Alison eluded to this picture in her blog...

Carrie and I have often talked about taking an "Anne Lamotte Tour" of the bay area, so when she presented me with an official tour guide last Saturday morning, I was ecstatic! T.O., you've done it again--thanks for spending so much time to prepare the day! For those unaware of Anne Lamotte's brilliance, it is absolutely necessary for you to read Traveling Mercies as soon as possible.

The day's events started by traveling out to St. Quentin and attempting to find the beach that Lamotte writes about. After being 25% successful, we drove out to Sam's Cafe in Tiburon. Although we managed to spend more cash on afternoon bloody marys than lunch itself, we also managed to poke fun at every yuppie-sail-boater drinking the same $7.50 bloody mary as the rest of us.

Enter: Fun Guns.
(A recurring theme)

A bit of walking around Sausalito (and encouraging Claire to buy an incredible dress!), we strayed off the tour guide path and traveled to the Marin Headlands, to check another view of the Bay.

We got tired.

(You can call those "Tired Guns")

After a bit of resting (and salt-water-taffy-eating), we finished up the day at one of the best shows I've seen in a very, very long time. I've never laughed so hard at someone else's misery...everyone, Get Mortified....especially at The Make-Out Room. Although they do have the worst decor I've seen, it's still pretty effing cool.

See what cool things happen when you turn 27?!

FYI, I have officially entered into my late-twenties, as of April 22, 2006. I am sooooo much cooler at age 27 than I ever have been in my whole life. Full blog with details of the birthday adventures will come soon...as soon as T.O. sends the photos. You should bug her about that.

One Foot...

Two Foot...

Red Foot...

Blue Foot!

(Milking it for all it's worth...)

This makes me disappointed, angry, sad, outraged, and disgusted. I'm not sure what the Legislators are thinking or how they think this will help the school districts. Nearly 12 hours after reading this newbrief (thanks to Jillian), I am still disgusted and am having a hard time expressing my opinions on the subject in a coherent manner.

If I ever have children and I happen to live in Berkeley at that time, I will send my kids to Ecole Bilingue de Berkeley. Of course, the possibility of that ever happening is about 1%, since my desire to birth children is small, at best, and my willingness to stay in Berkeley is about the same. But really, who cares?

This whole idea stems from the car ride from my apartment to All Soul's today. Nat, the leader of the infamous "Angel Band," picked me up to go the Good Friday service. On the way there, he explained that his daughters, ages 5-ish and 9-ish and also in the car with us, attend Ecole Bilingue. Shortly thereafter, the girls started singing kid songs in French. It was damn near the cutest thing I've ever heard, and you can quote me on that.

(And now's the time you make fun of me for being in "Angel Band." It's ok, I give you permission.)

Things have not been quite as disastrous as I thought they might be today. I must admit, I laid in bed for atleast an hour deciding whether or not it was worth it to get my ass downstairs to make coffee, knowing full well that I'd have to go back upstairs sooner or later. Finally admitting that I am an addict and that I must have my coffee, I made my way downstairs with my woven handbag slung around my neck, packed to the brim with water bottles, books, computer, Vicodin--you know, the important stuff. I've managed to get up and down the stairs multiple times since then and even found myself outside to check on the status of the mail and grab something from my car, which has been sitting, oh so patiently, on the street since Sunday. Let's not forget the fact that I even managed to take a few steps without crutches AND I didn't fall! (Shh, don't tell...)

On a different note, I purchased a ticket to go to the Vale of Paradise for a wedding in May. So, if you live in Chicagoland/Northwest Indiana, be prepared for me to ask to crash on your couch May 11-15. Jamie and I already have plans to wreak havoc on Valparaiso, even some of the other boozers won't be around.

Oh happy day.

I want coffee.

It's not that I just want coffee, it's that I want coffee without having to make my way downstairs. I'm not lazy...I'm just....lazy? Hmm. Going down the stairs is a lot easier than coming up the stairs, but once down, the only way to use the bathroom is to go back up the stairs eventually. And let's face it, after drinking coffee, going back upstairs is inevitable.

Any suggestions?

Sexy, right?

Yesterday at 6 am, I took my final "normal" steps on my right foot for about 3-4 weeks while walking to the surgical services desk at Alta Bates Hospital here in Berkeley. Talk about "walking to your own death..." No longer is my foot burdened with the aches and pains of having a bunion (thanks Dad, I owe it all to you) ... now it's just full of the aches and pains of having had a "Right Foot Bunionectomy and First Metatarsal Osteotomy," the use of crutches, and having to lay in bed/on my couch for atleast a week, maybe more. Thankfully, my roomate is awesome (I may have mentioned this before?!) and has done everything possible to make sure that I am completely set up and comfortable in my room--we're talking bringing up a cooler of ice so I can continue to ice the wounds while she's at work, programming the coffee maker so all I have to do is push the button and it's made, bringing my CD player as closet to my bed as possible, and buying loads of fruits and veggies in order to reduce the negative effects of the Vicodin I'm taking. She bought me flowers and everything.

Not to mention, helping with the daily crossword puzzle and sympathizing with me when I told her about the nurse who thought she'd try to get the IV into my arm, even if she didn't think it would go through. Whatever.

