Did anyone ever smell someone's feet, THEN give them candy?

Happy Halloween! I pulled a big bah humbug this year and didn't dress up. It was easier to cut out the middleman by staying home and drinking and eating the candy myself.

I had some awful costumes when I was younger. My parents weren't very enthusiastic about the holiday, so I always ended up throwing something together at the last minute, which has carried over to my modern self.

When I was in second grade, I dressed up as a crazy lady. No joke. I had mismatched clothes, my hair was all ratty (uh, that was totally part of the costume) and one of the lenses was missing from my fake glasses. Yes, I thought of that all on my own. Why do you ask?

In sixth grade, I was a gypsy. There was a party and cute boys, so I had to be something attractive. (Whoops.) It was my mom's idea this time, I think. I had big hoop earrings, a crazy long, flowy skirt and a blousy top. Ridiculous. Oh, and lots of blue eye makeup. God, why didn't I take pictures?!

Then, a few years ago, I dressed up as a '50s girl. I am so cheap when it comes to this stuff, and I didn't want to shell out $100 for something for one night, so I went to the vintage store with a friend and picked out something there. Well, a group of us decided to go out instead of just to someone's house, so there I was, at a bar looking like a prude. I had a poodle skirt, a cardigan and a scarf in my hair. I looked totally hot next to the sexy policewoman and the sexy teacher.

So now I just cut my losses and hope Nov. 1 comes quickly. Maybe I can say that I'm secure enough that I don't need to become someone else for a night. Or maybe I'm just afraid of writing in five years, "Oh, wow, when I was 27 I dressed up as a sexy garbage collector ..."

I thought I was having a bad day.

You know how sometimes you look in the mirror in the morning and think, "Ugh. Can I call in ugly today?" Well, today Maxim magazine staff members took it upon themselves to make this judgment against five strong, intelligent, successful, LOVELY women who did nothing wrong except not strike gold in the genetic lottery. Which apparently means they're deserving of having their self-esteem ripped apart by Wizard of Oz-esque creatures who probably aren't beauty queens themselves.

Topping the list is Sarah Jessica Parker, who one writer called a "Barbaro-faced broad." The "Sex and the City" star is a favorite because she's fun, smart and has fashion balls. (I kind of hate her for those thighs, but after today, we're square.) So just because a girl's face is a little long, even though she's witty and worldly and interesting, no one wants to have sex with her?

The other four are: Amy Winehouse, Sandra Oh, Madonna and Britney Spears. The first two are totally unacceptable. But the second two I begrudgingly agree with. However, it's not because of how they look. If I have the body of either of them after poppin' out two kids, I'll join whatever red bracelet club they want. No, it's because of their attitudes.

Madonna has that constant "I'm entitled" thing going. I know she's had a million hits, but why do we still care about her? Because she kissed Britney? Because she wrote a children's book? I really don't get it. It can't be her acting skills.

And Britney also seems to have a personality issue. I don't know if it's the eighth-grade education thing, but after her interview with Matt Lauer, I just could not find any reason to admire her. At least back in the day she seemed friendly while being dumb. Now she's just clumsy and thoughtless, all the while popping her gum and demanding respect.

What is the point of a list like this? Why be hurtful? To get publicity? Who would write about ...

Oh.

There's a reason I'm so anal.

It's ingrained in my personality. On my DNA, it's written: brown eyes, brown hair, weird big toe, control issues. Or so says Myers-Briggs.

I took two "assessments" recently as part of my quarterlife crisis. I've been having "What the hell am I doing?" issues, and part of that is my uncertainty about my career. So I figured I could use a little outside help. I called the career center at Delta College and it turns out they offer career counseling in the form of two tests: the Strong Interest Inventory, and the Myers-Briggs personality test. I went in and took them both on a computer, and just got my results back.

First, the SII. I am an SAE, which, in order of strength, means I'm social, artistic and enterprising. This is really surprising. First, I'm totally ANTI-social. I don't like many people. Well, it's not that I don't like them, it's just that we don't click. But maybe I fake it well, so well that the test didn't even know. Hmm. I guess that's good. (But I promise, if you're reading this and you think you're my friend, you totally are. I'm not faking it with you.)

Second, the artistic part is also weird, because I love order. I like deadlines, a clean apartment, matched socks. But "artistic" on the test includes things like writing, so when I saw that, it made more sense. I guess artistic doesn't only apply to free-spirited painters.

