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.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
My First Attempt at a Magazine Story
So, I am an out of work Assistant to a Landscape Architect. Newly married, living in the adult play ground of the world, San Francisco. Doing what my husband has given me a chance to do, which is write. My ideal day would be 4 hours searching Craig’s List for a juicy overpaid part time job, then another 4 hours on the old keyboard typing away a load of old shite. Writing is what it has been referred to me as; “something I could do if I just sat my boney ass down and did”, an easy way to make ends meet. Well, believe me – I have contemplated this for a few years now. I even started to tell people that I was writing a book. I am so fucking sick of them asking me where it is that I have finally sat down, and am on with it*. A slight distraction from looking for a job, but at least I am not eating!
I spend my days wishing I could come up with just one idea that could make me a millisecond millionaire. There seems to be a lot of opportunity for entrepreneurs in this country, but in San Francisco it feels like one must be a really great muralist or be a pioneer in saving the planet, by recycling something as miniscule as the plastic film covering the pecan and cilantro dip at Trader Joe’s. There are a lot of artists here showing their wares, so I guess writing is an art form, so I go fourth. I will be parading up and down Market Street soon wearing nothing but a typewriter ribbon and a feather boa.
Being a British lass in the U.S of A is not too much different as being a Yorkshire lass battling it out* in London for twelve years. I lived in London after completing my college up North in Old York and no one understood me there either. However I was not a novelty item back home as I am here. Since there is not class distinction in this country I am not merely ‘Northern Scum’* from a coal mining background, I am European. Traveled, educated, have an accent and make people laugh - granted it is usually at me and not with me! I must admit I do like all the attention I receive due to my accent, I cannot complain really. Now that I have my husband to translate for me, life is getting a little easier in the States.
Thinking about writing all your life is annoying, especially when every 3rd person you meet advises you to “write a book”. So, you know that you have it in you, and you have support and faith from your family (and other complete strangers), but you feel always that it is wasting time, not constructive and not something a British girl paying $2k rent a month in the Mission should be doing! Can anyone offer me a few shifts in a bar please?
It is not knowing where to start that gets me. I always remember from my impressionable years at an all girl’s private school, that a story must have a beginning, middle and an end. Being that most people who do write for a living almost always include some biographical content one thinks about the end part of the story. I am in my thirties; do I have an end yet? At some point yeah, but how do you get that into a story when you don’t even know what is going to happen yourself? It is then when it clicked. A writer can write his own ending. Artistic license. I can predict my own future – Yeah that is it. My column’s going to be an instant success, I am going make a bucket load of cash and retire in Bali. The end!
If only it was. You know, ever since an ex boyfriend said to me. “You would love to live in Bali” That has been my get out plan, my escape from an ordinary life. Somewhere to go to escape the mundane and completely irrational behavior of my less than ordinary family. Half of whom live State-side. Sometimes I wonder why I actually moved here. I thought it was to be closer to my family, how wrong can one be? A can of worms will probably be opened over the course of these writings, but at the end of the day maybe this is the therapy I have been waiting for!
Just a few things that will help you decipher my ramblings, I have an accent, a thick one, so thick in fact it could cure bacon*. So un-American it seems like a foreign language to most people I meet. So for the purpose of maybe getting published, I am using American spellings and also italicizing words and phrases I deem to be unique to my folk. I have added a glossary for your convenience too.
So, if you do ever get a passport and travel further than than Yosemite, please visit the beautiful Yorkshire countryside. You should pocket a few of these phrases and the local ‘folk’ may even grant you a pint of Ale (no we do not say Ale, my Granddad may though; we say beer, like you guys. However our beer actually has a head on it is a full pint and is not warm, contrary to popular belief). So there you go, some free Brownie points for you. So, don’t say I never give you owt.
Glossary:
On with it: going forth
Battling it out: fighting
Northern Scum: London resident’s usual way of addressing people who do not live within a 30 mile radius of Buckingham Palace.
Buckingham Palace: the Queen’s official residence.
Bacon: a thick strip of pork with one fat end. Not a skinny multi calorie slither of fat soaked crunchy cack. (Similar to Canadian bacon)
Cack: slang for a ‘number two’.
Number two: Cockney Rhyming slang for crap.
Cockney rhyming slang: (now it gets confusing), colloquial utterings from a Cockney’s gob
Cockney: someone born in London within the sound of the bow bells, a church in the East end.
Gob: mouth
Folk: People- Always used when referring to Yorkshire ‘Folk’
Brownie Points: Brownies is the institution little girls are encouraged to before they venture onto Girl Scouts. They wear brown dresses. Well they did when I was one. They now wear themed sweatshirts in a yellow color only maybe a tenth of the Brownie population can actually carry off. This is not explaining the phrase however- I am going to have to ask my husband to try and give me an accurate translation this
Owt: Classic Yorkshire phrase meaning ‘anything’
I spend my days wishing I could come up with just one idea that could make me a millisecond millionaire. There seems to be a lot of opportunity for entrepreneurs in this country, but in San Francisco it feels like one must be a really great muralist or be a pioneer in saving the planet, by recycling something as miniscule as the plastic film covering the pecan and cilantro dip at Trader Joe’s. There are a lot of artists here showing their wares, so I guess writing is an art form, so I go fourth. I will be parading up and down Market Street soon wearing nothing but a typewriter ribbon and a feather boa.
Being a British lass in the U.S of A is not too much different as being a Yorkshire lass battling it out* in London for twelve years. I lived in London after completing my college up North in Old York and no one understood me there either. However I was not a novelty item back home as I am here. Since there is not class distinction in this country I am not merely ‘Northern Scum’* from a coal mining background, I am European. Traveled, educated, have an accent and make people laugh - granted it is usually at me and not with me! I must admit I do like all the attention I receive due to my accent, I cannot complain really. Now that I have my husband to translate for me, life is getting a little easier in the States.
Thinking about writing all your life is annoying, especially when every 3rd person you meet advises you to “write a book”. So, you know that you have it in you, and you have support and faith from your family (and other complete strangers), but you feel always that it is wasting time, not constructive and not something a British girl paying $2k rent a month in the Mission should be doing! Can anyone offer me a few shifts in a bar please?
It is not knowing where to start that gets me. I always remember from my impressionable years at an all girl’s private school, that a story must have a beginning, middle and an end. Being that most people who do write for a living almost always include some biographical content one thinks about the end part of the story. I am in my thirties; do I have an end yet? At some point yeah, but how do you get that into a story when you don’t even know what is going to happen yourself? It is then when it clicked. A writer can write his own ending. Artistic license. I can predict my own future – Yeah that is it. My column’s going to be an instant success, I am going make a bucket load of cash and retire in Bali. The end!
If only it was. You know, ever since an ex boyfriend said to me. “You would love to live in Bali” That has been my get out plan, my escape from an ordinary life. Somewhere to go to escape the mundane and completely irrational behavior of my less than ordinary family. Half of whom live State-side. Sometimes I wonder why I actually moved here. I thought it was to be closer to my family, how wrong can one be? A can of worms will probably be opened over the course of these writings, but at the end of the day maybe this is the therapy I have been waiting for!