The point is, I'm laid up and you can expect lots of blogs (I think), instant messages and text messages asking about crossword puzzle clues, random facts about Mormons (I bought a new book!) and instant replies to e-mails...

This post is a few days late, but last Tuesday's adventure to The Starry Plough for open-mic night was...well...delightful? That's probably not the best word to describe it...

I had been to the Plough once before, back in November or so, to play at the open-stage. I had a fabulous experience (I was given an extra song and the host said, "man, that girl can sing!") and wanted to go back again. Given the fact that I didn't have to work at Peet's the next morning, as had become standard, I gathered up my friends Claire, Carrie, and Jen, and headed to the Plough.

Guitar in hand, Carrie and I arrived at 7 pm to grab some food and make sure I was there in time to sign up for a relatively early spot. We were there plenty early, alright, but apparently I don't know the secret code for when to stand up and form a line. Before I knew it, I was being pushed around and had atleast 5 people cut in front of me to sign up. When I finally made my way up to the sign-up sheet, the next available space was #11 and that, folks, is mighty late for an old lady like me. The good news is that it forced me to sit and listen to Jerry. Ohh Jerry. . .

I have only met one other person in my life who may have been as crude as Jerry. But atleast Dan isn't crude in this same sort of "my goal in life is to make people vomit when the listen to my song lyrics" type of way that Jerry seems to embrace. The man stands tall and proudly when he sings. He looks like your dad, sorta. He looks like he's a really nice man--which, don't get me wrong, he very well could be. But I suppose that in order to surprise people, you've got to create some sort of illusion, right? His first song was fine. I didn't catch the lyrics, except for the fact that the person he was singing about had a really long name. Whatever, who cares. The second song, though. God, is it even ok to post the lyrics to his song?

The first verse set the scene. He has obviously been hurt by a lot of women and is going to take out his frustrations, not on the women who have done him wrong, but...dear God...but by taking it out on their grandmas! The chorus was simply, "Oh yeah, oh yeah, I'm gonna get your grandma!" There was mention of waiting until the orderly leaves, turning out the lights, and making grandma his bitch (complete with a pause in guitar strumming so that he could grab his own 50 year-old crotch). As if that wasn't enough to have every audience member's jaw drop to the floor, imagine the look on their faces when Jerry mentioned that he was going to put his hand down grandma's depends and that seeing her dentures on the night stand reminded him that "no teeth would work out nicely." (Although, to be fair, I'm sure he didn't use proper English in that sentence and said "work out nice" instead. I just can't bring myself to write it out that way.)

Are you thoroughly disgusted yet?

Claire has more highlights on her page and I highly suggest checking those out. My performance was mediocre, at best, but that's ok...it'll just help me to surprise people even more if I choose to return in a few months.

My friend Claire and I had quite the adventure on Saturday afternoon. We made plans to go see the International Arts and Crafts exhibit at the deYoung in San Francisco, thinking that it would be a quiet afternoon of looking at old furniture and craftsman style artsy fartsy stuff. Thankfully, when Claire and I make plans, they rarely turn out as planned.

We started the afternoon with a bit of an errand to run--my rent was due and I had been put in charge of making sure it got to the post drop while Carrie was out of town, so that we could avoid being evicted. After scouring the west side of Shattuck Ave and deciding that postal workers everywhere are encouraging homelessness by not putting any post drops on that particular side of the street, I was finally able to drop my rent check 2 blocks from the freeway entrace. Yeah, homelessness avoided and we were on our way!

The exhibit we went to see was nice, but the real fun set in when we found ourselves in the oceanic exibit (or something like that), where we quickly turned into 5 year-old giggling school girls laughing at the masks and attempting to make the same expressions. Watch out deYoung, I think we might be back to take more photos, just so we can create captions like "Miranda on a bad hair day!" or "Claire with her favorite boyfriend." Oh wait, we have that one...

We left the museum with smirks galore and probably a few pissed off people who would have enjoyed the exibit much more if those annoying 20-somethings hadn't gotten in the way.

Nothing would top the day off more than a walk and drive through Golden Gate Park. I was told that there were buffalo in the park somewhere and with a bit of luck, we found them. I jumped out of the car to take a quick photo....then realized that I've seen buffalo plenty of times while living in South Dakota. I guess it's just so much more of a shock to see buffalo roaming in San Francisco. Thank you, whoever though of that. You've truly made my life complete...

After leaving the park, we encountered the world's worst cab driver. The guy crossed traffic, blocked traffic, attempted to cut in front of us when he figured out that he couldn't go anywhere (way to go Claire for not letting him in!), sped up to us, honked his horn, and flipped us off. Wha???? Jackass. That's all I have to say about you. If you see this cab number on the back of a cab in the City (yeah, like that's actually possible), please, cut him off and flip him the finger.

Our day would not have been complete without an "It's-It," a San Francisco delight and a first for both Claire and myself. Rarely found in places other than dirty corner stores, an It's-It is an ice cream sandwich dipped in chocolate! Mmmm...ice cream.

The only thing left to say is this: To make a quiet day a phenomenal, random, and anything but boring day, give us a call. We embrace the awkward and intensify the mediocre days.