Not been on here for a while since there's not much news to report, only depressing stats of jobs applied for and jobs got interviews for. It is times like this when I realise why it is cool to be from Yorkshire, we are the master of thrift. Even though we don't know it at the time our parents and Grandparents taught us how to save the pennies and scrimp as and when needed. Since I have been married I too have tried to teach my LA born Hubby to be a cheapskate, I mean an Eco friendly warrior!
San Francisco is full of old hippies, new hippies, Lefties, 5,000 homeless and a lot of rich kids living off their trust funds. So, after living here for 4 years now, I have authority on my observations of the spend thriftiness of its inhabitants and I am just going to jot a few down, so when I am rich and can afford to leave a massive footprint, I can look back on this and remember the good old days. (cough).
Plastic bags have been banned for the city, not that the Asian fish market proprietors would know; did you know the plastic bags one gets there doesn't disappear, ever? They have not been banned in the Peninsula though, and that is why one gets funny looks from the Safeway cashier when one shouts - "NO bag, I have my own". This concept is sure to spread and I have my designs on making some great Eco friendly shopper bags that actually match one's outfit, as opposed to bright green corporate logo'd ones you get free at special events. So watch this space. I am actually getting a friend to help out, putting my theory of 'rope someone else in to one's project then one has to complete it' to the test. Being coupled with a similar minded lass will encourage me to get this idea up and running.
No excuses really since I have been out of work for, well, let's just say a long time. I am down to my last ounce of patience now. Even though I am qualified for a lot and have a college degree it is not exactly the best time to be me right now! Landscaping, which is my passion is dead due to the lack of elaborate houses being built in the Bay Area (and I thought outdoor kitchens were going to be all the rage this year!). Event Planning, my second passion, by default is producing many small gigs but not 'the one'. This is a wee bit trying as Matt owns the business and is also looking each day for something to sink his teeth in to. Cooking and baking is still my ultimate joy, however baking is making me pile on some never to be lost pounds so I am knocking that on the head. However my 3 'heavenly pies' made it to Mum's restaurant, a baby shower and my fridge with nothing but gasps of joy and requests for the recipe over the weekend. I wonder if the deli next door needs new cake suppliers? Maybe soy chocolate pies are all the rage this season?
Anyway back to the post, and the point of the post...........Once wishes sometimes one excelled in sciences, as this seems to be the only industry where people still have jobs. Let's just hope my dream job application which I emailed today for (with a bloody typo) passes through to the interview stage, and let's hope the lovely catering/cooking goddess requiring a PA Googles me and reads this plea for help! Come on you know you need me!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Monday, April 06, 2009
Summer is Here
In San Francisco - San Francisco not L.A. You may be mistaken and think that Pamela Anderson types in red swimsuits are basking in the Californian sun all the time. Well, you are very wrong. However for some reason the Mission in the Southern end of the city the sun is out, but I doubt anyone has ever seen a leggy blond parading up and down Valencia Street in a lifeguard outfit, unless it is Bay to Breakers of course, then anything could happen. What I am getting at is it is really hot right now - It has been in the high 70's in my neighborhood all weekend, and the fog managed to take a lay in yesterday and did not blanket the beautiful Golden Gate Park. Which made for a grand fortieth birthday party for Meg (did you find a camera near our table by the way?). Matt and I went to play kickball, or slosh ball as it is aptly named. Basically it is a game of baseball with a huge beach ball (but much, much harder - especially when booted at one full on in the face). You have to have a beer in hand at all times, and also have to down a pint on 2nd base before you even think of moving a muscle. You are probably getting apprehensive about this blog post now - thinking a million and one things which could have gone wrong. Thinking that it is probably best that two of my close friends here are nurses, pondering what awful stories of drunken debauchery can one write about. Well, sadly there was no game.
My mate Mike, from London and his crazy hyperactive mentalist excuse for a dog arrived at 3 ish, and met Matt who was already there as he plays football every Sunday at the polo fields in the park. There were already 3 picnic tables filled with nibbles and a full bar and many party goers half intoxicated after drinking keg beer and whizzing about on roller skates for the best part of the morning (one aspect of the celebrations I decided to pass on) and the field was as green as Gleneagles all set for a kickball extravaganza. Well, it did not happen, maybe because the host was wandering about the place with a long blond wig, a Mexican cell phone holder, cut off denim shorts and several different multicolored sun glasses throughout the course of the day. Maybe it was because there were two kegs and did I mention the full bar? Perhaps the copious amount of small people with organic names such as Ocean and Leaf put us drunken fools off; kicking kids in the head while trying to avoid a drinking fine while sliding into 1st base usually ends in tears. Or perhaps it was the fact that the sun beating down on our happy smiling love living in San Francisco face's were just revelling in the fact that Spring is here. And I don't need to don a red one piece to prove it!
