there is no polite escape. I just do not understand hip hop. It goes against musicality and reason. However, I am always open to clarification. Could somebody clarify the joys of hip hop? Somebody? Anybody?

Now, to my discussion regarding why I don't understand 2 Ply facial tissues. I must warn that this particular segment is not for the easily disgusted. It is for those who think that my belches are disgustingly amusing. Alright, so, my friend Jess gave me a cold last weekend courtesy of a 3 hour car ride. As a result, I have been fighting a ridiculously bad head cold that has caused me to blow my nose through a whole box of facial tissues in an entire weekend. That is not to count my daily count. The box of facial tissues that I took from work boasted on the box that they were not made with 2 Ply strength. After a whole box of facial tissues, I want to know why the marketing managers for Office Depot facial tissues felt the need to include this on a box. Buggers (that's right, I whipped out the b-word) are barely contained by these facial tissues. In fact, they are barely contained when you fold the tissue in half. What type of crap tissues are those? As a result, not only do you have half of a tissue with which to blow your nose, but you have an increasing doubt with every blow that the tissue will not hold while you are say, in a public transportation vehicle or the shuttle to work. If that weren't bad enough, these facial tissues were sans aloe! Are 4 ply aloe facial tissues to much to request? I think not! Still, after all of that, I just do not understand why one should even bother producing 2 Ply facial tissues. Once again, if you can provide clarification, I would greatly appreciate it. Until then, I am a white hip hop confused girl with a rather raw nose.

Top 5 Reasons to Go On the Company Ski Trip

2007-02-06T20:02:00.000-08:00

5. Staying in a 4 Star Hotel -- For Free!
After awaking at 4 a.m. on Monday morning, riding a bus, and then walking 3/4 of a mile to embark on a 3.5 hour bus ride, I finally arrived at my destination - the beautiful area of ski legend, Lake Tahoe. However, it isn't until I check in to my hotel room, look out upon its balcony view of the ski lift and the mountains, and start to change in to my ski stuff (that I borrowed from my friend Michelle) that I realize I haven't stayed at a hotel since my senior year in college. This was a really really nice hotel. On a side note, let me define what aspects of a hotel get 2 reallys. Hairdyer, flat screen HDTV, and a coffee pot. Plus the view. Did I mentioned the view? Lovely fluffy beds, amenities, and more awaited me at The Resort at Squaw Creek. And it was free!

4. Obtaining Your Bridget Jones Ski Story

Yesterday was the first time I had ever skied. First time ski rental and lesson tickets in hand, I wandered around the base of Squaw Valley. Where does one go to get skis? You would think that these areas would be better marked. Oh no. Not at Squaw Valley. They are way too good for beginners like me. The place marked 'Ski Rental' seemed too obvious. It seemed like a great way to get tourists into a shop. No, obvious was correct, in this case. Now, I tentatively enter Ski Rental. It reminds me a lot of a factory, only lined with humans instead of with machines. The sounds of clicking, snapping, and slapping echoed in my virgin ski ears. I hand my rental ticket to the lady and approach station 1: boots. Ski boots are very complicated and should come with an instruction manual. After asking the stranger next to me how to manipulate the boots, I manged to find my way to station 2: skis. As in a dream state, I followed the directions given to me by the all knowing ski fitters: stand, put your heel down, lift up, now go. Nobody even told me how to hold the skis so they didn't fall apart. Then, station 3: poles. The guy told me to hold the skis by the basket. Sorry? What? The basket?

After this intimidating experience, dressed in ski equipment, I finally made it on the cable car and went to my ski lesson. Chatting with some people from finance, I learned how to ski. It didn't seem that scary. In fact, it seemed kind of fun. Moving forward. Check. Going down the minor hill. Check. Turning. Check. I thought I was finally prepared for a slightly bigger hill once my lesson completed. As I started down my first 'big girl' slope, I talked my way all the way down. Okay, wedge. Right. Left. You can do it Sarah. I made it to the bottom without problem. Confidence gained, I tried it again. This time, however, I was not as lucky. In fact, like Bridget Jones in her second film, somehow, I got out of control and I fell - the only way you are NOT supposed to fall - forward. I landed, tasting blood. I quickly checked all of my teeth. All accounted for. I had only split my lip. And here I thought I would come home wound free. I think that ski wounds are so much more exciting than smooth runs. I think that is the American part of me. After that run, I chose the alternative route that went across slope. At least I didn't enter any race.

3. Seeing Your Colleagues Trashed

Everybody should have the opportunity to see their colleagues trashed at least once. 75% of my colleagues had been drinking on an empty stomach for quite some time. Many a time I told them that they needed to drink a little water. I don't think they actually were able to comprehend my statement. Their unfocused eyes continued to stare blankly at their still full glass of alcohol. It was great! Of course, they didn't feel that way this morning. When the band played, often reserved colleagues cut loose. It was so great to see people out of their element. It was a change to see what people are like in real life. Work is not real life. We are all who we pretend to be. Alcohol often shows us a little bit more of how people really are. It has interesting capacities.

2. Seeing Your Managers Trashed

Last week I decided that I would try to impress not my manager, but rather my manager's manager. And my manager's manager was very drunk last night at the ski trip. Liquid truth emerged from her mouth regarding my performance. I learned that she is exceptionally impressed with me. Had I had more time, I could probably have gained more dirt on others; however, when you are sober, you should use your interrogative powers for good and not for evil. However, next time, she's mine. bwah ha ha ha ha ha

1. Party Stories to Last At Least One Year
It was crazy this past weekend! On a scale of 1 to 10, this was a 7.5 on the crazy scale. We are all well educated, so we do have limits to our level of craziness. In general, it was a weekend to be remembered. Everybody should definitely participate in a company ski trip at least once. I can't imagine how next year can top it.

'This' Offends Women

2007-01-31T21:05:00.000-08:00

My friend Lance notified me yesterday that if I didn't post something on my blog today, I would have missed an entire month of informing you about me life. I know many of you are my friends and have been checking this blog periodically, with much disappointment for a while. I'll have to post something about my absence at some point, but for the moment, not wanting to miss out on the month of January, I have a story to tell.

