Randomination
How does one describe random? 'Random' is not - it's fate, coincidence, circumstance, accident (happy and otherwise) - it's life. And random rules all. I am also a master of bullshit.
Deference and celebration
I love San Francisco and have since the moment I first stepped foot in the city. Its history is colorful, fascinating and exciting - pirates and indians and queers, oh my! (and oh-so-much more) - the Hell's Angels are a part of her story.
Their display of solidarity and solemnity in the face of losing their leader. Their ability to keep press out without making a scene and stand together respectful of the life they lost. I know that the Hell's Angels aren't a bunch of do-good hippies and that their activities do not make a random shooting (er, execution) exactly shocking but I will say this:
On September 19, 2001 I had to (and by "had to" I mean that I was not going to let terrorists decide where I was going to school... thanks mom!) get on a plane and fly to California to start a year of National Student Exchange in Hayward. I had plenty of reasons to cry when I got to the airport -- the beginning of a new chapter, the real anxiety of flying a week after 9/11, the loss of a summer romance that I genuinely cared about, and the end of the chapter I was about to put behind me -- but when I saw two hulking, leather-clad figures standing at the boarding counter with patches indicating that they were Oakland Chapter members of the Hell's Angels, I breathed a little easier and smiled graciously at them as I passed them while boarding, knowing that my plane was definitely going to get to California.
IN OTHER NEWS:
The (white) trash has been taken out. They got a UHaul and the bulk of their shit out of my house last night. Wheeee! Now to just make sure that they don't come back... like, for anything.
Here lies my relationship...
So it was sort of surprising to find that the man I decided to go through heaven and hell with is not just a sports "fan" but a rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth American football fan. I tried to like football or at least feign interest in the name of good companionship. I managed to get excited about basketball and have always been willing to go to a ball game (especially at the SF Giants' home field). Hell an A's vs. Yankees game was our second date way back in 2002. I cheer maniacally for boxing matches and always make a $2 bet just to make things interesting.
But I cannot get behind football. It is the most homo-erotic, mindless, physiologically damaging exercise of brute stupidity that I've ever tried to understand. I've asked about the rules, tried to see it as skill or strength or even an okay way to pass a Sunday afternoon (or Monday, Thursday and sometimes even Wednesday) - but I can't.
So my beloved's fantasy football league draft is a mere 54 minutes away. And I feel that I should dedicate this space to all of the Sundays in the coming months that I won't be able to share with him. Thank god for nail salons, outlet shopping and being able to sunbathe until about October up here.
Went shopping...
Esprit.com
- 2 solid v-neck tees (one yellow, one dark green)
- 1 solid scoop-neck tee (turquoise)
- 1 peasant-ish tank top (white with decorative buttons)
Victoria's Secret
- 1 "biofit" bra (it actually fits amazingly well)
- 5 pairs of cotton undies
Aeropostale
- 1 pair of jeans
Bloom
- 1 yellow short-sleeved turtleneck sweater
- 1 opaque t-shirt, with a rock-looking emblem on the front
- 1 flowy, aquamarine deep v-neck tunic
- 1 knit purple tunic, v-neck
Styles (talk about a no-name store)
- 1 blue/grey peasant top with keyhole back
- 1 yellow 80s looking tee
JC Penney
- 1 pair terrycloth shorts
- 1 pair Vigoss (my fav brand jeans EVAR) jeans
Gottschalk's
- 1 pair Vigoss jeans
- 1 pair Amethyst jeans
- 2 spaghetti strap tank tops (one black/white, one blue/white)
- 5 pairs of underwear
- 2 bras
Old Navy
- 1 bathing suit top
- 1 sparking gold v-neck dress
- 1 printed tank
- 1 green/gray 3/4 sleeve top with buttons
- 1 navy 3/4 sleeve Henley
- 1 long-sleeved aqua shirt
Choice
- 1 crop black lounge pant
- 1 white t-shirt with "Everybody's Darling" printed on it
Macy's
- 1 3/4 black Henley
- 1 Rampage blouse (maroon with flowers)
- 5 bras
Forever 21
- 1 awesome lightweight jacket
- 1 white/black striped cardigan
- 1 screen-printed white tshirt
And that is all. I like, totally swear. For those who think I am some kind of monster or worse - don't forget that I was sick the entire end of last year and the first 4 months of this one. Puking a couple times a day, along with constant stomach pain and stress tends to melt the pounds right off of you. I'm better, so they're back.
White Trash Trivia
Thursday
night, Spenser and I were playing Rock Band and then in walks the White
Trash. We continue playing and the song, "Next to You" by the Police comes
up on our setlist.
Mrs. White
Trash, speaking mostly to herself but in the most excited
rual-Michigan-does-valley-girl-like-a-12-year-old-even-though-she's-forty
voice exclaims "I LOVE this song. Motorhead is my favorite!"
Spenser and I
tell her it's the Police. She argues with this (after asking, "Like Sting?")
and then declares that the Police must have covered the song.
I call
bullshit. Granted, I pretty much know zero about Motorhead and perhaps only
slightly more than the average person in the Police department but I know
damn well that I know more than Missy.
This morning,
I'm leaving for work, go to kiss Spenser goodbye in the living room and we
notice a note taped to the plastic guitar. It reads: "Motorhead - 1973,
Police - 1977. Sorry 'bout it." I shrug it off as Spenser and I both wonder
about the "sorry 'bout it" line.
I get home
and Spenser tells me that he actually did research (the life of the
self-employed) and that Motorhead never even recorded the song EVER. I find
this hysterical and make him write a note to her and tape it on their
bedroom door. She comes home and we listen to her find the note and sort of
give an annoyed sigh and crumple it up.
Spenser asked
her later where she found the dates for her note (we assumed that she either
just made it up or asked her husband) and she told him that she just thought
of how old she was when she first heard the two versions (one of which
doesn't even fucking exist).
So. Over
something so petty, why would she even leave the note without being abso-fucking-lutely,
posi-fucking-tively sure her information was correct? And then assume that
neither of us would question it when she went out of her way to make an
issue out of nothing?
Also - I am
so happy that I was a big enough person to not get into it with the nitwit
but even more overjoyed that Spenser did.