And the enterprising part is a little weird, too, because I am the world's worst salesperson. I had a job when I was a freshman in college at a pet supply store. This was a really chi-chi one, with all sorts of shit that no dog really needs, and $600 cat scratching posts that look like trees, and biscuits that were made of such great ingredients that a person could eat them. (I did, too. The owner made us once so that we could sell them truthfully. And they were good. Plus, I had class right before I was supposed to be at work, so sometimes I got desperate.) Anyway, I got fired because I never got in anyone's face and tried to push her products. I never thought it was fair to assault customers when I know how much it sucks.

So that whole assessment was pretty eye-opening. It suggested I work in industries like health care (No thanks. I saw "Sicko.") or education, or mass communications (thank god). So I'm not entirely off track. Oh, and it also suggested culinary arts, so my recent move was up the right alley.

The Myers-Briggs test is more related to psychology. According to that, I'm an ESTJ, which means extroverted, sensing, thinking, judging. Basically, unemotional, rigid hardass. Which is kind of disappointing, but also a little true. The counselor said people with my type make good leaders, but they don't allow personal feelings to influence business decisions.

This test really helped me understand why I am the way I am sometimes. I like decisions to be made so I can plan accordingly. I like to know what's going to happen and when so there aren't any loose ends. I make reservations. I don't flake on plans. But I'm no good at being spontaneous or just going where the day may take me. After this, I resolve to be more easygoing in an effort to round myself out. So if you want to go to a movie at the last minute, give me a call!

Silence of the pumpkins.

I think this is just creepy enough.

I can't take credit for this idea - I saw it on the Extreme Pumpkins Web site. It was such a random idea that I figured I'd be the only one on my block with a cannibal pumpkin, and that was reason enough to make one.

It was pretty easy. I wish it looked more like he was actually crunching the little guy, but I didn't have a real-life model to help. So I just made the eyes look all slanted and evil, and measured the little pumpkin's height for the mouth. I do take credit for the little guy's look of surprise, however. Secret sadistic streak.

Close to home.

I was reading in the Chronicle today that Mill Valley (north Bay Area) is going to just about implode if anyone so much as sneezes while lighting a cigarette. There hasn't been a large burning up there in nearly a century, and all the narrow, winding roads would make it nearly impossible for fire trucks to reach homes at the top of the hills. That, and if someone breaks down on one of those roads, it's every man on foot for himself.

This got me thinking about my environment in Walnut Creek. My apartment is set back from the road up a long-ish driveway, and surrounded by brush and huge trees. It wouldn't be impossible to get out, but it would create some logistical issues. I only have one door, and all the windows are high off the ground and sort of surrounded by metal spikes. (It's goth, or something. Sounds weird, looks cool.) That kind of freaks me out.

I'm not good in disaster situations. There was a 6.5 earthquake in San Simeon when I was living in San Luis Obispo in 2003. My apartment was pretty much rotting away (I found piles of wood on my carpet every morning from some disgusting bugs chewing away at my walls and then pooping it out or something) and was built on stilts above a garage. It would sway in high winds, so this temblor nearly shook it loose.

I had just taken a shower when the shaking started, and at first just thought one of my neighbors was being an asshole and moving furniture or something. Then suddenly it got worse, and all my cabinet doors started swinging open. So I was in my towel and just ran outside. (Forgetting about my poor fish! I didn't remember him until later. But he was fine, just motion sick.) I didn't get in a doorway, or duck and cover, or anything else that's been drilled into us California kids since we were 5. So I see one of my neighbors running down the rickety staircase and scream "Wait for me!" Then the shaking stops, and I get dressed and go downstairs, and there's no one outside except for the two of us. And that seemed weird, because you expect people to walk outside and look around, bewildered, and then ask "Did you feel that?" That's the classic post-quake question. So we finally found one guy at the end of the alley and he was like, "Yeah, I felt it." Then we were satisfied. I called in to work and discovered it was the biggest shaker in about a million years in our area, so everyone was being asked to come in. We needed to save the day by ... writing headlines.

Anyway, even after that, I still don't have my earthquake kit, or a good escape plan, or an emergency ladder. Maybe that's what I'll do this weekend ... make a rope ladder.

That plonk is older than I am!