Just a few things that will help you decipher my ramblings, I have an accent, a thick one, so thick in fact it could cure bacon*. So un-American it seems like a foreign language to most people I meet. So for the purpose of maybe getting published, I am using American spellings and also italicizing words and phrases I deem to be unique to my folk. I have added a glossary for your convenience too.
So, if you do ever get a passport and travel further than than Yosemite, please visit the beautiful Yorkshire countryside. You should pocket a few of these phrases and the local ‘folk’ may even grant you a pint of Ale (no we do not say Ale, my Granddad may though; we say beer, like you guys. However our beer actually has a head on it is a full pint and is not warm, contrary to popular belief). So there you go, some free Brownie points for you. So, don’t say I never give you owt.
Glossary:
On with it: going forth
Battling it out: fighting
Northern Scum: London resident’s usual way of addressing people who do not live within a 30 mile radius of Buckingham Palace.
Buckingham Palace: the Queen’s official residence.
Bacon: a thick strip of pork with one fat end. Not a skinny multi calorie slither of fat soaked crunchy cack. (Similar to Canadian bacon)
Cack: slang for a ‘number two’.
Number two: Cockney Rhyming slang for crap.
Cockney rhyming slang: (now it gets confusing), colloquial utterings from a Cockney’s gob
Cockney: someone born in London within the sound of the bow bells, a church in the East end.
Gob: mouth
Folk: People- Always used when referring to Yorkshire ‘Folk’
Brownie Points: Brownies is the institution little girls are encouraged to before they venture onto Girl Scouts. They wear brown dresses. Well they did when I was one. They now wear themed sweatshirts in a yellow color only maybe a tenth of the Brownie population can actually carry off. This is not explaining the phrase however- I am going to have to ask my husband to try and give me an accurate translation this
Owt: Classic Yorkshire phrase meaning ‘anything’
Monday, May 12, 2008
$400.63 for a New Wheel!
I can not believe that the wheel which I had welded last August for over $200 has broken, and caused a flat, which I noticed after I had driven 5 blocks to Safeway's this morning. I did wonder what the noise and steering problems were as I had just paid $330 plus for two new tires and a fucking alignment - Excuse my language, but the whole wheels, which I know are integral to one's car's performance, thing just makes me so angry. All I want to do it make my car move from A to B. With the help of course of my trusted Tom Tom. So, you see it pains me so, that I have been compelled to blog about it.
The dreaded red check engine light came on the other day too. Don't even get me started on that one. That light has caused too many trips to the cash machine and not even the love for my car Joy can allow me to spend any more cash on her. She is getting sold. Along with Matt's Toyota truck, Tracey - they are both being swapped for a hybrid number, dunno which one yet - research is getting done as, well, it isn't actually so any tips form anyone.? Do any of my mates own one, or know anyone that does?
So, it is May. The middle of, Monday at 5.44pm in my new 'hood, the Mission in San Francisco. Matt and I moved in together, and we have been living here just over a week, well, two weeks on Wednesday, that went quick. The sun is shining still, the window to the office, where I am faces East, but the sky is still blue - with the rays hitting the back deck. I love this flat.
There are some obviously hit you straight in the face, which were of some concern from the initial viewing, no no's about the 'hood, like the fact some one had been shot and two people stabbed a week or so before we moved in. We actually discovered later, from the owner of the building, when he came to fix the dodgy lighting, that in fact a kid had been shot on the bench directly under this office window, which is bang your leg on it close to the door step. Well, the lease had been signed.
The whole house hunting thing was a night mare from the start, as Matt was undertaking a huge gig he had planned, which spread across 5 venues over the city, it was the build up and he was glued to his cell and laptop. So, it left me looking at about 15 properties in one weekend and then a scattered few for a nights over two weeks. I am so glad that I did not opt for the 1st one I saw in Noe Valley. Lovely 'hood, but the flat was a cellar basically, the living room floor was tiled (me thinks good for flooding- mind you after earthquake, it would take more than a Swiffer to clean up the mess).
This flat, is a flat, not a 1/4 -ered Victorian botch job, with the bedroom off the kitchen, it is a lovely - above a laundrette kind-of -flat! You go in the front door, up the wooden, painted (mole) steps. There is an original painting of a purple cat, with yellow high-tops running round the corner, classic. Then a landing. I like this as it means all the rooms go off in different directions and are separate. The floors throughout are wooden 3" oak, with a matt varnish - The 1st room to the left is the bedroom, which has an original painting of a blue bear. These paintings are directly painted on the wall, and are the only remnants (well, except a few tiki mugs, a purple glass bowl and nice water jug/vase) from the previous tenant who is an artist. It is cartoon/graffiti-fied, really cool simple lines and colours. Anyway, I move on - The kitchen is big, with a pantry, but all the action is in a long line, starting with a single sink, granite worktops, and an oven. There are plenty of cupboards, but they are high up. I need to stand on an chair to get to the mixer and juicer - I need to get a ladder (where from?). The main problem is that there is no draining board. I did notice this when looked at the place originally, but it's other features were a slight distraction, like massive wardrobe in the bedroom - which turned out to be all mine, because my love has his stuff in the office, which is supposed to be a second bedroom, so that is where the closet is. Plus his '30's dressers look ace in here. Then there is the wonderful original fireplace, complete with mirror, two shelves and columns, but sadly only producing a redundant gas pipe which was an update of the wood burning instead of a real fire. Come on doesn't that sound cosy? Anyway, it turns out that heat is not a problem, because as long as we are living above this laundrette those tumble dryers are gonna keep us warm, and probably send us deaf too!
The bathroom is new, it is small, but has storage for towels and my plastic boxes of utter crap. You know I have lived here for nearly three years and when I moved last week from the suburbnes of San Mateo to the Missionnes of the Mission I found a Boots brand bottle of hair mouse. Now since when exactly has mouse been extinct? I mean come on - when did you last use it? I had a moment of nostalgia, I must admit, but only for the Boot's logo. Boots did some great sandwiches. Hope M&S's did not bag all that business and Boot's is still going strong. Oh, I love the one at Heathrow Airport. Er, bathroom - yeah, nice dark granite floor tiles, and white for the shower. The shower is above the bath, not my favourite, but it it the norm here.
Then through the kitchen is the back storage room, which leads onto the deck. I am gonna get 5 galvanised dustbins, slimmish though, and plant bamboo - this will stop wind and block out the ugly flats to the left. The view straight is OK - There is a cafe and it's patio is there, with little picnic tables, tucked under a canopy of fruit trees. Not seen much action out there yet. I am just waiting for rats - I know a bit of a drastic switch- 'cause it brings me on to something else that I must remember to do - Get a cat. I know, ironic isn't it? I found one a few blog posts ago, Milo - Only had two emails from him, and he forgot about me, see how fickle can one be? I found two catnip stuffed mice in the move too - he was so spoiled, the ungrateful sod! So, yeah - I have been looking on Craig's List for a cat, I want a tom, indoor or out - he can do what he pleases. So, I have signed up with an adoption agency and have also been looking at spoiled little kittys form people who are going to abandon them! There are some lovely ones about - but none I have bonded with in Cat Cyber space with yet.
