Category: My Life

One of my favorite love poems:

I wish I were close

To you as the wet skirt of

A salt girl to her body.

I think of you always.

Akahito

12:22 p.m.

I’ve been doing some impromptu modeling around the office, which tends to happen when you work in a building full of trade publications. Anyway, I finally (finally!) have my very own banner ad:

It’s for the WEB2001 Conference, and as you can see, I’m totally a guru. You’ll also find an itty bitty me on the catalog cover:

And you can kind of see my butt on the June edition of Intelligent Enterprise.

11:14 a.m.

Evan says:
“If one were to try, I bet one could discern at what points in the last three years I’ve had a girlfriend based, not on the content of my blog, but simply by analyzing the number nights in a given month I’m making posts between the hours of 1:00 AM and 5:00 AM. I let you figure out the correlation. (2:04 AM)”

In other words, he’s free man, ladies. But for how long? Let the frenetic email flirtations begin!

11:22 a.m.

A small slice of my 4th of July family reunion:

Me: You’ve got a big hunk of something in your teeth.

My sister Raina: (Smiles winningly, and moves her face closer to mine.)

Me: Ugh! Stop it.

Raina: It’s sexy.

Me: (Running my finger seductively over my peeling sun burnt shoulder.) No, this is sexy. Mmmmm.

Raina: I’m going to keep one of these teeth things at home, so I can have one ready when I go out.

My cousin Ryan: You’ve got a collection of dried chives.

Me: I think Madonna had one of those, hers was 14kt. gold, though. She’s into those felt syphilitic moles now.

Ryan: There’s a whole line of possibilities. Like fake boogers.

All: Gahh!

Me: 14kt. gold fake boogers!

Raina: That reminds me! I have a story.

Me: Do we want to hear this?

Raina: It’s not about boogers.

My cousin Ben: If it’s not about boogers, I don’t wanna hear it.

Raina: So I come home from work and there are tampons all over my lawn. I guess the kids found a box of my tampons and they were playing with them. I’m running around totally embarrassed scooping up tampons before the neighbors see.

Me: What the hell was the baby sitter doing?

Raina: She probably just thought they were playing out front. Anyway, Trevor comes outside the next morning and says, “Where are all my pop guns?”

11:10 a.m.

I just came across a magazine ad for women’s deodorant that screams,”TURN SHY RECLUSIVE ARMPITS INTO VIVACIOUS DIVAS.” Sort of makes you jealous of all those vivacious-armpit girls.

11:50 a.m.

7.11.01

How perceptions are formed:

My hands felt sticky, so I went to wash them. There was a woman plucking her eyebrows in front of the mirror. I washed my hands and then figured that I might as well use the bathroom while I was there. When I came back out, she was still plucking away. I washed my hands and left. Hence forth, she’ll think of me as that wacko OCD girl who has to wash her hands before and after peeing. But she’s the one plucking her eyebrows at work. Freakshow.

3 p.m.

Two people I don’t particularly want to know better:

  • The woman on the freeway with the “This car protected by angels” license plate frame.
  • The guy who was chosen to be on MTV’s “Becoming Blink 182” and said, “In my whole life 19 years nothing has come close to matching this. I don’t know if anything ever will.”1:42 p.m.

    • Et tu, Webvan? Oh, how the Web hath deserted me. I feel so alone.

    11:08 a.m.

    Waiting for the fireworks at Fisherman’s Warf, I was watching the kids around me. The little boy next to me (not yet three years old) had a few of those white tissue-paper bits that explode when you throw them against the ground. He would get up on his tippy toes, reach one arm up as far as it would go, then slam the tissue paper against the pavement. As his total height�including the reach of his arm–was no more than about three feet, he wasn’t always successful. But when he was rewarded with a small pop, he’d scream:

    FIE-YYAAAAH! FIE-YAHHH!

    Then he’d tug on his parent’s pants, mimic the great force with which he’d heaved the tiny explosive and say, “Fieyah go BOOM!”

    10:59 a.m.

    Only in San Francisco does someone compliment a particularly spectacular fireworks show by saying, “Man, we should’ve taken ecstasy.”

    11:50 p.m.

    I thought he was only interested in friendship. Then he said, “I like your shoes. Are those new?”

    A few days later he said, “Those pants look good on you. Those are my second favorite , after the black ones.”

    My theory is that, unless I’m wearing red leather trousers with flames up the legs and/or buttless chaps, a straight man who has favorite pants is up to something fishy. A man who has a runner-up favorite pair of pants and comments on my shoes…maybe I’m wrong about the straight thing.

    2:06 p.m.

    Yesterday at lunch, a friend pointed out that I’d packed my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and fishy crackers in a Sephora bag. Perhaps he thought it was sort of like wearing pigtails and spike heels, or affixing a Big Bird sticker to the bumper of your Porsche. To be fair, red lipstick and Jiffy are a tough combo, but I like to think I can work the look. The look being peanut butter and red lipstick all over my chin.

    2:58 p.m.

    Everywhere I went this morning, they were in front of me. The girl who tried to run her obviously damaged FastPass through the electronic reader (eight times), the woman who decided to rummage through her handbag at the top of the escalator, the man obliviously reading his book in front of the bus door when there were plenty of empty seats. Wherever it is I’m going in life, stupid people are in the lead.

    10 a.m.

    I’m about to give a gratuitous plug, so if you don’t want to see me whore myself, cover your eyes. Still here? Blogger, the free and fabulous Web tool I use to post to my site, is up for a Webby award. Though the Webby people have inexplicably placed Blogger in the Personal Site category (beh?), I still think you should give them a vote. Good service, I like all the people who got it going, and its helped a lot of people take up online journals. Also, check out all the other sites up for awards. Good way to build a knowledge base about some of the cool stuff online without having to do the actual surfing. Go forth!

    9:50 a.m.

    Conversations with my nephew, Part II:

    Me: Baby, can you hand me your shoe?

    Trevor: I not a baby anymore! I a little tiny big boy!

    1:39 p.m.