Tonight I drank a chardonnay that was 30 years old, a 1978 from Spring Mountain in Napa. It surprisingly was kind of gross. Apparently aging only applies to certain types of wines, mainly reds. The teacher said whites age best in two to three years, and this one was decidedly over the hill. But it was pretty awesome to have the opportunity. I'm not sure how much it would cost, but a 1978 cabernet from the same vineyard is $75 (love me some google).

We also tried some chardonnay (see the theme?) from Rombauer. That one was delicious. (Side note: My favorite chardonnay ever is the 2005 from Edna Valley.) It wasn't super acidic, which is when it makes you pucker or the sides of your mouth tingle. It smelled and tasted like butter. (At first I thought toast, but when someone else said butter, that made more sense.) That bottle was $30, but another "guess which one this tastes like" wine from Watts was very similar. Watts winery, not the rioting venue. (Hmm ... urban vineyard. Interesting idea.) That one was $14, so probably more likely to end up on my dinner table.

Something else we learned was that it only costs about $5 to make a bottle of wine. It breaks down about like this:
Grapes: $1/lb.
French oak barrel: $1.13 per use ($1,000 each, with about 885 uses)
Bottle: $2.54
Label/cork/packaging: $1.53

Isn't that crazy? I understand marketing and overhead factor in big time, but it makes me feel more secure about my purchase of bargain-barrel specials. It's like designer clothes - the markup is mostly associated with the name, not the quality. My Target jeans have lasted just as long as my Sevens.

Julie/Robin.

Today I finished reading "Julie and Julia," which was written by Julie Powell, who decided to undertake the project of preparing every dish in "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," by Julia Child, over one year. Originally it was a blog, but then she got a book deal. (Anyone hear me!?) And now I'm totally inspired.

I don't think I'd have the balls to do anything as committed or in-depth as she did (or as heavy on the butter -- good lord), but just the thought of cooking random recipes for fun makes me giddy. I used to get discouraged by my perceived limitations: being with someone who would rather go out to eat, or now, being single and thinking cooking for one is a waste, or suggesting something to my parents and having them respond with a serious lack of enthusiasm. But now I see it can be just for me.

My favorite excerpt is when Julie explains what the project taught her:

"Julia taught me what it takes to find your way in the world. It's not what I thought it was. I thought it was all about - I don't know, confidence or will or luck. Those are all some good things to have, no question. But there's something else, something that these things grow out of.

"It's joy."

One thing I've noticed about myself recently is that I'm reluctant to do something if there's not a point. But this blog is a step toward the realization that some things are fulfilling just because. And maybe doing something I want to, though it may be pointless, could be worthwhile just because it would make me happy.

Not Pointless Radio.

At work a while back I overheard someone talking about how he listens to NPR like every day, and he's a really cool guy, so I figured maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. (My only exposure was that "SNL" skit with the two really boring women talking about Schweaty Balls.) I looked it up online and found the station, and I've been hooked since. I listen to it on my way to work so I don't just sit at the morning budget meetings with a vacant look on my face, and I also like the "Fresh Air" program, on which the host interviews random people from society. "All Things Considered" is good too, along with anything with David Sedaris. Highly recommended.

The other day I was listening, and the host announced she would be speaking with Kevin Sites, reporter and author of "Hot Zone." It's not often you hear on the radio someone with whom you've had dinner, so I kept driving just to listen. (Granted, the dinner thing was kind of a fluke. He and I lived in Avila at the same time - he was a journalism professor at Cal Poly - and I was friends with a supertalented guy named Ryan who actually was friends with Kevin, so it was just a lucky coincidence.) Kevin is the guy who was at the center of the controversy of photos of the marine shooting an insurgent in Iraq a while ago. And since then, he's been reporting from the war zone for Yahoo, and pretty much risking his life every day. Amazing stuff. But it turns out he's still alive and rockin' the long hair (I googled him ... I didn't just sense that through the speakers). So anyway, you never know what you'll hear when you turn off screamo rock.

Drive south, then go sideways.

This weekend I went to visit my friend James in Santa Barbara, and it was the first time I'd been back to the Central Coast since I left San Luis Obispo two and a half years ago. I'd forgotten how beautiful it is down there. It seemed stifling after a while, but with a fresh eye I have a new appreciation for why the tourists love it.