My mate Mike, from London and his crazy hyperactive mentalist excuse for a dog arrived at 3 ish, and met Matt who was already there as he plays football every Sunday at the polo fields in the park. There were already 3 picnic tables filled with nibbles and a full bar and many party goers half intoxicated after drinking keg beer and whizzing about on roller skates for the best part of the morning (one aspect of the celebrations I decided to pass on) and the field was as green as Gleneagles all set for a kickball extravaganza. Well, it did not happen, maybe because the host was wandering about the place with a long blond wig, a Mexican cell phone holder, cut off denim shorts and several different multicolored sun glasses throughout the course of the day. Maybe it was because there were two kegs and did I mention the full bar? Perhaps the copious amount of small people with organic names such as Ocean and Leaf put us drunken fools off; kicking kids in the head while trying to avoid a drinking fine while sliding into 1st base usually ends in tears. Or perhaps it was the fact that the sun beating down on our happy smiling love living in San Francisco face's were just revelling in the fact that Spring is here. And I don't need to don a red one piece to prove it!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Here I am again on my own
So, I have been fannying around the house since 9.30 am with it in my head that I will sit and waffle on this for an hour at least - Just so, you know my fingers don't stop working, which would actually leave more time for the tongue to keep on wagging, thatwould make someone happy I am sure. Yeah, so the time is now 4.20 (hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm) and I am just about to embark on a writing exercise from a book called 'The Writer's Block' by Jason Rekulak. It is one of my Mother's garage sale finds and has been collecting dust in front of my web cam for about 2 years now. You know, just sitting there taunting me, making me feel even more miserable than I already highlighting the fact I do absolutely nothing anymore except laundry (which includes some canny double folding of boxer shorts), dish washing, cat sitting (feeding, brushing, getting rid of eye boogies and running round the flat playing silly games of "Where's Wally" for most of the day) and don't forget the paying of parking tickets, which is actually a full time job for someone with two cars living in a 2 hour limit parking area with no resident tags.
Wow. I have just realised that wearing my glasses while typing actually makes a big difference when it comes to, well, seeing. Wow, wish I would have wore them slightly more often then the four times I have since purchasing them in 1998. Actually I have probably wore these twice, since the first pair I purchased were accidentally left on a flight from Heathrow to San Francisco about three millisecond after I paid about 300 quid for them.
Why don't we have resident tags on our cars? They cost $70 and I have had an application on my desk since Hubby put it there, it is now after some rummage action under 3 months of Macy's statements. Why? Why do I let small things irritate me to the point of mini breakdown, and do absolutely nothing about it? It must be all that boxer short folding I partake in.
So, back to the book. It is a little 4x3"cardboard book. It can be opened at any page, and will give you a topic from which to work with - So, I will open a page randomly and 'Write about your worse habit' jumps out at me. I only gave my self an hour...How am I possibly gonna write about my worse habit in such a short space of time? OK, answer: Laziness. For example, not getting up to the parking office and paying my resident parking permit which would result in possibly only one ticket for each vehicle per week, which would be on street cleaning day.
Next page; 'Write about a childhood experience that made you cry', have you got a spare couple of months?
Final attempt; 'Describe your first encounter with a celebrity'. Ha ha - I have a quick tipple about such a meeting, so since I have twenty mins left; which is the time I am allocating to utilize my talents, not just something to do so it looks like I am not wasting mt talents, I will divulge.
This was probably the first time I had ever met anyone famous, apart from standing in front of the Laughing Clown, encased in his glass dome at the Pleasure Beach in Blackpool. I was 19 years old, and it was my gap year and I spent it here in the United States. I was actually spending lots of time on the coast, as you do, hanging with the locals, moon bathing and the likes. This is the year I learned to smoke. This year I dated some hot surfers, and smoking obviously made one more attractive, not that the accent did not get me into many a party. This was the year I met Joe DiMaggio. You know Marilyn Monroe's Husband (well, one of them) and he even gets a mention in a Simon and Garfunkel song. He is however most famous here for playing baseball for the New York Yankees in the fifties. Know him yet? Well I do!