I am looking for a job as well as moving. Why is my life chill for ages then BANG, gets all hectic for a while? So, I am still working for JP - The Landscape Architect, but it is only part time, because I left my other job to start a restaurant, which I am no longer part of, long story, nearly at the end of this!, So yeah, I am here in San Francisco, in a really lovely part of town, bordering Protrero Hill, I really like it - looking for a job in the landscaping industry, doing anything but heavy lifting- Prefer site surveying and 'rendering', only partial bending and slight wrist movement! Go figure. (in a So.Cal. accent of course).
So yeah it is all good, except for tomorrow when I see that dreaded red check engine light gawping at me at 8am when I am off to work!
See ya x
The dreaded red check engine light came on the other day too. Don't even get me started on that one. That light has caused too many trips to the cash machine and not even the love for my car Joy can allow me to spend any more cash on her. She is getting sold. Along with Matt's Toyota truck, Tracey - they are both being swapped for a hybrid number, dunno which one yet - research is getting done as, well, it isn't actually so any tips form anyone.? Do any of my mates own one, or know anyone that does?
So, it is May. The middle of, Monday at 5.44pm in my new 'hood, the Mission in San Francisco. Matt and I moved in together, and we have been living here just over a week, well, two weeks on Wednesday, that went quick. The sun is shining still, the window to the office, where I am faces East, but the sky is still blue - with the rays hitting the back deck. I love this flat.
There are some obviously hit you straight in the face, which were of some concern from the initial viewing, no no's about the 'hood, like the fact some one had been shot and two people stabbed a week or so before we moved in. We actually discovered later, from the owner of the building, when he came to fix the dodgy lighting, that in fact a kid had been shot on the bench directly under this office window, which is bang your leg on it close to the door step. Well, the lease had been signed.
The whole house hunting thing was a night mare from the start, as Matt was undertaking a huge gig he had planned, which spread across 5 venues over the city, it was the build up and he was glued to his cell and laptop. So, it left me looking at about 15 properties in one weekend and then a scattered few for a nights over two weeks. I am so glad that I did not opt for the 1st one I saw in Noe Valley. Lovely 'hood, but the flat was a cellar basically, the living room floor was tiled (me thinks good for flooding- mind you after earthquake, it would take more than a Swiffer to clean up the mess).
This flat, is a flat, not a 1/4 -ered Victorian botch job, with the bedroom off the kitchen, it is a lovely - above a laundrette kind-of -flat! You go in the front door, up the wooden, painted (mole) steps. There is an original painting of a purple cat, with yellow high-tops running round the corner, classic. Then a landing. I like this as it means all the rooms go off in different directions and are separate. The floors throughout are wooden 3" oak, with a matt varnish - The 1st room to the left is the bedroom, which has an original painting of a blue bear. These paintings are directly painted on the wall, and are the only remnants (well, except a few tiki mugs, a purple glass bowl and nice water jug/vase) from the previous tenant who is an artist. It is cartoon/graffiti-fied, really cool simple lines and colours. Anyway, I move on - The kitchen is big, with a pantry, but all the action is in a long line, starting with a single sink, granite worktops, and an oven. There are plenty of cupboards, but they are high up. I need to stand on an chair to get to the mixer and juicer - I need to get a ladder (where from?). The main problem is that there is no draining board. I did notice this when looked at the place originally, but it's other features were a slight distraction, like massive wardrobe in the bedroom - which turned out to be all mine, because my love has his stuff in the office, which is supposed to be a second bedroom, so that is where the closet is. Plus his '30's dressers look ace in here. Then there is the wonderful original fireplace, complete with mirror, two shelves and columns, but sadly only producing a redundant gas pipe which was an update of the wood burning instead of a real fire. Come on doesn't that sound cosy? Anyway, it turns out that heat is not a problem, because as long as we are living above this laundrette those tumble dryers are gonna keep us warm, and probably send us deaf too!
The bathroom is new, it is small, but has storage for towels and my plastic boxes of utter crap. You know I have lived here for nearly three years and when I moved last week from the suburbnes of San Mateo to the Missionnes of the Mission I found a Boots brand bottle of hair mouse. Now since when exactly has mouse been extinct? I mean come on - when did you last use it? I had a moment of nostalgia, I must admit, but only for the Boot's logo. Boots did some great sandwiches. Hope M&S's did not bag all that business and Boot's is still going strong. Oh, I love the one at Heathrow Airport. Er, bathroom - yeah, nice dark granite floor tiles, and white for the shower. The shower is above the bath, not my favourite, but it it the norm here.
Then through the kitchen is the back storage room, which leads onto the deck. I am gonna get 5 galvanised dustbins, slimmish though, and plant bamboo - this will stop wind and block out the ugly flats to the left. The view straight is OK - There is a cafe and it's patio is there, with little picnic tables, tucked under a canopy of fruit trees. Not seen much action out there yet. I am just waiting for rats - I know a bit of a drastic switch- 'cause it brings me on to something else that I must remember to do - Get a cat. I know, ironic isn't it? I found one a few blog posts ago, Milo - Only had two emails from him, and he forgot about me, see how fickle can one be? I found two catnip stuffed mice in the move too - he was so spoiled, the ungrateful sod! So, yeah - I have been looking on Craig's List for a cat, I want a tom, indoor or out - he can do what he pleases. So, I have signed up with an adoption agency and have also been looking at spoiled little kittys form people who are going to abandon them! There are some lovely ones about - but none I have bonded with in Cat Cyber space with yet.
I am looking for a job as well as moving. Why is my life chill for ages then BANG, gets all hectic for a while? So, I am still working for JP - The Landscape Architect, but it is only part time, because I left my other job to start a restaurant, which I am no longer part of, long story, nearly at the end of this!, So yeah, I am here in San Francisco, in a really lovely part of town, bordering Protrero Hill, I really like it - looking for a job in the landscaping industry, doing anything but heavy lifting- Prefer site surveying and 'rendering', only partial bending and slight wrist movement! Go figure. (in a So.Cal. accent of course).
So yeah it is all good, except for tomorrow when I see that dreaded red check engine light gawping at me at 8am when I am off to work!
See ya x
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Trip to Tahoe
Hello dearest blog-readers,
How the devil are you?
I have just come back, well, on Monday, from a fantastic weekend of skiing fun up in the mountains at Lake Tahoe. I went back to Heavenly, which brought back many happy of memories of this time last year. It is such a beautiful resort. Sarah and Jose came for a week last January and we skied in a snow storm. I remember exactly where we were when we stopped for a hot cocoa, the pictures of the gang on this post are taken in the same spot. On my previous visit I could not see my hand in front of my face.