So I checked in to Chateau Foster around noon on Saturday. One great thing about going to school at a nerd farm like Cal Poly is that you make friends with people who are going to be very successful after they graduate. James is no exception. The house has four bedrooms, and he was generous enough to give me the master suite for my stay (with a walk-in closet!). So after I settled in, we took off.



Our first stop was the Los Olivos Festival. This was a big community event, and the town closed off its main street to traffic so vendors could set up shop. Apparently, crap is a big seller down there. And crap you make yourself or crap you buy somewhere else and resell is equally popular. It was nice, but the real highlight was the tea booth. I'm not sure if this car is actually driveable, but it made me laugh.

After that, we went to Sunstone Vineyards. James sprung for the reserve tasting, so we took our commemorative wineglasses (I now have four that match! These two, and the two we accidentally stole.) down into the cave. They had pretty good wines. The reserve room is all dank and dusty, which started the discussion about whether the dust was authentic, or they just used a big blower full of it. We stayed there for a while, but realized our time was running out if we wanted to make it to another one before 5, so we scooted.


Next up was Kalyra. This place rocks. It's very surfer-vibey, with bamboo and straw everywhere, and fun music playing. The servers there don't use the automatic pourers, either, so being friendly pays off. After tasting a few, we went out to the patio, then down to the vineyards. I have no idea why we thought it would be fun to pose with plants. The details are fuzzy. Which could also explain why we didn't remember to return the glasses.

Finally we got tired and decided to get some snacks and, of course, more wine for after dinner. And there was wine tasting in the freakin' store. A little counter and everything, with a whole room for wine. (P.S. - don't ever go to a place like that with a buzz and a credit card.) So we sampled and I bought some nostalgic wines (from local wineries) and stuff for s'mores. Then we went home, dropped off the stuff, got some dinner at a yummy flatbread place, and came back for roasting. I really, really wish I had a picture of that, but it's probably for the best that I didn't have my camera anywhere near the flames. But it was good times. I probably have some kind of disease now from all the carcinogens I ate.

(Side note: I had the weirdest dream that night. I was at a recording session for Peter, Paul and Mary, except it was two girls and one guy. I know it was PPM because they were playing "Puff the Magic Dragon." So they were talking about something, and one of the girls was getting really upset because she wasn't even part of the group's name. And she was like, "I want equal pay like everyone else, and I want you to stop making fun of me for drinking orange juice." What?)


Sunday morning we trekked out to BFE for breakfast at Ye Olde Cabine diner. So cute. Freezing, but cute. There was a real fireplace, and tractor wheels on the boards/walls. And we had to stop on the way back down the hill to see the bridge. When we first got to the restaurant, he was like, "Oh my god! Did you see that bridge? It was amazing!" So I was expecting some rickety old board-and-rope bridge hanging precariously across a canyon. No, just a normal bridge. That stuff is like soft-core porn for engineers.

James has a house, but he also has grand dreams about what he's going to do when he sells the house. Which is why we ended up at the BMW dealership. He sleeps with the brochure for the 335, and wanted to spread the gospel. Those cars are amazing. We went into the showroom and sat in a few of the super-special models, like the M5, which has seats that adjust in every possible permutation to make you feel snug as a bug in a really expensive rug. So we took the 335 out for a minute, and holy crap. I'm still waiting for my skin to snap back. Zero to 60 in something ridiculous like 4 seconds. I think those cars are like drugs. Until you try it, you're perfectly happy without it. But after that you're screwed. So then we did a little shopping, but I had the slows from the previous day, so I hit the road soon after that.

I was going by Avila Beach, where I used to live, so I went to see how it had changed. Everything that used to be a big pit under construction (there was an oil spill there a while ago, so everything had to be dug up) is now boutiquey and charming. Or boring, depending on your view. Anyway, I stopped by my old apartment and snapped a shot of what my view used to be. Well, view after you walked out the door and turned right. Or leaned really far out the bedroom window.

And that was about it. Long drive, short trip, and my butt's really sore, but it was worth it. It's nice to rediscover friendships, because it widens your horizons, and gives you one more option when you're going somewhere and don't want to pay for a hotel.

Reading Chow.com isn't slacking off, it's research!

