Change Part Deux

I am trying really hard to keep embracing this change thing. The sectional couch in the living room is now L-shaped instead of flat against the back wall. Much cozier. I've been eating breakfast at home instead of at work. My purse is much lighter and my back thanks me. But I still can't get over that the girl at the end of the hall is neither a Kristy nor an Ashley! My mom is a big time realist. Good to have one in the family since I spend 99.9% of my life with my head up in the clouds. I'll be thoroughly disappointed the day I wake up and come to terms with the fact I will never own a closet full of couture, live in my dream beach house and marry Adrien Grenier. Anyhow, my mom reminded me again I hit the roommate jackpot big time when I met Kristy and Ash. "Roommates are not usually soulmates hun. They are people you fight over the bathroom with" she advised. But I'm not having it. I want it all. With a Valentino ball gown and a pair of Christian Leboutins on top. There are not enough nanner cream tarts from Tartine in the Universe to launch me from my mopefest. Cue three year old style temper tantrum.

Waaaaay Under Caffeinated

It's been three weeks since I've had a sip of caffeine. I hate you doctor Branstetter. Every latte, tea and cup of joe I've ordered has been of the decaf variety. And let me tell you. A decaf latte just does not taste the same. I've tried filling the void with syrups, extra foam, spices on top but nothing replaces that caffeine zing. While I have not had a single headache since I kicked that habit, thanks doc, I now give death stares to everyone at Starbucks who is not on my special diet. I feel like some kind of freak. I am the person I used to snicker at who ordered decaf at 7 in the morning. Sometimes I hate karma.

Not Quite LIke Grey's Anatomy

I spent this Saturday in the ER. Here is how it went down. My head had been hating on me migraine style for three days. Saturday was day four and it obviously was not getting better. After a lot of pouting, tears, and consulting with my parents and every person I know who has any kind of limited medical knowledge it was decided that the pain was going no where fast. And I had to bite the bullet, be a trooper, and get some professional help. So off I went to the ER in my uggs and sweats, with cute undies on underneath of course! My experience was definitely not as dramatic or glamorous as an episode of Grey's Anatomy. The doc assigned to fix me up was rather cute, but looked about 18 years old (since when did doctors start being younger than me!) and definitely did not try and make out with me let along ask me on a date. It was freezing cold so it most likely looked as though I had seizures on top of head pain. On the upside, I was introduced to some of medicines finest narcotics over the course of the 6 hours. Can't say morphine was as exciting as everyone makes it out to be, but that could be because I was already zonked out on an IV cocktail of 3 other top shelf painkillers and benadryl. Tra la la la la. So I think I am going to stick with watching ER drama on TV instead of experiencing first hand at all costs. I have new found motivation to finally curb the caffeine, chocolate, wine habits my doctors been urging me too loose for years.

The List

I have a mental list going of things I really need to learn to survive in this crazy world. Some of the items are pretty trivial but nice to know. Like master putting on false eyelashes. Then there are the biggies. I have somehow made into my 20s without knowing how to cook steak, a roast, pork, or lamb. I will never be a domestic goddess until I can cook meat without a panic attack. So this weekend with AP as my coach and handholder, I took on steak. Three lovely NY strip steaks from buyrite to be exact. The game plan was to sear them on the stovetop and finish them in the oven. My extensive online research said this is what the pros do. AP perched on a stool with a glass of wine, with a quizzical look on his face as I nervously darted around the kitchen. Half a bottle later on APs part and a few pounds of brow sweat on mine, and we had three juicy medium rare beauties. Delish.

Maybe Change is not Sooooo Horrible

I am not a big fan of change. I do not like it when my shampoo brand changes the formula, when my favorite restaurant switches up the menu, or when my facewash updates it's label forcing me to scour the shelves that much longer just to find the now unfamiliar bottle. I especially do not like it when your best friends/ roommates move out and leave you living with strangers and a blank social calendar. I have always been averse to shake-ups big and small. Routine is good. And now I find myself in a world where I no longer have a steady Monday night date have no idea what time roommates predictably take showers. It's utter chaos I tell you! Over the last week I've started to come out of my shell. New can be exciting. By coming down from my anti-change squawk box I've started to realize what I have been missing out on. Like banana pie from tartine while I read my book in Dolores park. And american chop suey night with AP. I might not be ready to do something as crazy as stop eating cheerios for breakfast every morning. But I'm quite proud of the progress I've made so far.

Casting Call

The housing market is a bit ridic in San Francisco. We have a room up on Craigslist in our 4 bedroom no drama apartment and people are treating our posting like it's a Real World casting call. Potentials are stepping up their game. Gone are the days of a three line reply about yourself. I'm getting facebook pages, blogs, resumes, credit reports, and youtube video links. Everyone is brutally honest about there freaky habits and compulsive behaviors. Stuff I'd probably NEVER find out about. I think one girl even responded in the form of a Haiku? They're desperate desperate girls. The mania is slightly entertaining - someone just offered to sing and dance (literally). But come on folks, enough already!

Sweat on Ice

I love the smell of frozen sweat.  I know it's a weird scent to find pleasing.  It's up there with gasoline and bleach.  But something there is just something about that hockey rink aroma that really does it for me.  Not sure if it's the undertones of aged perspiration escaping from the pads or the fresh sent of chilled testosterone I prefer.  Maybe it's how the two combine into a more complicated musk.  Regardless, when I step into the rink I inhale a big lungful as if I was one of those ladies in the laundry detergent commercials admiring their handiwork. If you could bottle the dirty hot scent up and sell it at cologne I'd probably buy it.  Can't be that far off considering this is on the market.