More Popsicle Than Fire Engine

I'm always on the quest for a new perfect red lip color. For a while I wanted that intense red pinpup girl pout. Then it was a sheer cherry red. It's really hard to find the right shade. When you get it right it's amazing. The wrong one is horrible and often makes you feel like a cheap hooker. Right now I'm on a quest for a look I can only describe as what your mouth looked like after you ate a cherry popsicle as a kid. A girl next door red stain that's playful and definitely noticeable. I found a red chapstick like product that gets close but doesn't have quite the va va voom I want. The hunt is on.

Back of the Bus

I alternate between two different buses to get home at the end of the day. The 1 line is a door to door service for me but stops at every single block. It's frequented by the young financial district crowd and people who grocery shop in china town with those annoying pink plastic bags. If the thought of picking up new passengers at every corner is just too much I ride the 38. I have to walk a little bit more, but this bus zips along with just a few stops before I get off. It is unfortunately also the preferred bus of homeless people and rowdy teenagers who like to drink and smoke pot on the bus. Regardless of which bus I take I usually ride up near the front. It's full by the time I get on and it keeps a nice buffer between me and the homeless person stank/ pot cloud boombox party/ pink bag suffocation factor.

Last week I ended up in the back of the bus. My chiropractor (that's a blog entry in itself) is closer to the start of the 1 bus line than where I usually get on. After my appointment I jumped on the bus and found myself in the predicament of having to go all the way to the back. I took my time walking back there since I equate that area back there with all kinds of scary things after a very unfortunate ride on the 38 my first week in SF. But it was actually very civilized back there. I sat in the very last row between to guys in suits reading the newspaper. We discussed articles we'd read that day and where I should go to lunch for my year review. I half expected a string quartet to fire up and someone to come by with passed appetizers and a selection of fine wines. Who knew there was a safe haven hiding back there from me. I might walk the extra 5 blocks in the wrong direction just to become a permanent resident of the 1 line back of the bus crew. That is maybe if it ever stops raining here in SF.

My Secret Gap Jacket

It is rainy. Again. As it has been ever Sunday for the past 6 weeks. The only good thing about the weather, besides the fact that I am all caught up on my Tivo, is my awesome black trench. It's black with camel piping and the lining is too cute for words polka dots. The best part about the coat, shhhhh, is that I found it at the Gap for $20. Everyone always oohs and awes over this coat. I get oodles of compliments and I never ever tell a sole where I found it. Every once in a while I see another one of these fab numbers out on the street and I wink at the owner after I get over the shock of remembering that I'm not the only one in the universe who has amazing coat.

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.