Hooray for me! I finally worked up the courage (sans alcohol! It can be done!) to talk my editors about playing a larger role in the food section. Actually, I was hedging my bets ... I wanted to stage a coup and take it over. But I thought I'd ease in slowly. So I approached my immediate supervisor and after finally working out of me that I wanted to write and oversee the section, he was all for it. So we went together to talk with our managing editor, and he said it was "A great idea!" (I put that in quotes only because this guy is one of the hardest to impress I've ever met.) And I even get money to do this!! Not money for me, but money to do stuff. I really didn't think that part would work out. These are lean times for any business, but newspapers are especially under the gun to cut expenses. I have no idea how much I'll get, but if I want to bake something, they'll probably pay me for the ingredients. And that's the part that's most exciting for me. I'll get to experiment, be creative and explore something that's a personal passion. Well, maybe not a passion, but at least a strong interest.

Our food writer left a few months ago, and it only dawned on me about a week ago that I might have fun filling in. I always read the food wires, watch Food Network (see previous posts) and love to bake. I'd probably love to cook regular stuff too, if it weren't for me being lazy, single and lacking any real skills. I hope to learn by doing this, and maybe make friends throughout the newsroom in the process. So stay tuned.

Nothing is as expensive as a woman who's free for the evening.

I went to Target yesterday, and it was a stock-up visit: hair products, makeup, underwear, medicine cabinet stuff. When I checked out, it was more than $100. That's crazy! And after thinking about it, it kind of pissed me off, because a lot of the stuff is only necessary because I'm a girl!

• Eyeshadow: $5
• Tampons: $5
• Bra: $15
• Leave-in conditioner: $3
• Foot file: $3
• Nail polish: $6
• Two kinds of face wash, morning and night: $9
• Concealer: $8
• Eye cream: $10

Granted, a lot of this stuff I buy because I'm vain, not a girl, but isn't it kind of the same thing sometimes? I really think guys get off easy in the grooming department. And this was just at Target. It doesn't include waxing, dye jobs, pedicures, 20 pairs of shoes ... So is it really so much to ask that the guy pay for dinner? How about this ... I'll pay if I can stop waxing. Think about it.

The blind leading the blind.

It's strangely comforting to hear the guy fixing our fax talking to someone in tech support and getting frustrated that they're not helping.
"No, the wizard isn't working! I think you're giving me the wrong number. No, I'm waiting for it to come back online. Ahh! Is Al there? He helped me with this before."

It's also a not-very-encouraging sign that the fax will ever be fixed. Why didn't they just send the tech support person out here?!

Ice wine baby.

I had wine class again tonight, and the topic was rieslings. German, not Californian, because apparently California wines have too much sugar. ("Blasphemy!" I say.) So there were lots with names even I, second-grade spelling bee champion, couldn't spell, so I won't try. But they were good, smelling mostly fruity (some had a touch of chlorine, and the teacher said he smelled diesel fuel) with tastes of pineapple. And the ice wine (made from apples!) was especially delicious, and tasted like apricots. Unfortunately, it was also the most expensive, at about $30 for 375 mL. But that's why tastings are fun ... you get to try all the stuff you wouldn't want to blindly shell out all the cash for.

The class was small tonight, nine instead of 15 people, so the teacher started calling on people because no one was volunteering. He had a sign-in sheet because he hadn't learned everyone's names.
"Cynthia?" he called out.
No answer.
We all looked at each other, because none of us knew anyone's names either.
"She's signed in," he said.
Still no answer.
Whatever, someone signed in for their friend who never showed. Fine.
So we move on through three more wines. Finally we get to the ice wine, and the teacher asks for a volunteer. An older girl near the front raises her hand, and talks about her impressions.
"Good," teacher says. "And what's your name?"
"Cynthia," she says. "I didn't want to say before."
Um, what? The entire class is sitting there for a whole minute waiting for you to raise your hand and speak, and instead of saying "I'd rather not," you don't say anything? And then, why not just be silent the whole class? She got away with it, and then blew it! It just doesn't make sense.
People confound me.

What a Pucker.

Wolfgang Puck is an amazing chef and a successful businessman, with the innovative Spago among his ventures. He also is apparently living in the 1950s and kind of self-important.

This is an excerpt from a Washington Post Q&A with him:
So what do you think of food TV?
It's going in a way now where it's more like housewife cooking than professional cooking. When I did it four or five years ago, they said, "We don't want celebrities; we just want to teach people to be in the kitchen and show them how to cook. (These days, the hosts) get a push-up bra and show a little cleavage and wear a tight sweater, and they think it's sexy housewife cooking.