We met across a crowded room full of other bored pensioners playing bingo at the Half Moon Bay Golf Club, before it was taken over by the Ritz chain thus rendering it utterly out of any one's price range. The bingo is probably $40 a game in there now. I recognised his chiseled looks immediately and wanted to know what it was like to dance with Grace Kelly - That was until my mate informed me it was not Clark Gable! It was then I discovered this wrinkled old eighty something was once married to my childhood crush Marilyn Monroe. I had no idea about anything baseball related, so ran up to him, with a Mars Bar, of all things in my hand ready to ask him to describe the luscious blond in one word. "They used to cost 7 cents when I was your age" were his exact words.
I still kick myself for not getting his picture or autograph, God Bless. May he rest in peace, hope he got to make a final hook up with Maz.
Oh and by the way, I was not playing bingo.
Wow. I have just realised that wearing my glasses while typing actually makes a big difference when it comes to, well, seeing. Wow, wish I would have wore them slightly more often then the four times I have since purchasing them in 1998. Actually I have probably wore these twice, since the first pair I purchased were accidentally left on a flight from Heathrow to San Francisco about three millisecond after I paid about 300 quid for them.
Why don't we have resident tags on our cars? They cost $70 and I have had an application on my desk since Hubby put it there, it is now after some rummage action under 3 months of Macy's statements. Why? Why do I let small things irritate me to the point of mini breakdown, and do absolutely nothing about it? It must be all that boxer short folding I partake in.
So, back to the book. It is a little 4x3"cardboard book. It can be opened at any page, and will give you a topic from which to work with - So, I will open a page randomly and 'Write about your worse habit' jumps out at me. I only gave my self an hour...How am I possibly gonna write about my worse habit in such a short space of time? OK, answer: Laziness. For example, not getting up to the parking office and paying my resident parking permit which would result in possibly only one ticket for each vehicle per week, which would be on street cleaning day.
Next page; 'Write about a childhood experience that made you cry', have you got a spare couple of months?
Final attempt; 'Describe your first encounter with a celebrity'. Ha ha - I have a quick tipple about such a meeting, so since I have twenty mins left; which is the time I am allocating to utilize my talents, not just something to do so it looks like I am not wasting mt talents, I will divulge.
This was probably the first time I had ever met anyone famous, apart from standing in front of the Laughing Clown, encased in his glass dome at the Pleasure Beach in Blackpool. I was 19 years old, and it was my gap year and I spent it here in the United States. I was actually spending lots of time on the coast, as you do, hanging with the locals, moon bathing and the likes. This is the year I learned to smoke. This year I dated some hot surfers, and smoking obviously made one more attractive, not that the accent did not get me into many a party. This was the year I met Joe DiMaggio. You know Marilyn Monroe's Husband (well, one of them) and he even gets a mention in a Simon and Garfunkel song. He is however most famous here for playing baseball for the New York Yankees in the fifties. Know him yet? Well I do!
We met across a crowded room full of other bored pensioners playing bingo at the Half Moon Bay Golf Club, before it was taken over by the Ritz chain thus rendering it utterly out of any one's price range. The bingo is probably $40 a game in there now. I recognised his chiseled looks immediately and wanted to know what it was like to dance with Grace Kelly - That was until my mate informed me it was not Clark Gable! It was then I discovered this wrinkled old eighty something was once married to my childhood crush Marilyn Monroe. I had no idea about anything baseball related, so ran up to him, with a Mars Bar, of all things in my hand ready to ask him to describe the luscious blond in one word. "They used to cost 7 cents when I was your age" were his exact words.
I still kick myself for not getting his picture or autograph, God Bless. May he rest in peace, hope he got to make a final hook up with Maz.
Oh and by the way, I was not playing bingo.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Blockatronathon
OK- I am finally blogging again. I want to be a writer but don't write jack shit. I want to be published but do absolutely nothing to promote myself or increase my chances, ie I am very lazy. I have not been blogging since last June, and I can not blame anyone except myself for my sheer inability to put pen to paper and get my ass away from housewife duties long enough to get something down. Even if it is rants about how crap I am at not ranting.
Last night my Husband said that I have not written a damn word since I got wed. I can not argue with that one really, except I have written to my mate Vicky in Kent on occasion, and also to my dear Granddad who is in a home with Parkinson's Disease. Oh, I write a lot of checks too, but I guess they don't count for much.
The only thing that I have been doing to actively improve my chances of ever getting paid for any of this gibberish is reading. I have found my reading mojo again and now an rushing through the three bookshelves full of my garage sale finds and a few stragglers that I liberated from the Community Thrift shop. I have even got used to reading the news on line, only took me 15 years to get my head round it. Nothing beats reading a real news paper, and sadly my kids will probably never get the chance since a lot of dailies are getting slashed in this economy. Nothing will beat the British papers which I miss so much, especially the Guardian. I miss the smell even - Better not get me started or I will be craving fish and chips next.