We drove up, well, Matt did the driving, (my brother James sat in the front and I was fetal positioned up in the tiny seats in the back of Matt's truck) last Friday. I had booked a cabin at Zephyr Cove in Nevada, which slept 12. With a lot of emailing, calling and stressing I managed to get 8 people. It was a decent size place, but the bedrooms weren't to private or roomy enough. Matt and I got the master room, however it was the home of the World's loudest heating system. It went off every 30 minutes, just giving one time to nod back off before blasting you in the ear drums with some serious gusto.
Hope you like the snaps x
Monday, January 07, 2008
Happy 2008
Well, I cannot believe it has been so bloody long since I got off mt fat arse and blogged - well, I need to be sat on my bum to blog and it's not fat so I guess I should scrap that whole sentence.
I must say Facebook has been occupying most of my spare- 'let's talk about me' time. If you are not a member of this blogathon phenomenon I suggest you get off your lazy fat butts and get an account - I am there under my new email address harponjo@gmail.com if you have a spare second of 'let's look at Jo time' to spare, so to speak.
I am also in a full-on relationship with a lovely, gorgeously gorgeous man (Matt) who needs my undivided attention thus rendering it impossible to blog, or write anything much, hence my emails are slacker of late and also why Facebook is such a revelation. One can be a right nosey biatch without speaking to anyone, pop a few pictures of fun weekend events on the album section and search for school bullies and x-bestist forever friends and see how popular you are compared to your other friends.
They are real friends though, people who I have on my list - I do get odd requests from time to time from randoms wishing to be acquainted with me, but that is not what Facebook is about. Now, if I were still single it could be a cheaper way than Match.com to find a date. Me? Never! - those times passed me by with nothing but a few notes (for future publications) and a quick trip to the STD clinic (JOKE - oh how I wish I did not have to write joke here, but it is; would be a lot funnier without, but could end up with me being dumped and thus finding a whole new purpose of my daily Facebook wanderings). Facebook is my new fix - since I watch no TV (well, OK I confess- only 'cause Matt will contradict me), OK. I own no TV. I do watch other people's IE my room mate's when she's out, or Matt's when I have decided enough is enough and I want a night in. I am trying to say Facebook is my Coronation St, my Eastenders, my Big Brother. Since I moved to San Francisco 2 1/2 years ago I have had to find something to entertain my restless gossip leach and Facebook my friends is the way to go.
I was impressed with the 'superwall' function which allows one to play youtube videos. However when I tried to download a skiing vid- you know just to show off that I am now the Ski Master- capable of skidding down double black diamonds with the rest of 'em. In fact I see one can now blog a video so here goes- 1st video on my blog (fingers crossed).
And before I leave thanks for the support you whinge bags give me to continue these mindless rants- now I know I am missed I may be able to add a few more entries. Keep smiling, keep reading. Miss you more than you will ever know xx
I must say Facebook has been occupying most of my spare- 'let's talk about me' time. If you are not a member of this blogathon phenomenon I suggest you get off your lazy fat butts and get an account - I am there under my new email address harponjo@gmail.com if you have a spare second of 'let's look at Jo time' to spare, so to speak.
I am also in a full-on relationship with a lovely, gorgeously gorgeous man (Matt) who needs my undivided attention thus rendering it impossible to blog, or write anything much, hence my emails are slacker of late and also why Facebook is such a revelation. One can be a right nosey biatch without speaking to anyone, pop a few pictures of fun weekend events on the album section and search for school bullies and x-bestist forever friends and see how popular you are compared to your other friends.
They are real friends though, people who I have on my list - I do get odd requests from time to time from randoms wishing to be acquainted with me, but that is not what Facebook is about. Now, if I were still single it could be a cheaper way than Match.com to find a date. Me? Never! - those times passed me by with nothing but a few notes (for future publications) and a quick trip to the STD clinic (JOKE - oh how I wish I did not have to write joke here, but it is; would be a lot funnier without, but could end up with me being dumped and thus finding a whole new purpose of my daily Facebook wanderings). Facebook is my new fix - since I watch no TV (well, OK I confess- only 'cause Matt will contradict me), OK. I own no TV. I do watch other people's IE my room mate's when she's out, or Matt's when I have decided enough is enough and I want a night in. I am trying to say Facebook is my Coronation St, my Eastenders, my Big Brother. Since I moved to San Francisco 2 1/2 years ago I have had to find something to entertain my restless gossip leach and Facebook my friends is the way to go.
I was impressed with the 'superwall' function which allows one to play youtube videos. However when I tried to download a skiing vid- you know just to show off that I am now the Ski Master- capable of skidding down double black diamonds with the rest of 'em. In fact I see one can now blog a video so here goes- 1st video on my blog (fingers crossed).
And before I leave thanks for the support you whinge bags give me to continue these mindless rants- now I know I am missed I may be able to add a few more entries. Keep smiling, keep reading. Miss you more than you will ever know xx
Friday, September 14, 2007
WARNING: Contains Material Some May Squirm At
Hello Bloggeristas,
Hope all is well where e'r you may be. I have had a stressful week and wanted to get some of it off my ever diminishing chest (daren't even get the 'boys' measured as I fear they are smaller than my friend Sarah's - she is preggers though so maybe she is not really the one I should be comparing with). Let's just say I bought a child's bikini today from Ross - bargain at $3.50 plus 8.24% tax (which always gets me, still after living here two years, and visiting for at least 15 years).
Stress has reared it's ugly head in various ways, mostly to do with cash, which is ironic because one of the reasons that I came here to was dispel all previous beliefs that money means happiness. Well, lack of money surely does mean unhappiness, and it is due to being paid late on my wages and also a series of car malfunctions that I have got myself into a bit of a mess with the old finances.
I started my new job three months ago - which meant I had to purchase a car from my Step Dad, the one he'd so kindly provided me when I worked for him. Bargain price, but the 'check engine' light was illuminated, and had been for the 18 months prior to me buying it. It is a 2001 Jetta VW, which in this country means due it's 1st smog, which is an emissions test, but like the MOT in the UK, but not as rigid. It will not pass if any of the warning lights are on, so I got it checked out. Oh, only needed a new catalytic converter - $1200 thank you very much. So paid that, got the smog certificate, Bob's your Uncle. All registered/taxed and ready to roll. Except for a little flat, slow puncture I thought. Hummm just a $200 repair job on busted rim which is aluminium and basically as useful as a chocolate frying pan. Better than forking out $350 for a new rim right?