Two weekends ago, one of my colleagues hosted the third of his pub crawl series. Right now, I am one of the few people with 100% attendance on the pub crawls. Personally, I think I deserve my own certificate. Finally, I'll have the perfect attendance award that always alluded me in school. It seems fitting that it would be for a pub crawl. I am such an old man pub person. That is probably why I did not enjoy the fact that not only was a club the third 'pub' on our crawl, but that once we got in, it was also our last stop. Normally, I would have left this hiphop scene; however, this particular area of town is exceptionally difficult to access by bus and has stiff competition for taxis, and I actually had a ride home. For a ride home, I will look frowningly on the club scene and ask my guy friends to save me from drunken Georgian/Italian guys.

Finally, the night ends, and the entire club population is squeezed on to the street. I organize my two not-sober friends, myself, and the sober driver to start heading home. While saying our goodbyes, one of my drunken and exceptionally nice male colleagues accidentally flailed his arm at something, accidentally hitting one of my female colleagues in the boob. For your information, women call this a 'boob shot.' She looked at him and said "I can't believe you just hit me in the boob." She then turned to her friend and asked "do you have the stickers?" Her friend nodded in approval, reached in her purse, pulled out her wallet, and unfolded a sheet of stickers - a sheet full of stickers that said 'this offends women.' With one smack on the chest, my male colleague was branded. I think women everywhere should make their own stickers to carry around in their purse. Its mace without the allergic attack.

Attention Customers

2006-12-03T17:20:00.001-08:00

Saturday, operation ‘Sarah Needs a Dress’ went into affect. Madam Srgt General Mom was put in charge of this operation. Shopping with mom is always lots of fun, but give her a mission, and watch out. After 4 hours, I started to get burnt out. However, shopping is not what my story is about. For 4 hours, every time I went into or exited a store, the security alarm went off. At first, I thought it was a little odd. The second time, alright, a little unusual. By the third time, I just wanted to know what in my purse was setting off the alarm. I obviously hadn’t taken anything. Was it my camera? Now, my 6’3” brother held my camera above the security alarm while I walked out. The security alarm went off yet again. After a while, I just got used to setting off the alarm and having people look at me like I was a criminal. I was dressed way too nicely to be a criminal, but hey, if Wynona Ryder could shop lift, I guess you can’t judge based on clothes. After 3 hours of setting off every security alarm twice, I just stopped trying to figure out what was in my purse. As Mom and I were in Ann Taylor and trying on what turned out to be the perfect dress, Mom pulls out this security tag from one of the garments and asks what it is. Oh, that is the security tag, I said. They deactivate it when you purchase the garment. I normally forget to clip them off. In fact, this pair of pants still has the security tab on it. Suddenly, Mom looks at me and says, that is what has been setting the alarm off. My pants. Good job team Sarah. Let that be a warning to those of you who forget to clip off the tag. Don’t go shopping wearing those pants.

Anybody Got the Munchies?

2006-10-30T19:52:00.001-08:00

So on Thursday night, I am sitting down watching television and Starr comes over. "Sarah, I have something to show you. I think you'll get a trip out of it." I'm intrigued. My best stories from Starr come from these types of conversations. "So, I was at the police station for the neighborhood meeting. Now, I want you to know that a legitimate police officer handed me this." She then presents me with a flyer. "Free Medical Marijuana Tour. Snacks & Refreshments provided at each location." Now, I'm already laughing and say to Starr, 'that's awesome.' Starr looks into space and then says "I like marijuna." It took everything I had not to snicker or saracastically say "oh no. really?" This is the same woman who once told me that she didn't need a medical marijuana card, if she wanted marijuana, she'd grow her own. Starr then says "you know, back in the good old bad days, the stuff on the street was much better than what you could get at the medical marijuan clinic. I hear that that medical stuff is almost as good." Oh my Starrs. She is such a trip.

Anybody Got the Munchies?

2006-10-30T19:52:00.000-08:00

So on Thursday night, I am sitting down watching television and Starr comes over. "Sarah, I have something to show you. I think you'll get a trip out of it." I'm intrigued. My best stories from Starr come from these types of conversations. "So, I was at the police station for the neighborhood meeting. Now, I want you to know that a legitimate police officer handed me this." She then presents me with a flyer. "Free Medical Marijuana Tour. Snacks & Refreshments provided at each location." Now, I'm already laughing and say to Starr, 'that's awesome.' Starr looks into spasce and then says "I like marijuna." It took everything I had not to snicker or saracastically say "oh no. really?" This is the same woman who once told me that she didn't need a medical marijuana card, if she wanted marijuana, she'd grow her own. Starr then says "you know, back in the good old bad days, the stuff on the street was much better than what you could get at the medical marijuan clinic. I hear that that medical stuff is almost as good." Oh my Starrs. She is such a trip.

Most Haunted Live!

2006-10-29T17:18:00.000-08:00

Today, I spent an afternoon hooked to my computer. Why, might you ask? Why, I'll tell you. My house does not have cable and for the next 3 days, Most Haunted is broadcasting live from Edinburgh. It is times like these when I hail technology. I was hooked up to the live web feed from their on site web cams, while my brother hooked up his computer microphone to the live sound from the television show so I could listen to it, and my mother called me in between commercial breaks to explain everything else. For anybody who is interested in ghosts or phenomenon, I highly recommend watching Most Haunted via your computer or on the Travel Channel. The program starts at 9 p.m. Greenwich time, so adjust accordingly. http://www.mosthauntedlive.net/home.html. Consider it your Halloween gift from me to you.

Who Doesn't Fall Back?

2006-10-29T17:08:00.000-08:00

This morning my alarm clock woke me up begrudgingly at 8:40 a.m. Pacific time. I looked at the clock and wondered if I really did want to get up right now or if I had experienced a moment of insanity the night before when I set my alarm. I dragged myself out of bed, the hamster awoken and stumbling towards it wheel, and started getting ready to go to the Presbyterian church. I had not attended the Presbyterian church in about 5 weeks due to lack of sleep. This small worship service is really quite nice (even though they aren't Methodist). However, the downside is that they only have one worship service, and that service is at 10 a.m.