I have been a housewife since I got wed back in Feb 2008, waiting patiently for a visa so I can stop spending the savings and contribute a little more than the Martha Stewart effort I have been putting in, and basically help utilize this brain, which cannot withstand too much more partying, therefore should be taken advantage of more, especially since baby talk is being banded about a lot, and I resign myself to the fact I am gonna be goo-gooing and ga-gaing for the next few years at least.
Rereading this I cannot even convince myself that my bone idleness has been weaving its web of mass degeneration for the past, gosh nearly year. I am finally admitting to myself that I have a talent and I should get it out in the world. It's just this block I get, I have a fear of something, perhaps rejection, which stumps my talents and renders me a Hoovering, cooking baking freak. I have even got a sewing machine! Mind you, it's not like that thing will make curtains on its own. It is nearly as stubborn as me, and has only accumulated an inch or so of dirt since I bought it for $30 from a man who's Mam died. The bargains one can pick up at garage sales in America is unbelievable. It is just waiting for me to create, like this blankish space I am tapping away at now.
Come to think of it another reason for my disappearance of the blogiverse is that I am not addicted to Facebook. It is ridiculous, even Matt (who is in his 40's) is on it first thing each day. I am fascinated at the photos people put on there, the old style, scanned in pictures are the best. There is definitely entertainment in looking back and random people's embarrassing hair styles and clothing choices. Plus meeting back up with random people from random times talking a load of random rubbish is to me appealing. I love Facebook, but alas my friends time spent on this site is decreasing as of today. Sunshine and promise of being a published writer, oh and the fact I have the time to do all of this will now dictate my old but new habit of writing.
I cannot believe people have missed my blog.. It is amazing people can actually be arsed to read my waffling, mind you they do in real life so I may have something after all.
Last night my Husband said that I have not written a damn word since I got wed. I can not argue with that one really, except I have written to my mate Vicky in Kent on occasion, and also to my dear Granddad who is in a home with Parkinson's Disease. Oh, I write a lot of checks too, but I guess they don't count for much.
The only thing that I have been doing to actively improve my chances of ever getting paid for any of this gibberish is reading. I have found my reading mojo again and now an rushing through the three bookshelves full of my garage sale finds and a few stragglers that I liberated from the Community Thrift shop. I have even got used to reading the news on line, only took me 15 years to get my head round it. Nothing beats reading a real news paper, and sadly my kids will probably never get the chance since a lot of dailies are getting slashed in this economy. Nothing will beat the British papers which I miss so much, especially the Guardian. I miss the smell even - Better not get me started or I will be craving fish and chips next.
I have been a housewife since I got wed back in Feb 2008, waiting patiently for a visa so I can stop spending the savings and contribute a little more than the Martha Stewart effort I have been putting in, and basically help utilize this brain, which cannot withstand too much more partying, therefore should be taken advantage of more, especially since baby talk is being banded about a lot, and I resign myself to the fact I am gonna be goo-gooing and ga-gaing for the next few years at least.
Rereading this I cannot even convince myself that my bone idleness has been weaving its web of mass degeneration for the past, gosh nearly year. I am finally admitting to myself that I have a talent and I should get it out in the world. It's just this block I get, I have a fear of something, perhaps rejection, which stumps my talents and renders me a Hoovering, cooking baking freak. I have even got a sewing machine! Mind you, it's not like that thing will make curtains on its own. It is nearly as stubborn as me, and has only accumulated an inch or so of dirt since I bought it for $30 from a man who's Mam died. The bargains one can pick up at garage sales in America is unbelievable. It is just waiting for me to create, like this blankish space I am tapping away at now.
Come to think of it another reason for my disappearance of the blogiverse is that I am not addicted to Facebook. It is ridiculous, even Matt (who is in his 40's) is on it first thing each day. I am fascinated at the photos people put on there, the old style, scanned in pictures are the best. There is definitely entertainment in looking back and random people's embarrassing hair styles and clothing choices. Plus meeting back up with random people from random times talking a load of random rubbish is to me appealing. I love Facebook, but alas my friends time spent on this site is decreasing as of today. Sunshine and promise of being a published writer, oh and the fact I have the time to do all of this will now dictate my old but new habit of writing.
I cannot believe people have missed my blog.. It is amazing people can actually be arsed to read my waffling, mind you they do in real life so I may have something after all.
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