With all that paid for and also the realisation I have to put in a full tank of petrol every other day ($35 - $42) because I drive a lot of miles for work, I was a bit stressed out. Feeling very lucky that this was the last bill I would have regarding the car (she is called Joy by the way - Oh Fucking Joy as she gets most of the time), I cruised up Highway 1 - the scenic route from my fam's house in the Santa Cruz Mountains, one morning; I was minding my own, well, was on the cell to my bloke, when who did I spot hiding under the 40 MPH sign? Yeah C.H.I.P.S. Now to all those folks who saw this show when they were a child will probably empathise me when I say I cannot help but laugh at the usually height challenged cop, on a BMW wearing Ray Ban Wayfarers, with his beige nylon pants riding right up his sack (sorry Gran). Yeah they are funny, and yeah they all love an English accent, and he did note I had the same fashion sense when it comes to sunglasses; but not on this day. My spat of bad luck with Joy came to a crescendo when I got a speeding ticket - I was doing 64 in a 40 - but I was coming out of a 55 zone. Now I am usually one to argue, but this C.H.I.P's guy seemed to be fully loaded with Mace, a semi automatic piece and some fancy stun gun, so I held back the laughter and gave it the sorry Sir, I won't do it again Constable (well, not quite but you get my drift). So, I just got the bill for this today, $275 plus $30 traffic school - which is some rode safety course led by a man in a clown costume who hands out pizza at , lunch time (honest). The purpose of this jovial day of teaching or supposed to stop your insurance rising next year, which sounds great to me, but I think I will opt for online traffic school, a lot less funny and may actually teach me a lesson. It is I admit about time I got done for speeding - Being the whirlwind that I am.
So now the squirmy bit. I have to go for surgery as the Yanks put it - An operation to you Brits. On Thursday please think of me while you are sat watching East Enders eating Shepherd's Pie and peas. I am going for the old Farmer Giles, piles, (haemorrhoids) cutting and frying off. So it is farewell to old Percy, and Paul and the seven other bad boys who have been residing up the old whatsit for forever. I have had them injected before but they came back, so now the scalpel is getting weilded about. I am not too bothered about some random Doctor prodding about, it is the Fleet enema I have to give myself two hours before which is freaking me out a bit, in fact inducing nightmares such as being trapped on Alcatraz. Plus the fact I will not be able to have a cigarette to calm me down. Nothing to do with the hospital rules of course; I have actually been smoke free for two weeks and a day. I am very proud of this factor, but that is a whole other blog.
I am also very disappointed because Morrissey is playing 4 gigs at my favourite San Francisco venue The Fillmore that week, and I have two tickets for the Editors I am trying to flog for that date (any takers?). So not allowed to jump about really and apparently cannot drive for a bit - cut down on the gas I suppose, and the potential for getting another ticket.
OK better get to bed - early start for the multi family garage sales in San Carlos tomorrow. I should look out for either a child's inflatable swimming ring, or one of those things you pop round your neck when flying - may come in handy for Thursday post op! Have a lovely weekend...
PS upon rereading this I saw a really bad wrong spelling and cannot find it now - v late and I need bed ;-)
Hope all is well where e'r you may be. I have had a stressful week and wanted to get some of it off my ever diminishing chest (daren't even get the 'boys' measured as I fear they are smaller than my friend Sarah's - she is preggers though so maybe she is not really the one I should be comparing with). Let's just say I bought a child's bikini today from Ross - bargain at $3.50 plus 8.24% tax (which always gets me, still after living here two years, and visiting for at least 15 years).
Stress has reared it's ugly head in various ways, mostly to do with cash, which is ironic because one of the reasons that I came here to was dispel all previous beliefs that money means happiness. Well, lack of money surely does mean unhappiness, and it is due to being paid late on my wages and also a series of car malfunctions that I have got myself into a bit of a mess with the old finances.
I started my new job three months ago - which meant I had to purchase a car from my Step Dad, the one he'd so kindly provided me when I worked for him. Bargain price, but the 'check engine' light was illuminated, and had been for the 18 months prior to me buying it. It is a 2001 Jetta VW, which in this country means due it's 1st smog, which is an emissions test, but like the MOT in the UK, but not as rigid. It will not pass if any of the warning lights are on, so I got it checked out. Oh, only needed a new catalytic converter - $1200 thank you very much. So paid that, got the smog certificate, Bob's your Uncle. All registered/taxed and ready to roll. Except for a little flat, slow puncture I thought. Hummm just a $200 repair job on busted rim which is aluminium and basically as useful as a chocolate frying pan. Better than forking out $350 for a new rim right?
With all that paid for and also the realisation I have to put in a full tank of petrol every other day ($35 - $42) because I drive a lot of miles for work, I was a bit stressed out. Feeling very lucky that this was the last bill I would have regarding the car (she is called Joy by the way - Oh Fucking Joy as she gets most of the time), I cruised up Highway 1 - the scenic route from my fam's house in the Santa Cruz Mountains, one morning; I was minding my own, well, was on the cell to my bloke, when who did I spot hiding under the 40 MPH sign? Yeah C.H.I.P.S. Now to all those folks who saw this show when they were a child will probably empathise me when I say I cannot help but laugh at the usually height challenged cop, on a BMW wearing Ray Ban Wayfarers, with his beige nylon pants riding right up his sack (sorry Gran). Yeah they are funny, and yeah they all love an English accent, and he did note I had the same fashion sense when it comes to sunglasses; but not on this day. My spat of bad luck with Joy came to a crescendo when I got a speeding ticket - I was doing 64 in a 40 - but I was coming out of a 55 zone. Now I am usually one to argue, but this C.H.I.P's guy seemed to be fully loaded with Mace, a semi automatic piece and some fancy stun gun, so I held back the laughter and gave it the sorry Sir, I won't do it again Constable (well, not quite but you get my drift). So, I just got the bill for this today, $275 plus $30 traffic school - which is some rode safety course led by a man in a clown costume who hands out pizza at , lunch time (honest). The purpose of this jovial day of teaching or supposed to stop your insurance rising next year, which sounds great to me, but I think I will opt for online traffic school, a lot less funny and may actually teach me a lesson. It is I admit about time I got done for speeding - Being the whirlwind that I am.
So now the squirmy bit. I have to go for surgery as the Yanks put it - An operation to you Brits. On Thursday please think of me while you are sat watching East Enders eating Shepherd's Pie and peas. I am going for the old Farmer Giles, piles, (haemorrhoids) cutting and frying off. So it is farewell to old Percy, and Paul and the seven other bad boys who have been residing up the old whatsit for forever. I have had them injected before but they came back, so now the scalpel is getting weilded about. I am not too bothered about some random Doctor prodding about, it is the Fleet enema I have to give myself two hours before which is freaking me out a bit, in fact inducing nightmares such as being trapped on Alcatraz. Plus the fact I will not be able to have a cigarette to calm me down. Nothing to do with the hospital rules of course; I have actually been smoke free for two weeks and a day. I am very proud of this factor, but that is a whole other blog.
I am also very disappointed because Morrissey is playing 4 gigs at my favourite San Francisco venue The Fillmore that week, and I have two tickets for the Editors I am trying to flog for that date (any takers?). So not allowed to jump about really and apparently cannot drive for a bit - cut down on the gas I suppose, and the potential for getting another ticket.
OK better get to bed - early start for the multi family garage sales in San Carlos tomorrow. I should look out for either a child's inflatable swimming ring, or one of those things you pop round your neck when flying - may come in handy for Thursday post op! Have a lovely weekend...