Hearing the call of God and aided by my to-go cup of coffee, I started the 20 minute walk to the Presbyterian church on a quite brisk and fall-like morning. However, when I arrive, something seems awry. In face, a lot seems awry. Nobody is there! Nobody! I cautiously enter the church, hoping that nobody notices me. How could I have gotten the time wrong? Had they cancelled the service? No. They couldn't have cancelled the service or else the choir would not have been there. I must have gotten the time wrong. I now had to find a sign that has the time of worship posted upon it. I search the program. Nothing. Finally, outside of the church, on a small sign, there it is. Sunday worship service: 10 a.m. Where is everybody then?

Suddenly, the realization hit me like a stroke of lightening. Fall back! I hadn't turned me clock back an hour. It wasn't 10 a.m. Oh no, it was 9 a.m. What am I suppose to do for an hour? Slightly embarrassed and caffeine deprived, I trudged home. Fortunately, all of my housemates had also forgotten, and Starr took us all out for breakfast. However, note to self, when aware of a time change, always adjust the clock before going to any type of party.

Prost!

2006-10-18T20:25:00.000-07:00

Prost! Get your bier krugs and your liederhosen, it is time for a tale of Oktoberfest. If you were under the age of 28 and lived in San Francisco, you waited in an hour long line last Saturday evening for Oktoberfest. I had arranged a group of people to go. It was so great to actually get a chance to hang out with my colleagues. These were my favorite colleagues as well. Now, I have never before been in an enclosed location with that many drunken people before. The venue was a very long pavilion hall. In the center of the hall was a traditional German oompa band (complete in traditional dress). The rest of the hall was bedlam. There were people on top of every single bench within the building. People left the pavilion with that dazed, I can't focus on anything, I'm so drunk look on their face. People were falling over on the ground. Some people were trying to polka. It was great! I, being the experienced bier drinker that I am, proceeded to get a bruise on my right hand from my hold on the stein. You raised your stein to everybody that passed you. I am slightly disappointed that nobody else knew how to polka. Never you fear. I proceeded to polka with myself. After a few, everybody was dancing with themselves. It was nice preparation for my trip to Munich. Next year though, I'm breaking out the traditional dress and the braids. Prost!

Spinach Strikes Back

2006-10-18T20:20:00.000-07:00

I am very disappointed that raw spinach has returned to our tables and my nightly salads. Am I the only person alive who hates raw spinach? Maybe I just have not found the right salad dressing to drown out the taste of nasty raw spinach. It has been a very sad two weeks for my tummy to have to suffer the iron of raw spinach. Popeye never had to eat raw spinach salads! No fair! Come back e-coli!

Go Irish!

2006-10-18T20:00:00.000-07:00

Today, two weekends ago, I was excited. It was the kind of excited feeling normally associated with Christmas and your birthday. The excitement of giving (and receiving), seeing your friends and family, feeling warm fuzzies, and celebrating. What was this joyous occasion? The Notre Dame Band alumni reunion. Now, those who know me know that I was not always 'yay band.' In fact, I did not actually associate strongly with my section. However, I am a trumpeter. It is my great passion. My trumpet section may have intimidated me in a way more of shock value than of fear, but they were my trumpet section. Band was an activity I attended every day for 4 semesters. Almost all of my best friends were in band. Not only that, all of my band friends were going to be in town for the band alumni reunion. Friends plus Notre Dame equals a joy almost as exciting as that of Christmas.

Now, I have been preparing to make my entry for quite some time. For one thing, I have lost 30 pounds since I graduated from Notre Dame. Also, I am currently living like a college student now, only with a career and money to support me. I had my ticket and a place to stay. I was ready to go. I showered at Google, got on my red eye flight (where, in a very rare occurrence, I promptly passed out for the duration of the flight), got on United Limo for the first time in four years since I met my best friend Elizabeth (passed out on the United Limo) and arrived at Notre Dame for perhaps one of the most beautiful fall days I have seen at Notre Dame in a while. I spent Thursday supporting the Notre Dame bookstore. In fact, it was the bookstore that convinced me to arrive on Thursday instead of Friday. You couldn't pay me money to go to the bookstore on a football Friday or Saturday. If somebody came up to me and said "I'll pay $1000 to go to the bookstore today," I'd turn them down. I also finally bought my precious. My ring. My ring of power. As the italics would indicate, I am finally lady of the ring - the Notre Dame class ring. Of course, I could not decide upon the finish. As part of my quest and my lack of shame, I then proceeded to ask several people in the bookstore which finish they liked better. I went with the common answer. Now, when I finally receive my ring, with all of our rings combined, the vortex can now open. More on that to come, I'm sure.

I also had my first Linebacker experience. Prior to this visit, I admit that I was a Backer virgin. Now, my two really good friends are Backer bitches (and I say that with love). In fact, everybody involved in the alumni reunion was at the Backer. Now, the Backer is not a place that you can frequent in a sober state. Bearing that in mind, I saw a lot of people that I knew, had a Backer long island, grinded with multiple lines of people, and for some reason, I feel that many of those pictures were taken without my awareness. That is my story and I'm sticking to it. When I couldn't stand anymore courtesy of the crowd, I put myself in a crowd. While drunkenly fun, moral of the story is that when you are over 22, getting up at 7:30 after going out the night before is exceptionally difficult.

The actual band alumni reunion was really really fun. We got to do march out, go through the tunnel, sit on the field, do the student cheers, and perform. It wasn't a spectacular game. It wasn't as if I had the best conversation of my life. It was a warm comfortable game. I got to watch a football game with the same people with whom I shared every football game of my Notre Dame career. No other football watching experience is nearly as enjoyable as that. It made me want to regress 3 years and relive in my senior year in college again. I didn't get as many humorous stories out of this trip (that I will post here anyway). However, Christmas came early for me and in an unexpected way. Go Irish!