Hmm. First of all, do we even use the word "housewife" anymore? Isn't it "domestic goddess" or "homemaker"? I'm not a fan of bending over backward for the PC pushers, but that seems demeaning. And the part about the bra ... he's implying that the chefs' skills aren't up to par just because they're hot! Please. Giada de Laurentiis studied at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, and I've made a few of her recipes, and this girl is no joke. Nigella Lawson proves that you can have fun in the kitchen - that making delicious food doesn't require being uptight about it. And while the Semi-Homemade Cooking woman may be a little questionable in the originality department, she's still creative and talented. I think perhaps Puck's a bit jealous of their popularity (and beauty) and trying to bring them down to his level. But I applaud these women for showing that looks and intelligence are not mutually exclusive!

Run toward Giada's pasta!

I love having a treadmill at home. I was worried it would end up being a "throw your shit here" piece of furniture, but I'm actually using it pretty often. And it's so great not to have to go anywhere or worry about other people seeing me. I can work out no matter how raggedy I look or how bad my gas is. I get to watch the shows I want (is it weird that like 90 percent of the time I watch Food Network?) and the fan is directly over my head. It even has a remote! (Called dad.) I'm just worried about having to find a first-floor apartment wherever I move ...

It's like she slapped my boyfriend!

My beloved Cheerios are under attack. In this story on Salon.com, the writer expounds on the evils of packaged breakfast cereals. At one point, she advocates giving up cereal, and says a viable alternative is to “Pop a One-A-Day, mix yourself a glass of Metamucil and have a Krispy Kreme.” Yikes. But it wouldn't be nearly as delicious, right? And the daily donut would necessitate all sorts of cardio surgery later in life. Plus, Krispy Kreme keeps closing its stores, so we'd be back to square one.

One thing that surprised me was this: "A serving of Cheerios has 10 milligrams more sodium than a serving of Doritos." Eek! All this time I've been thinking that my little bags of cereal are a great way to get some vitamins and fiber, but really I could've just been eating oyster crackers. But at least Cheerios don't include the new American dietary evil: partially hydrogenated vegetable oil. So while my blood pressure may suffer, at least my arteries will stay clog-free.

And when it comes down to it, a couple of cups of Cheerios may not be as good a dietary choice as some broccoli, but life's too short to neglect your sweet tooth.

Overheard

At Safeway bank kiosk, woman to her toddler:
"Hey! Don't bite me! You know what happens when you bite me ... I bite back."

Even with dogs the only thing that works is positive reinforcement. So good luck with that "eye for an eye," lady.

It's worse than loving "Laguna Beach."

I just realized that my guilty pleasure movie is "Road House." You know, the one with Patrick Swayze as the bouncer (Dalton) who comes to the small town club (the Double Deuce) to clean it up and ends up battling the local villain? It's so bad. Lines include:

• "I'll get plenty of sleep when I'm dead."
• "Prepare to die!"
• "Pain don't hurt."

I can't even really explain the attraction. Something about his ridiculous body, maybe. The fighting is very "Karate Kid," and you can practically see the "Blam!" "Pow!" bubbles above the guys. If you decide to watch, I'd make it into a drinking game for your first time, to heighten the hilarity -- take a shot every time someone says, "Brad Wesley owns this town!"

"Pound it, Mom!"

There are few things more awesome than drinking with your parents. The Aging Adventurers and I went on a wine-tasting trip today, and it was strangely entertaining. First we went on a sightseeing drive up into the foothills and then came back down through Murphys, where we went to a couple of tasting rooms, including Ironstone, which I highly recommend. (That tiny town is actually pretty cute, and would probably be fun for you coupley types who like to meander and hold hands and shop at antique stores.)

Ironstone was our last stop, and the place I figured I'd actually buy, 'cause everything's $10. The regular tastings are free, and Mom looked excited to try one, so we elbowed our way up to the bar. We went up for just the merlot, but the guy suggested we start with whites, so what were we to do? We hit the riesling, and it was delicious. Usually I'm more into reds, but this one wasn't scary like chardonnay -- it was light and sweet, and you could hardly taste the alcohol. So from there we tried this pinky blend called Xpression, which totally reminded me of that "Strawberry Wine" song. It was very sweet, with strawberry and raspberry flavors (according to wine guy). And they have apple wine! I'm really excited about that one, because it's so different, and while I love wine, I love juice more. This one toes the line -- gets you loopy without the harsh finish. (See, I'm using my terminology.) And apparently the petite sirah reminded Dad of some wine they had back when they were dating and then they started talking about how they used to buy wine by the case and go tasting all the time. (They would've been fun to hang out with.) It's fun to hear about stuff like that, because it gives me a picture of them as people instead of just parents. And finally, we got to try the sparkling wine (I think the guy could smell a big sale and wanted us as drunk as possible), which set off another round of reminiscing about weddings and New Year's Eves.