PS upon rereading this I saw a really bad wrong spelling and cannot find it now - v late and I need bed ;-)
Monday, August 27, 2007
Dianne and Me at Pillar Point Harbor, Princeton CA.
Both of us Yorkshire Lasses on Telegraph Hill's beautiful step/garden walk.
Dianne and Estella at Mum's corner shop - which is located in the kitchen!
Pompolino State Beach, CA.
Showing a bit of leg.Just a quick blog - I have to whack a few pics on here because I managed to take 250 in the fortnight Dianne came to visit me and some are just gems, so I am off work, Monday afternoon, having bottomed my room, cleaned both my floor and the kitchen, on hands and knees I may add, perched on the edge of my unmade bed waiting for the sheets to dry in the tumble dryer. Why we don't 'peg out' here some may wonder - well, the sun is so bright it fades all one's colours so it is nion impossible to get that fresh line dried effect. Mind you, I seem to recall in England my washing was on the line for days, since the weather meant constant drenching of the clothes and resulted in another day flapping about in the garden, getting tangled up in the old honeysuckle, well, that's how I remember it.
So then Dinx the Minx AKA Dianne Dyminski has left the country, nearly got turfed of the connecting flight in Vegas before she even got on it - drunk, I wonder if that had something to do with the 4 cans of Bud she stasdhed in my car for the 15 minute journey to the airport? Or could be someting to do with the lovely ladies she met in the Vegas bar, one too many for the skies or so the air sueward tried to imply. Alas she got back to Blighty in one piece with many happy memories of a trip to see her old friend Jo. So some pictures for you to have a gander at any comments would be welcomed, just so I know you are out there reading this crap. A hello would be appreciated.
I must say it was a pleasure having Di to stay, she is a lesbian and a just like a bloke really, probably why we got on so well. She was easily pleased and happy with a cheapo can of beer and a few weirdo sightings in a day. I must say we dodged a shooting by a block, was harassed by a scary crack head who decided flemming up on my window would be the friendly welcome to the city Dianne was going to get and met an original Haight and Ashbury Summer of Love Hippie (yeah he was wearing a tie-died t- shirt!), hung in a very butch dyke club, where a few tongue sarnies were scoffed, saw part of a Giant's game for free and went to a gig at Berkley's Greel Theatre. I am considering becoming a tourist guide.
I have an idea for tours of the city - freak tours - basically a day in the city, frequenting such places as SOMA's 5th and 6th residential areas, Haight and even the Marina for those prepily disguised freaks who seem to love spending $8 on a beer. It would be akin to the ghost tours of York where I went to Uni maybe I should put a little more thought into it.
It has been a lovely weekend of chill. Not that I was dying to get that Minx back on the plan to whence she came. I just needed to recharge my batteries and stay in. So I cooked a salad, yeah eggs were boiled, beans grilled so in my book that constitutes cooking which was a accompanied by some tasty fillet grilled to perfection by my boyfriend Matt (see you got a mention). Saturday we drove up to the city, Matt got a hair cut and we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge to Tiberon and a littlle bar n the harbour overlooking the city, a wicked view of Alcatraz by the way, had a few rasberry rum smoothies (eye eye Captain), rummaged around a few yard sales where I got a few choice pieces of silver and wooden jewelery, then back to the city for a night in watching shite TV and a Chinese takeaway. Sunday was spent watching Pearl Harbor and eating Calzones from Pizza Orgasmica, then trivia at the Pig and Whistle. We came joint 3rd, so not too bad considering I know absolutely bugger all. I am all relaxed and ready for my next visit, which I am ecstatic over, Leanne my bestist friend is coming from Leeds with her hubby for a week in October. I will try and get some different shots for their visit. Sorry to bore you all with bridges, beaches and bevvies, but that's life in Sunny Cal - It is all good. Oh, still raining in Blighty??? How many weeks has the weather been akin to that of Noah's days?
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Summer Update
Sara, Bonnie, T and Franzine in Kilowatt last Friday
Matt and Me on Berkley University Campus (I cannot turn it round)
Me and Dianne last Sat at the Greek Theatre, Berkley.
Me and Matt growling.
More growlers (foxymonster.com for the hats)Well, well, well....Doesn't time fly when the sun is out, the humming birds are flitting about and the trees are looking their most glorious? Yeah, Summer in the Peninsula rocks here in California. I cannot say it is too hot in San Francisco (Leanne pack a sweater or two for your October visit please), the fog caused by the two water masses the Bay and the Pacific put pay to anyone within 3 miles of San Francisco getting a view due to the thick band of fog which hovers over the city most days. It does leave at noon ish - only to make a speedy return round about 5 pm. Well, this does not effect Juanita Banana (me - that's my Spanish/Mexican Name).
So, I got a home for Milo my pussy, he is very settled and his new Mummy sends me weekly updates on his welfare - Apparently it took her a few weeks to tell Milo that even though Mummy Juanita let the poor declawed bugger out the house - New Mummy (or should I say Mommy ?) was not going to be so wicked. Poor thing. Anyway - good deed for the month done. Funny though - I am house sitting for my Mum at the moment and a strange dopg turned up - Must have a touch of the old Dr Doolittle in me. Shame I did not have the same effect on men (when I was single of course).
I have a friend from my home town of Keighley, West Yorkshire UK staying with me - Dianne - Bless her - she has been a laugh and it has been great seeing a lass with the same background, circle of childhood mates and sense of humour - I am beginning to decide to halt all one liners in the USA 'cause there's only Matt (my man) who understands and laughs appropriately at them.
So, typical San Fran sight seeing tours for the benefit of Dianne - all with a twist, as she is gay - hence a very eye opening visit to the Cat Club (I think renaming it the Pussy Palace would be a good idea) last Friday and a long awaited trip to Hooters - a food joint with lovely looking ladies of the big boobed variety, all harmless fun of course, just got to get to a strip club and then I think Dianne will have had her share of window shopping ;-)
I went to Berkley University's Greek Theatre last Sat with Matt and Dianne, I will post some pics for you to laugh at. We saw a few bands at the 'Summer Haze' gig, drank a few beers and hung out, then popped into the world's greatest burger place In and Out for a late night snackidge (bollox to the diet). Oh yeah I am on a diet and my belly is still the same, but my tits have disappeared to nothing - so much so in fact one is terribly scarred of going into Victoria Secrets for fear of them referring me to the training bra section!!! Pooh.
The diet is just me stopping eating out and consuming vast amounts of Maple Syrup soaked carbohydrate items at two-hourly intervals - Did not take me long to adapt to this consumer driven demanding society did it? So just keeping a check on it.
I have just heard my best friend Leanne from Uni is coming with Ritch her hubby on Oct 6th for a week, and Matt booked us 10 days in Maui so lots to look forward to in October - Just don't mention Christmas yet eh?