Grease Lightening

2006-10-03T18:34:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday, my team went go karting. Now, this isn't normal kiddie go karting. Oh no. This is serious hardcore they provide you with jumpsuits, a visored helmet, and a debriefing go karting. It was awesome! Now, few offsites sound more appealing than ones that involve Type A highly competitive people racing for not only 1st prize, but bragging rights. This was not going to be a team bonding experience. This was going to be a team breaking experience. I was so pumped!

Now, those of you who know me, know that competitive is really an understatement. I have cut myself off from playing games years ago. I have a difficult time playing a game that I can't win. I figured I'm from MO! Not only am I from a land of NASCAR, but I can drive a pickup truck on a gravel road. I was in it to win it and taunted people appropriately. As you do.

Finally, the day of the big race arrives. We have all signed up with our race car names. Sarah "No, I am not related to JR" Ewing was ready to go. I leave the office with nothing on me but my confidence and my Identification Badge. My car (real car, no go kart) is the first to arrive. As we approach the desk, they direct us to a sign in page. As I approach the computer monitor, my heart sinks. They require ID in order to drive! Where was my ID? In my bag at work.

Calmly, but I saunter over to the counter. "I do not have any ID on me. Is there any way I can still drive? I'm obviously over the age of 16." To which the employee responded, "Nope. We require ID for insurance purposes." Everybody look at me. "Sarah, you have to drive. It won't be any fun without you." Just as I am beginning to become distraught, the employees says, "you can have a copy of your ID faxed here." Hurray! Wait! I don't know anybody's extension. I do know the 866 number, however. So, there I am, on an offsite, calling the 866 number to speak with a colleague to beg them to fax my ID. 20 minutes later, my ID gets faxed - only I cannot really read the ID number. I attempt to fudge it, getting all of the numbers correct, but not being able to identify the first letter. Finally, the manager says, "oh, just let her in. But next time ma'am, you'll have to bring your ID."

Frantically, I go to suit up and get into the debriefing room. Go-karting is so much fun. I only placed second in my heat, but I like the guy who won, so he is forgiven. I was so sore afterwards. Every single knuckle was bruised and I had bruises from the shoulder belt. I have a new respect for NASCAR. It is hard workout taking hairpin turns without spinning out. Plus, you can't actually bump anybody. Try passing somebody on a hairpin without bumping them. Impossible, I tell you. Needless to say, it was awesome. I definitely drove like Grease Lightening.

Attack of the Squirrels

2006-10-01T18:49:00.000-07:00

This is a true story, copied from the SF Examiner on 28 September. Next stop, Notre Dame!

A fierce squirrel attacked a 4-year-old boy at Mountain View’s Cuesta Park last week as the rodent tried to wrestle a muffin out of the boy’s hands, leaving him with scratch and bite marks.

The skirmish wasn’t the first time the park’s numerous tree squirrels targeted picnickers

Mountain View Community Services Director David Muela said Wednesday that as many as six people have been bitten or scratched by the squirrels since May, and that the attacks have become more ferocious in the last month. One squirrel even went so far as to jump into a child’s stroller.

This summer, the city installed new trash receptacles featuring metal tops wth a latch that makes it nearly impossible for an animal to rummage through the can in search of food. Increase park ranger patrols and fliers cautioning against feeding the animals might have further cut the squirrels’ food supply, prompting them to act more assertively in their quest for food.

Why I Love E-Coli

2006-09-26T22:11:00.000-07:00

E-coli has been one of the best things to happen to me. Ever since e-coli has struck the spinach fields of California, it has been stricken off almost every menu - including those at Google. I have have not had to consume raw spinach salads for the past 3 weeks. I love it! Only nice lettuce. Now, those of you who have read my previous spinach complain know that I do like cooked spinach. It is raw spinach that bothers me. Now, obviously I hope that those people who do enjoy raw spinach and as a result, have e-coli, feel better soon. Until then, I shall thank e-coli for saving me from my spinach fate.

2 Weddings & A Reception

2006-09-25T21:12:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was so much fun. I went to two weddings on Saturday, one at 12:30, the second on 3. Both weddings were at St. Dominick's church in San Francisco. How could I have been so lucky? Well, I was only invited to the 3:00 wedding. My friends Chris & Michelle got married on Saturday to each other. (If you think going to the wedding of one friend is fun, you really need to go to the wedding of two friends.) However, my friend Lance was double dipping in Catholic wedding masses. Why not accompany him? I had never before attended a Roman Catholic wedding before. You know how I do things? Much like my grandfather, if one is good, two are better. Now, Ukrainian Catholic weddings are a different story. I remember attending many a Ukrainian Catholic wedding. One might not be able to understand the ceremony, but they sure do have a great party.

Both weddings were amazing (although, my friends wedding was much better than the first one). Then off to the reception. Lance was the greeter, so we were the first people there. Suddenly this man came by. I'm the DJ, he says. "Are you going to play good music this evening?" I ask. "Of course, he said." "Are you going to play the hooky poky and/or the chicken dance?" "They are on the 'no' list, but I personally like them." Alright, this DJ is going to be good. It isn't my friends fault that they can't adhere to the Ukranian way. One can't fault them for not being Ukranian. Oh what a night! I had had confirmation that there would be an open bar a long time and I took full advantage of it. The DJ was excellent. He played the beer barrel polka. I looked at my friend Lance and said "do you polka?" "Of course, I polka. However, I only know the fast polka that needs lots of room." Apparently people were impressed by the fact that we were the only non-Wisconsonites doing the polka. My ancestors would be so proud.

I haven't had this much fun in 10 months (since my last open bar). Not since my Professional Diploma graduation last November have I had such a great time. Good food, good friends, good music. How can you go wrong?