So after all that, I ended up with some history, and six bottles of wine. Hooray!

Annoying.

This morning it was really overcast and raining, so I went to Starbucks to buy an internal heating device. (Hot tea. Delicious.) Those shops have really low lighting, very moody. There was a couple inside sitting at one of the tables by the window. Again, it was not sunny at all, especially inside Starbucks. The chick was wearing sunglasses. First, I think people who wear sunglasses indoors look ridiculous. Second, if you're having an intimate conversation with someone, it seems rude. And third, it was NOT SUNNY anywhere in the vicinity of the coffee shop. Is it an insecurity thing? Do they really think they look cooler with Ray-Bans on? (P.S. - I'm going to try to keep the vibe of this blog happy and shiny, but sometimes I just need to vent. So please don't get turned off by my negativity today.)

Mike Ness, have my babies.

I went to my first Social D concert last night, courtesy of my friend and superfan Brenna, and it was amazing. I'm not usually one for live shows, but those guys are ridiculous. And what is it about guys on a stage? Mike Ness (lead singer) is probably fortysomething and has a receding hairline, but ohmygod! And we had great seats, up in the balcony, because (sorry Brenna, I'm gonna reveal the secret) it was an all-ages show and that area was 21+. So the young mosher folk were down on the ground getting kicked in their heads while we had spitting-distance views. Love it.

Only one thing made me mad. We were standing like three people back, and these two guys standing in front of me left, so I moved in to take their place. Then this really whiny blonde girl elbows me in the back, which I ignore, because it's a ROCK SHOW. Then she's like, "Um, you totally pushed me out of the way. Like, we can share." Really? You're pissed that I'm faster and smarter, and being rude didn't work, so you think asking nicely will inspire me to move? I can see now, and I couldn't before, and you're not threatening to rip out my hair, so too bad! That, and her passive-aggressive violence before speaking up bugged me.

Roadway ruminations

• If you're driving a red sports car, don't poke the CHP tiger. I saw this Nissan 350Z with the license plate "TICKTME." Why doesn't he just throw poo at any patrol car he sees and drive away laughing?
• On the freeway recently, I drove past what I thought was a semi without its trailer, but as I was passing it I noticed it looked kind of like a regular truck. I read the name on the door, and it was a Ford 650. Not a normal 150 or 250, but a 650. Why is everything supersized today?
• I get really excited when I see license plate frames with "Cal Poly" in them. Like, if someone passes me and I notice it, I'll speed up to see who's in the car, because maybe I know them! Then I remember I went there for four years, and there's about 16,000 students there each year. So the odds aren't in my favor. I also get excited when I'm parked next to someone with one of those frames. But I don't usually wait around until they come out. Usually.

Wait for it ...

The most awesome Hooters shirt ever.

Fifteen crappy pictures cost me $6.

In the rush to get everything bigger better faster more (thanks, 4 Non Blondes) I think some of the simplest pleasures get forgotten -- for one, picking up pictures from the drugstore. I did that today for the first time in forever (evidenced by how old the pictures were) and the walk back to the car was like Christmas morning. Wondering what the packet would hold, who'd be in the pictures, whether I'd look good enough to post any of them. In the world of instant digital photography, there's never any anticipation. It's almost like online dating -- you already know everything about the person before appetizers. Where's the suspense?!

And here's what I found ...

A birthday party at Clautiere Vineyard in Paso Robles. Apparently wine tastes better when you look like an idiot. (And obviously the gene genius screwed up my natural hair color. I love this.)

She's a flapper, and I have no idea what he is. Something politically incorrect, I'm sure.

Before the second edition of Three Girls Gone Wild. This one was pretty tame compared with the infamous NYE oh-something, when we played "I Never" on BART out to SF and didn't remember to stop drinking.

It's capitalism awareness month!