OK have to go, pick Dianne up from the train, get bottleds of water from old job, go to Ross Dress for Less - just in case they got a new shipment in, drive 30 miles to Mum's oh, that is after stopping at the pub for a few - Then to Mum's cook for 3, feed 50 cats and 3 dogs - THEN I may watch TV for a change.
So, I got a home for Milo my pussy, he is very settled and his new Mummy sends me weekly updates on his welfare - Apparently it took her a few weeks to tell Milo that even though Mummy Juanita let the poor declawed bugger out the house - New Mummy (or should I say Mommy ?) was not going to be so wicked. Poor thing. Anyway - good deed for the month done. Funny though - I am house sitting for my Mum at the moment and a strange dopg turned up - Must have a touch of the old Dr Doolittle in me. Shame I did not have the same effect on men (when I was single of course).
I have a friend from my home town of Keighley, West Yorkshire UK staying with me - Dianne - Bless her - she has been a laugh and it has been great seeing a lass with the same background, circle of childhood mates and sense of humour - I am beginning to decide to halt all one liners in the USA 'cause there's only Matt (my man) who understands and laughs appropriately at them.
So, typical San Fran sight seeing tours for the benefit of Dianne - all with a twist, as she is gay - hence a very eye opening visit to the Cat Club (I think renaming it the Pussy Palace would be a good idea) last Friday and a long awaited trip to Hooters - a food joint with lovely looking ladies of the big boobed variety, all harmless fun of course, just got to get to a strip club and then I think Dianne will have had her share of window shopping ;-)
I went to Berkley University's Greek Theatre last Sat with Matt and Dianne, I will post some pics for you to laugh at. We saw a few bands at the 'Summer Haze' gig, drank a few beers and hung out, then popped into the world's greatest burger place In and Out for a late night snackidge (bollox to the diet). Oh yeah I am on a diet and my belly is still the same, but my tits have disappeared to nothing - so much so in fact one is terribly scarred of going into Victoria Secrets for fear of them referring me to the training bra section!!! Pooh.
The diet is just me stopping eating out and consuming vast amounts of Maple Syrup soaked carbohydrate items at two-hourly intervals - Did not take me long to adapt to this consumer driven demanding society did it? So just keeping a check on it.
I have just heard my best friend Leanne from Uni is coming with Ritch her hubby on Oct 6th for a week, and Matt booked us 10 days in Maui so lots to look forward to in October - Just don't mention Christmas yet eh?
OK have to go, pick Dianne up from the train, get bottleds of water from old job, go to Ross Dress for Less - just in case they got a new shipment in, drive 30 miles to Mum's oh, that is after stopping at the pub for a few - Then to Mum's cook for 3, feed 50 cats and 3 dogs - THEN I may watch TV for a change.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Milo
OK so my friggin key board is playing up. I cannot see what I am typing as there seems to be a delay. I may be running low on memory, which reminds me I need to get this whole system backed up like tomorrow for fear of loosing all my pics and now more importantly work stuff. I have been working on a spreadsheet for weeks and have used my noggin - I email it to my gmail account each time I amend it - Just in case.
I also have a blank work document in Word which will not delete from the screen without me turning the whole caboodle off. WHY? Gosh, this is frustrating.
OK so what is happening in Harper's world? Not very much, I am thinking about getting out of my place since A) I have aquired a gorgeous cat, and B) My shoes are now living under the bed, due to severe lack of room. That's what you get if you live in a granny flat I suppose.
The cat is called Milo, and it is a Norwegan Forest Cat - see pic. He/she what the hell? Is so lovely, I am trying to get rid of it on Craig's List but have not had much joy. Not that I care 'cause I want it all for myself. Only snag is I am not allowed any pets according to my lease agreement, so I could solve the lack of shoe space if my Landlady catches sight of my pussy.
How did I acquire a cat? Well, funny story - I was given it at a petrol station a week and a day ago. Maybe because I was wearing a Cheshire Cat t-shirt at the time, some Dude decided to approach me, with his sister's kitty, which had just been rejected from entering Davis College. The guy was obviously distraught, and was mumbling about having to take the poor little gorgeous bundle of fluff to the pound. Which is like the Green Mile. Of course I jeopardised my living situation and took the poor thing, cardboard box and all with me in my newly acquired Jetta.
So here she is- a right Royal pain in the ass, the fluffiest cat I have ever had the pleasure of grooming - Yeah grooming! I have to brush her fur cause she has already started Dreading-up, poor little thing. She has no claws too, and I don't think she has ever set a paw outside the door, until now that is.
I hardly see her, she just squawks and looks at the bowl of food I refresh each day. She doesn't like these bits I give her, she is going to have to get used to them because I bought a sack load, mind you she did get a treat, a small pouch of food from Safeways , which she just sniffed at and walked off - tail in the air. I cannot paint a full picture of snobbish behaviour from my little fluff ball. She cries to come in at 6am most days, and I let her on my bed (with a protector sheet of course) and she gets the scratching of her life, since she has no nails I feel it necessary to give her a good rub and she really does appreciate it - I can only describe her body of that of a Koala Bear when she's purring her head off, clinging on with all four limbs to my arm as I try and tickle her.
OK better get on Milo literally walked in my room for her daily groom.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
4th July. The Aftermath
Well, I warned the boys I was not keen on D.I.Y. (Do it Yorself) fireworks and sparklers. But I was not to be the party pooper on the 4th July, yesterday. Here it is Independence Day so you have to don red white and blue, wave the flag and say "Happy 4th". Maybe not. Any excuse for a firework, rocket, snake (load of crap) and bloody sparklers.
Now us Brits see a sparkler as a harmless shiny wondrous wand of glowing gorgeousness. Takes an hour to light them but they are worth it for the 30 second of "awws" and "ahhs" they omit. Sparklers in America look like Tommy guns, they have an extra handle shaped like a gun and throw of large molten globules of hot 'aluminum' arches of white hot mini firebombs.
If you are unfortunate enough to be stood under some lasses waving their light saber-like death sticks above your head. You get a bald patch (see picture 1 - look at parting closely). Yeah, daft biatch Jo was rained upon, as she stood under a sparkler shower.
I had a fit. Immediately wanted to go home, after asking Matt to take this picture so I could 'zoom in' on the damage. Mortified. The bald, burned patch of course felt a lot bigger. It was a shock when the meteor hot rock landed on my head. I felt a hot sensation and smelt my hair burning, grabbed my hair and a massive clump came out in my hand. I was stood near Mike at the time and his face was a picture when I showed him the hair! So that made it worse for me. I shed a few. My hair man. All I kept saying was that it was bad for me 'cause I was a girl!
The boys carried on with the firework nonsense, totally wasted. Irresponsible if you ask me, but no one does, so on this instance, my opinion did not count. The day prior to that incident was spent playing drunken soft ball with my friend T's mate's in Potrero Hill, San Francisco. Drank loads of beer, started with a few cheeky Snakebites. Don't you like a cider on a hot summer's day?