Spontaneous Sarah

2006-09-19T21:50:00.000-07:00

Today I did something I would not normally do. My friend Lance IMed me this morning. "Sarah. Instead of going to Dublin in November, what do you think about going to Munch?" Hmm. . . Munich, I like Munich. I've thought about going to Germany this year. I always thought it would be with Elizabeth, but that's okay. So I reply, "Munich. I might consider it." "Do you have Veteran's Day Off?" I think I have Veterans Day off. "Return ticket, direct from SFO, over the 3 day weekend is $525. What do you think?" $525 return? Why, I'm paying that to get home for Thanksgiving. To Kansas City. In the United States. What is that to go overseas to Munich for 48 hours? In the big range scheme of things, it is nothing. So as of this morning, I, Sarah, have spontaneously decided to go to Munich, Germany for less than 48 hours. Anybody want anything during my whirlwind trip? I can hear the conversations now. What did you do this weekend Sarah? Why, I went to Munich. That's right. Germany. Maybe I should start learning Deutsch.

Imaginations in San Francisco

2006-09-17T22:02:00.000-07:00

Today, once again, after last night's cabbie experience (see previous blog), I got to see a San Franciscan in rare form. Of course, this incident takes place on the bus. Where else can one see the salt of the Earth (that is allowed to roam free in the public realm)? There is a man sitting at the front of the bus. Most likely homeless, definitely crazy. As I sit down, much like a car wreck, I didn't want to look but couldn't look away. This man, crazy as he was, was marching to the beat of his own drum. In this case, it was his air guitar. That man was rocking on his air guitar. No lyrics, but there he goes air guitaring away. However, suddenly his imagination took a different course. Now he had a fake gun and was shooting fake people (aiming at nobody in particular). He was surrounded. Never you fear oh loyal reader. He was also skilled in the art of karate and proceeded to demonstrate his moves on the bus. I know I have an avid imagination, but if I start pretending on the bus, would somebody stop me? This is San Francisco, after all, so I doubt anybody would think twice.

Tonight's Episode: Hasidic Judaism

2006-09-17T21:48:00.000-07:00

Tonight, my landlady Starr was having a dinner party. No problem. I can help straighten up some things and clean up. I thought Starr would just have her party in the dining room. Now, I did get a sampler of her filafal last night. I did not think I would be so lucky as to partake this evening. However, as I came home this evening, who do I find but an eclectic group of people in the house. Various ages, sex, sexualities, etc. They have one thing in common - they are all Jewish. No problem. I love all religions. I can blend. After dinner, the group were going to watch some movies. The time is approximately 6:30 in the evening. Starr says, hey Sarah, you really should watch this first movie. I think you'll really enjoy it. Equipped with my glass of wine, I sit for my cinematic feast. The two movies were watched were about Jewish people assimilating into American culture (through the analogy of Barbie, who was invented by Jewish woman) and then another humorous movie about Hasidic Judaism. After each movie, the group had a discussion. Now, I have done this amongst my Christian friends before, but I found it so very interesting to here about Judaism from Jews. Of course I put in my own two cents about assimilation based on my knowledge of my best friend's experience in Skokie and of my colleague Ziv. Obviously, as a Christian, I believe in Jesus Christ. However, can you imagine a world where we are all the same? What would we have to learn? I believe that if people in today's society would just try something new and listen to another religion speak about itself, I feel we would have more acceptance and peace today. Isn't that the ultimate goal?

This Episode of Crazy San Francisco Brought to You By My Taxi Driver

2006-09-17T01:45:00.000-07:00

Oh loyal readers, I know that you have been missing my random San Francisco encounters. In fact, I was starting to think that either 1) San Franciscans had become normal or 2) I have adapted to the San Francisco lifestyle. Tonight, my faith in this odd city was re-instilled. I was out in the Mission (Spanish District) with my housemate Victor. When the last dog was hung, we went to hail a cab. Took us less than 30 seconds (what can I say, I have a gift). We get in. As we start to drive, my experience with Irish cabbies takes over, and I start chatting with the cabbie. "It was a gorgeous day outside today. Did you get a chance to enjoy it?" Now, instead of a normal, "yes, it sure was," or "no, was it really?", the cabbie replies "I didn't get a chance to enjoy it. I was too busy with Bush and the destruction of the free world." Now, the cabbie, itching for an excuse to speak to somebody, starts discussing something about politics and political theories. I must admit that as soon as the cabbie started discussing politics, I stopped actually listening to what he had to say. However, every time he wanted to make a point, he would pause and then flash the interior lights of the vehicle and say "Are you ready?" Then, at one point, he mentioned an author he was reading and said that my housemate Victor (who is in the front seat, by the way) should read it. Then, suddenly, he pulls down his visor and grabs a notebook and a pen and proceeds to write the name down. As we pull up to the house, the cabbie says "I don't discuss politics just to fill the time on your ride home. I tell you this because people are dying out there and this is serious." To think, I got a ride home and a lesson in conspiracy theories! Only in San Francisco.

I Love Offsites

2006-09-13T22:07:00.000-07:00

This evening was my company offsite. For those of you who do not know, every quarter, every division within my company is allocated a certain amount of money for team building experiences outside of the work place. This evening, our offsite was a Bay Cruise. Of course, even though the idea was not to make this a booze cruise, it was. The theme of this event was a Celebrity Event. Yours truly was unable to come up with a celebrity that didn't have to be explained out of her existing wardrobe. I thought Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, but I lacked an all black leather suit. I thought Gweneth Paltrow in that pink dress she wore when she won an Oscar. No pink dress. Somebody said I should be a model. In my head, I went as Renee Zellwegger, but it is difficult to look that way. Now, there was a competition for best costume. The winner was dressed as Prince (as in, the artist formerly known as). My friend Ashley went as a pregnant Brittany Spears in her "Oops I did it again outfit." Only with a drink in hand was the outfit truly complete. Now, I did have this idea as well. My idea would have taken it one step further and created a cardboard card with a baby doll in my lap. Let's see, another friend was Richard Simons. A group of people went as The Life Aquatic. There was Bjork in that tragic dead swan outfit. A nice Hugh Hefner. Now, this is just a preview of what is to come for Halloween. I only hope it is as much fun as the booze cruise.