A while ago, a reporter in my department got a press release for Jingle Jugs, a traveling museum of decorated boobs that ostensibly benefits breast cancer research. (“A portion of the proceeds will go to a local breast cancer program in your area.”) It irked her that breasts would be exploited in such a ridiculous way to raise money for something so serious.
If it weren’t for that, I may not have noticed the exploitation taking place in retail areas around my city. I went to Safeway today and was blown away by the companies attempting to capitalize on the public’s interest in helping a good cause. These products have been altered in some way to show that they’re special Breast Cancer Awareness Month products (in order to avoid copyright issues, I’ve generic-ized these):

• Coolers
• DVDs
• Breath mints
• Candles
• Crackers
• Freeze-dried coffee
• Safeway house brand water
• Detergent
• Breakfast cereal
• Small, round, chocolate candies

So it seems that manufacturers are hoping that if they paint something pink or put a ribbon on it, it’ll sell more because people can feel good about buying it. Doesn’t that seem like taking advantage of an awful situation? Why don’t they simply make a donation out of the goodness of their corporate hearts?
I may have just answered my own question.

California, here I come.

Yesterday I went to San Francisco to have lunch with my friend Michelle. She's like the city's best PR agent, telling me how she never has to drive anywhere, how she buys her produce fresh like two blocks from her apartment, even showing me the world's cheapest spices. We ate at a place where I could indulge my dietary neuroses, getting an egg-whites-only omelet with just spinach and mushrooms, at 3 in the afternoon no less.

I had borrowed my dad's camera, so on the way out of the city, I took the Golden Gate Bridge so I could take some pictures. I sometimes forget how freakin' gorgeous this area is. There's so much to explore, and I've gotten stuck in the "It'll always be there; I'll go next weekend" mentality. But no more! Here are couple of my takes:

I also found out that sometimes a wrong turn can yield awesome results:

What the hell is this doing around children?!

I'm addicted to a different white powder.

When the first Halloween candy hits the shelves, I end up strolling up and down the aisle, debating how badly I really want that bag of crack (called candy corn for legal purposes). This sometimes involves calculations of increase in ass size and potential guilt feelings eating said bag would cause. Usually I'm able to convince myself that the season is long, so if I leave the store and still want it a week later, I can go back and get some. (I employ this strategy with handbags, too.) And this year I've been sooo good, walking right by on my way to the redemption of frozen vegetables.
But I was too cocky. I didn't count on those bastards tracking me down and bringing the candy to me! Damn you Nickelodeon and your delicious press kit.

Here comes the party.

I was in my friend Nicole's wedding recently, and it was pretty fun. Some interesting things I noticed:

• The bride's bouquet weighs about 5 pounds. Seriously. I had no idea the title of maid of honor came with an upper body workout.
• Even though a wedding and all that goes with it can make everyone stress out, we all came together for what was important: lifting Nicole's dress so she could pee.
• If you're in a bridesmaid's dress and you hit the no-host bar and say the drink you want is "for the bride," it's totally free.

I've heard traditional vows many times, but I still get emotional when I hear them. When Nicole and Pete were saying them to each other, I imagined saying them myself, and who I would be saying them to. I wonder if people who have been married for years still get emotional at weddings, or if the magic lies in the idealization of the life after the wedding.

Take that, ego!

I was recently asked to model T-shirts for a new company Web site. At first I was flattered, but then I found out someone else was asked first. She declined because of her views on corporate America. So not only was I not the first choice, I was also the least principled.

Drawing a blanc.

I had my first wine class tonight, at a local college. It was my first time being in a classroom in a while. I even reverted to my college personality a little: I got too shy to talk and was most excited when the girl next to me said she liked my jeans. And it seems a few others were the same way: There were still those people who ask questions just to prove they know more than the rest of us. Which irks me, but whatever, insecurity can be a beast.
So mostly I'm taking this class because I'm tired of reading wine reviews that rave about a wine's "smoky" or "citrus" attributes and just thinking, "It smells like good." We focused on white wines this time, like sauvignon blanc, gewurtztraminer, rose and viognier. They were all pretty good, except for the viognier, which smelled like pee. But we slugged it back, just to ensure our full education. And I still don't know how I feel about pink wine like rose. The stigma of white zin has tainted my judgment.

My piece of the Web.

It seems a little self-important to have a blog, but I think it could be fun, so here I go. If you think it's boring, please stop reading -- I don't need the pressure.