A Degree in Mad Scientry

2006-09-10T19:49:00.000-07:00

Today, in a conversation with my brother, my brother mentioned that he couldn't wait to graduate from college so that he could just stay in his own home without being told to go anywhere. Well, I said, you have to do something. You can either work from home or become a mad scientist. Wait! Wouldn't that be a great degree. What was your major? Mad Scientry, bwah ha ha ha ha ha. What type of classes do you believe that major would contain? I believe that majoring in Mad Scientry would be a lot like attending school at Hogwarts. There must an 'Evil Laugh 301' course. Not just 101. Oh no. The proper evil laugh capable of rendering even the strongest of men crouching in the fetal position needs at least 3 courses. Laughs could include 'bwah ha ha ha ha,' 'te he he he he he,' 'ho ho ho' (Santa could be mad, he does only go out once a year),' and mixture. A mixture laugh is too mad even for a blog. 'Evil Laugh' requires both a written and an oral exam. Questions would include 'you've just crippled the world's largest power source and have just delivered your ransom demands, which laugh do you perform?' a) bwah ha ha with a slight crescendo that corresponds with the matching music. b) a giddy te he he he that expresses how cleverly mad you truly are. c) HA ha HA ha while stroking your pet. d) all of the above. Also include a written response as to why you have made that selection.

Another class shall be 'Animals.' All Mad Scientry Majors shall be required to have either a cat, a bunny, or a hawk. The animals do not have to be gift in any way. They are only for show. Granted, if your cat was also evil, you would get higher marks. A hawk would be pretty sweet because then you could release it and say 'fly my precious fly.' Now, let us not forget 'Diabolical Scheming 401.' This is an advanced course only for those who plan on continuing this major. This requires upper level math and analytical thinking. Questions include 'You are planning to take over the world. With which country do you start with? List 4 countries in order to take over and your reason.' Obviously, country number one would be France, because they are French. However, should you put Russia, you automatically fail. One must figure out how to take over the world without Russia (unless you happen to become the President, in which case, Russia is a given. It is not a takeover. It is a dictatorship.) There also needs to be a 'Fast Escape' course. One must be able to always escape from Inspector Gadget, Superman, Batman, the police. Then there is 'Accounting.' It seems so out of the blue, and yet, one must not get busted for tax evasion. Oh no. You may be evil, but you still must pay your taxes.

If you were going to major in Mad Scientry, what classes would you include? I personally think it would be a really fun, but hard major. At least I already have the laugh down pat. Bwah ha ha ha ha. . . .

My Introduction to Cheat Books

2006-09-03T19:07:00.000-07:00

Did anybody ever play the game King's Quest V? King's Quest V not only provided entertainment and problem solving skills. It also provided my family with valuable learning lessons and stories. For those of you ignorant people who had the misfortune of not playing King's Quest, King's Quest follows the quest of King Graham to redeem his honor and reclaim his thrown. This game also introduced me to cheat books. Well, I should say that my mother introduced me to cheat books, courtesy of this game. King's Quest V involved a lot of processes that needed to be done in order. Oh, not only that, but you only had one chance to throw a shoe that you retrieved in the desert (while avoiding the Ali Baba raiders and getting into their temple) at the rat outside of the mill. If you missed that rat, once you got locked up in the mill, the game suddenly ended. Or, even worse, once you were in the evil Hansel and Gretel witch forest, having destroyed the witch, if you didn't have the honey you had procured from the desert with which to lure the gnomes (with music that sounded identical to the Double Mint Double Mint oh for the fun of it, Double Mint, Double Mint gum commercial) out of hiding, you were doomed to an eternity of circles. It is at this episode that my mother broke. Never before having dialed an 800 number, Mom had to call to find out how to get out of this darn foresty circle. Then, she had to call to get out of aforementioned mill. Finally, she had to break and buy my family's first gaming cheat book. This set a precedent for solving all unsolved and frustrating gaming secrets. I also now understand why I do not allow myself to play video games. I am like my mother. Unable to just stop when I am thwarted. Instead I continued to think, one more level, one more level. Everybody should try to play King's Quest V. With its groovy Windows 95 graphics and catchy music and puzzles, it is the game for everyone!

My Theory on Quests

2006-09-01T19:13:00.000-07:00

On Monday, I was watching National Treasure at my friends Chris and Michelle's apartment. Don't you think that life would be more exciting if everything were a quest. Not a serious annoying and frustrating quest, like when you can't find your keys or an address. No no no. Rather, just turning the average mundane chore into a quest. For example, consider grocery shopping. Wouldn't it be exciting to grocery shop with a torch. Hmm. . . I believe the parsnips are that way. Lead the way oh trusty torch. I believe that the addition of the torch is key to any quest. Quests cannot take place outside. They always seem to take place inside. That is where most mundane activities take place anyway. If it is outside, you are probably on an adventure. The two, although they seem similar, are actually quite different. But I digress. Then, for every good quest, there should also be some type of non vocal signals, often done using the hands. You know. The type of silent signal that involves pointing two fingers towards your eyes and then to the eyes of your friends, and then gesturing which was to go. It is like being able to double team long lines without having some really really slow person from acing you out. Think of how cool you would be! And how much more efficient you would work. However, the risk of having a quest is having bad guys. We can avoid that by having an escape route and a plan B. If the escape route leads us to the castle (with a moat, see previous post), then that is a piece of cake. There always should be a plan B though. Somebody dressed up like a bum outside, just to be able to provide a distraction. So, as tomorrow is Saturday, and it is my shopping day, if you hear about a girl in San Francisco who suddenly has raided Trader Joe's with my partner in crime, my torch, and a plan B, don't be too envious. Get out there and try it yourself!

My First Mugging

2006-08-30T22:12:00.000-07:00

That's right. This evening, while walking home from work at 9 p.m., I experienced my first mugging attempt. Perhaps this was a good dry run for later as this attempt was performed by 14 year old girls. I actually am really quite frazzled by this attempt. Not necessarily by the action, but rather regarding my reaction. I was walking swiftly down, when suddenly I felt somebody pulling my hair. Instead of thinking 'oh my gosh, somebody is trying to mug me,' I think, ' hmmm. . . that must be somebody I know.' I turn to see 2 14 year old girls laughing while trying to pull my bag. Here is where I wish my actions had differed. Now was my chance to put all of my Notre Dame self defense training in to action. I could reasonably poke them between the eyes and then col cock them with my 10 pound bag (which incidentally only contained 2 dollars. It didn't even have the iPod in it). What do I do? I bat them away and tell them that 'this is not funny.' They laughed harder and tried again. Once again I said, in a more agitated voice, 'this is not funny.' Now I am walking across the street with them laughing behind me. I really wish they hadn't been laughing. I really wish that I had bloodied their noses a little bit. What 14 year old girls say, hmm. . Betty, what shall we do tonight? Oh, I know! Let's go and try to mug people. Oh what great fun! Then again, on a lighter note, better 14 year old girls than big 300 pound goons. Also, perhaps I should feel honored. With my $300 watch, my designer purse, iPod, and Ann Taylor bag and clothes, I officially am and appear to be a yuppie. Who cares that I only had $2 in my purse. I am a yuppie worth a mugging attempt. Although, in light of my slow reaction time, next time, I shall bring my mace!

Aye Aye Popeye

2006-08-29T20:39:00.000-07:00

You know, as a child, I always heard that everybody hated spinach. It was the 'in' thing to hate. In true peer pressure form, everybody hated spinach. How ever did spinach get that bad rap? Years went by and I never could figure it out. Mom, in her infinite manipulation to get us to love all of God's vegetables, had been cooking spinach for us for years. It was never that bad. Granted, it wasn't my favorite. But add a little butter, and it was really quite tasty. It was also fortified in iron, I might add. After years of wondering, I finally realize to what type of spinach people disliked. It couldn't possible be cooked spinach. Oh no. I honestly had never realized that people ate spinach raw! Courtesy of my place of employment's free food, their desire to add spinach to every salad they create, and my laziness to actually get a non pre-packaged salad, I have discovered that I loathe raw spinach. Loathe it with a seething hatred. Months have I eaten spinach salads. (Why not just get something different? That is a different story for a different time, so just accept it for now.) Then today, in a stroke of genius, I tried something new. I drenched said nasty lettuce in salad dressing! Salad dressing totally numbs the nasty raw spinach taste. It makes it tolerable. Moral of today's story: suck up the extra calories and apply salad dressing to all of the salad vegetables that you dislike. It is like a French bath. It doesn't fix the problem, but it does mask it quite well.

Did Skull & Crossbones Belts Really Exist During the Renaissance Festival?

2006-08-27T16:45:00.000-07:00

Today t'wast the Renaissance Faire in the Park of the Golden Gate in San Francisco. Twas a gay and merry time. Just as in days of yore, ye people of San Francisco dined upon hearty food. 9 outeth 10 Historians concur that the funnel cake plays an important role in days of yore. Master Lance and I skipped through the faire on our quest. What t'wast the quest, ye might ask? I shalt telleth you. Our quest, if we chose to accepteth it, was to determine which of the cloth-ed garbed masters were actually part of the faire and who attendeth just for their own pleasure. The ropeth oft areas did not containeth the people. Rennies roameth around the park and on to the bus (also found in days of yore). There even t'wast a Jack Sparrow character. Question: is somebody liketh that goode or merely a pretender? Also, did skull and crossbones belts existeth during the Renaissance Festival? What about motorized wheelchairs? I believith that the historical accuracy mayeth have been lacking. Of course, ye wench laying upon the ground did writ the word 'tips' on her bossom with arrows pointing toward her cleavage. Me thinkest that is classy. Many a bossom wast close to escaping to freedom. Wee children cover your eyes. Whilst the faire was not as goode as in the City of Kansas, ye persons attendeth more than made up for it. And to think a full Rennie outfit could be mine for $99. They are in need of a cooke. . . maybe next year.

Is it Scrubbing Day?

2006-08-25T21:22:00.000-07:00

Did anybody ever watch The New Adventures of Pippi Longstockings? It was definitely one of my favorite films from my childhood. My best friend Andrea and I would skate on the ice on the playground singing "Scrubbing Day." After years of searching, tonight, the search has come to an end. I am now the proud owner of this DVD. Is it wrong that I really want to get scrub brushes and tie them to my feet, and then, clean the floor? I have wood floors. I'm sure there are scrub brushes somewhere. Just because I'm 24 doesn't mean that I have to use the staunchy and adult method of cleaning. Maybe tomorrow shall be Splunk Day and I shall leap over the furniture, avoiding the floor. I'll keep you posted.

To Long Lost Friends!

2006-08-25T21:11:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, I met up with an old friend of mine from college whom I hadn't seen in 2 years. The reunion story is as follows: I was attending a Notre Dame Technology Forum a month ago. I am standing there, eating my hor d'oeurves, and chatting with these young alumni (01 and 02 grads). Two of the girls were NCAA athletes. We figured that we must know some of the same people. I'm standing there with another '04 grad who I had just met and one of the girls turns to us and says, well, maybe you knew Ken Henisey. In true non-subtle Sarah form, I exclaimed, "of course I know Ken!" However, it was a little louder than I had actually meant it to be. Really loud, in fact. I think I scared the girl. Then I said, "oops, sorry, I didn't mean to say that outloud. " She turns to me and says, "well, Ken is my brother. " Ken, my best friend Elizabeth, Elise, Ricky and I use to have music major minor dinners (MMM) all the time in college. This past Thursday, I finally got to get together with Ken after 2 years. The last time I saw him, was the last time all 5 of us were together before Elizabeth and I departed for Ireland. Seeing him again last night reminded me of how much I missed and loved hanging out with this guy. It was so refreshing and so easy to pick up, just as if no time had passed. Albeit you do have to ask the standard 'so what are you up to now' questions. It makes me wonder if I am able to pick up old relationships with old friends. To all those who do not believe that long lost friendships can be rekindled, try it. I raise my wine glass to long lost friends.

To Long Lost Friends!

2006-08-25T21:11:00.000-07:00

New Meaning to an Unlisted Number

2006-08-25T19:55:00.000-07:00

Like most people, when I see that an unfamiliar mobile number is calling me, I let it go through to voicemail. I know that I can just listen to the voicemail, avoid that awkward "hello?" and then give them a call back. Today, just this thing occurred. When I dialed my voicemail, I receive the message: "Hi Ms. Ewing, This is wah wah wah. I wanted to call you about the Notre Dame game next week. Give me a call when you get the chance. I hope you're having a lovely evening. Ciao." I have no idea who this caller is, so I listen to the voicemail again. Once more I do not catch the name. I repeat this approximately 5 times. Finally, I've got it! It's my brother's friend Chris. I have no idea why Chris is calling me from William & Mary on a new mobile number, but that does not really matter. So I call. We engage the normal pleasantries, and then when asked what I was doing, I said I was walking home. To which the male with whom I was speaking said, "well, isn't it a little cold outside?" Wait a minute! That isn't Ian's friend Chris. So to whom am I speaking? I try everything to figure it out. To no avail. Fortunately, I am saved by the horn. One of the guys I know from the bus (Dirk) is driving his son home. I quickly end the call. When I get home, I listen to the voice message another 3 times. Wait. Maybe it is my friend Chris from San Francisco? I call back, trying in vein to figure out who this person is. Finally, I just ask. "Okay, you're going to hate me, " I hesitantly say. "But who am I speaking to. I honestly have no idea." To which I get a hilarious laugh. Indeed it was my friend Chris from San Francisco. Another crisis averted, albeit not my most suave phone conversation, I live to speak another day.

Is a Man's Home Truly His Castle?

2006-08-25T19:48:00.000-07:00

I love having lunch with the guys from my group at work. Whenever we have lunch, we always end up discussing super powers, favorite cartoons (both past AND present), Notre Dame football, etc. Well, yesterday, in the midst of one of these odd conversations, I had a thought of the day. They say that a man's home is his castle. However, is it really a castle without a moat? Think about it. Say that you are going over to your friend's house. You have never been there before. As you approach, what greets you? A moat filled with alligators (standard accessories for any quality moat) and a drawbridge. Do you a) tip toe backwards, hoping that you haven't been seen, b) approach with caution, but reaching for the dagger concealed within your boot, c) go and get your trusty steed on which you can charge across the drawbridge, creating a memorable entrance, d) immediately start planning your attack. The possibilities are endless with a moat. Who needs to spend money on high tech and cost security systems when you have a moat? They say that good fences make good neighbors. Well, they only use fences because they do not have moats. But remember, it's all good fun till somebody loses an eye.

What Would You Do if a 50 Year Old Man Invited You to a Concert?

2006-08-23T21:12:00.000-07:00

Saturday was a completely randomly enjoyable day. Whilst seeing Little Miss Sunshine, drinking milkshakes, and eating sushi was enjoyable, it really was the evening that proved to be the most entertaining. Now, my friends Lance and Justin and I were hanging out at Lance's apartment watching videos he made in high school. How can you resist the making (in multiple takes) of "Backstreet Boys: A Mockumentary"? You just can't. By the end, all 3 of us were doing the whole dance as well. Gotta love guys who are not ashamed to dance like the Backstreet Boys. What happened next was completely unexpected. When Justin was staying at the hotel while interviewing at my company, he met a high ranking person who works for my company. Let us call him Joe (for the protection of the innocent.) While chatting, Justin had mentioned how much he wished he had concert tickets for the next evening's show in Berkeley. Joe, as luck would have it, not only had a spare ticket to said concert, but also offered Justin his place in which to crash afterwards. Now, when Justin revealed this story, little bells started to go off in my head. Single, lonely, 50-year old man who lives with his pets. Highly suspect, so I asked, "was that awkward?" To which Justin replied, "yeah, it was a little awkward." As the evening progressed, Justin continuously checked his watch to ensure that he could still catch the train back to Berkeley, so he could pick up his stuff from Joe's house and crash with another friend. Finally, Lance said, "Justin, I'll just drive you to Berkely." Justin didn't immediately accept this offer but rather, he continued to ponder. "What if," he said with hint of eagerness, "both of you came with me. Then it wouldn't be so awkward AND I would have a reason to leave." [Insert log pause]. "Or, I could just take the train." So, at 11:00 p.m., we loaded up into the car, drove to Berkely and had drinks at Joe's house. It was SO random, but really fun. Today's Lesson: One does not need to plan out their day, but rather wait for the day to plan itself.

The House of Fleas

2006-08-23T21:03:00.000-07:00

So, my housemate Bernie's cats recently had fleas. As a result, the whole house suddenly became The House of Fleas. Fleas everywhere! Not only would Bernie not clean his room (aka 'the Mothership') but he also would neither take responsibility for the fleas or clean up after them. Needless to say, Starr and Bernie had been having some conflict. So, when I got a mesage from Starr saying that "I've changed the locks on the house. I know that you don't have the keys, so just call Simon when you arrive and he'll let you in," I really wasn't that surprised. Then again, I figured that maybe every 6 months when the moon was full, Starr changed the locks. Who knows? She does go by the name of 'Starr.' So I start walking home and who do I see? Bernie! I wave and continue walked, cursing in my head. As I see him start to do a u-turn and shout my name, I immediately go into homeless mode, ie. I pretend that I am deaf. Suddenly, he pulls parallel to me. "Sarah. I've been locked out the house. I've already called the police and am going to call them again, but I'll wait until you get home. Would you like a ride?" Internally: Hell no! I refuse to be used as a sacrifice to the house so that when they open the door to let me in, they let you in as well. Externally: No thanks Bernie. I really need the walk. Fortunately, he believes me, and drives away. Immediately I change my path. But oh no! I am supposed to meet my friend Michelle at my house. Immediatley I call and leave a message. "DO NOT APPROACH THE HOUSE. THERE IS DRAMA IN THE HOUSE. Meet me at the Blood Center." The Blood Center is the closest building to my house, but it sounds even more shady in retrospect.

There truly is nothing like having the police at one's home. Apparently, Bernie left a written note saying he would not be paying rent that month, so Starr evicted him. And now the fleas are gone. The excitment truly never ends at 921 Central. One would think I lived here just for the stories.