We all took meat and veggies to the softball field and there was a sound system with a mike and a keyboard, so the Baseball tunes were being busted out. It was a laugh. I went with my boyfriend Matt, my friend and Matt's room mate T, her mate Sarah and then loads of people turned up who we all knew so it was day of good people and food. Well, I won't mention the kebabs eh Matt?. Yeah, they seemed to take forever to get going. The coals were never hot enough. What would I know about BBQ-ing anyway, I am a Brit? Yorkshire Puddings anyone?
The game was a laugh. I wore the mascot costume beer can, I will add a pic here, but I think I have to rotate it, and it is a hassle right now- so later. Or just go on facebook, you'll see the full album on that. Can I just say, I was bitten by a spider on the way home last night (yeah, Happy 4th!)? My leg is swollen and my foot just got red. So if you don't hear from me again, that's what did it... Just make sure you cover my bald/burned patch up when you get me sorted for the crematorium!
See Ya.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Frig - What happened to June?
OK - I always apologise here, the part when I feel really guilty for some reason I am not keeping this thing up to date. God forbid if I do ever have kids, they will be pissed off to see Mammy kept all the sunniest goings ons for her eyes only. I should not have to apologise really though because there is only one person who reads this shite on a regular basis and it is only my x-boss, so it does not really cause too much stress, well, it does, I am waffling on about it, yes I feel guilt as Marianne Faithfull said three weeks ago when I saw her at the Fillmore.
If only to brag about all the gorgeously live gigs I have been to since Coachella in April (I still need to put the line up on my blog re this event, and also gather more pictures, although most are to risque for publication, and Madonna already did that book so I guess I will sneak them in the old archives somewhere; I tell you when I am 65 I will not be able to rely on my seriously deteriorating memory to bore my Grand kids to death with - THIS will be my only tool for recollection and I really should document more for my benefit). (Breathe).
I am just gonna list the gigs I have been to recently.
Joan Armatrading at Mountain Winery, Seratoga.
She was great, the first note induced a serious eyeball flooding. Her music evoked so many childhood memories, I just had to shed a few tears, she was real, her voice not a note out from her CD's. I had to use itunes for the first ever time for purchase, as I needed to download her greatest hits just to brush up before the show. My Mum and I went along, and sat in the outdoors with a near-on full moon. Question: Why do Americans feel the urge to talk all the way though a sit down $50 show? About what they are having for tomorrow's dinner and such. The conduct in the cinema is far more disheartening and this gig was the first one I had to ask someone to stop being so disrespectful and downright rude. They moved seats! Always polite - never too aggressive, well a little since it was Joan and there were a fair few 'butch' biatches about, so I had to be a bit firm.
Fratellis at The Fillmore, San Francisco.
Brilliant show, right at the front of the stage. I must say though the roadies provided nearly as much entertainment as the band. Brilliant Scottish looking blokes, Mum actually reckoned the amp man was the glass collector from the band's local! Mum, Stacey and Zoe (visiting from Keighley, Yorks UK) and Christine (visiting from Edinburgh) her half sister Pier and myself went together and danced and shouted our heads off for a very good set, which needed a little bit more audience participation if I have to make a comment. The lead singer did not engage with the audience quite as much as I'd have liked. They left my favourite song 'Chelsea Dagger' for the encore and what an encore, the crowd went crazy.
Sierra Leone Refugee Group, Great American Music Hall, San Francisco.
My God, these boys and lady could play! I cannot really put my finger on a genre for this band, they were thrown together in a refugee camp and obviously decided to pass time by banging on a few instruments, singing, rapping and dancing. A feast for the ears. Never seen a bassist with grey dreads down to his ass before, he insured my eyes did not suffer fatigue, in fact if I wanted to I could have taken the cheeky chappy home. Got very drunk this evening all because of the amount of dancing I was doing.
Hot Chip, The Fillmore, San Francisco.
The best band at Coachella Music Fest. By far, they rocked and my second dose of them made me firmly believe that there are one of the most original, entertaining in a quirky way, lads from home who are causeing riots here. The police stated the next day that this was an illegal rave, seriously guys it is not exactly in a barn in the middle of Kent, we bought tickets and from what I know no E's were being flogged. Rave! It rocked. But I could not liken it to any of the raves I ever attended in my youth (listen to Granny here!). They are so good live, their CD doe not do them justice, you have to see these boys live.
Marianne Faithful, Guess where? Yeah the Fillmore, San Francisco.
Seated at round tables elegantly lit with votives, Mum and I, I treat her for her birthday, sat in a very different Fillmore than what I am used to. It was all very civilized, until Marianne opened her mouth! I have some of her CD's and have only played them a few times, however after this show I cannot stop playing her. She is fantastic. Girls, she is one for the ladies.
OK so there's a few. I have tickets for The Kings of Leon in September will be stood in line at Popscene in two weeks for Maximo Park, this venue is really small, and tickets can only be bought on the door, so it is a pain in the ass, but the last gig I went to there was the Teddybears and they were worth the wait on a chilly foggy night. So I am in line for that one. The Klaxons are plying next Thursday for $15 so I may pop up to the city for that one.
OK, back to Howard Stern on Sirius. He is having a butr ring hoopla game at the moment- all very entertaining I am sure ;-)
If only to brag about all the gorgeously live gigs I have been to since Coachella in April (I still need to put the line up on my blog re this event, and also gather more pictures, although most are to risque for publication, and Madonna already did that book so I guess I will sneak them in the old archives somewhere; I tell you when I am 65 I will not be able to rely on my seriously deteriorating memory to bore my Grand kids to death with - THIS will be my only tool for recollection and I really should document more for my benefit). (Breathe).
I am just gonna list the gigs I have been to recently.
Joan Armatrading at Mountain Winery, Seratoga.
She was great, the first note induced a serious eyeball flooding. Her music evoked so many childhood memories, I just had to shed a few tears, she was real, her voice not a note out from her CD's. I had to use itunes for the first ever time for purchase, as I needed to download her greatest hits just to brush up before the show. My Mum and I went along, and sat in the outdoors with a near-on full moon. Question: Why do Americans feel the urge to talk all the way though a sit down $50 show? About what they are having for tomorrow's dinner and such. The conduct in the cinema is far more disheartening and this gig was the first one I had to ask someone to stop being so disrespectful and downright rude. They moved seats! Always polite - never too aggressive, well a little since it was Joan and there were a fair few 'butch' biatches about, so I had to be a bit firm.
Fratellis at The Fillmore, San Francisco.
Brilliant show, right at the front of the stage. I must say though the roadies provided nearly as much entertainment as the band. Brilliant Scottish looking blokes, Mum actually reckoned the amp man was the glass collector from the band's local! Mum, Stacey and Zoe (visiting from Keighley, Yorks UK) and Christine (visiting from Edinburgh) her half sister Pier and myself went together and danced and shouted our heads off for a very good set, which needed a little bit more audience participation if I have to make a comment. The lead singer did not engage with the audience quite as much as I'd have liked. They left my favourite song 'Chelsea Dagger' for the encore and what an encore, the crowd went crazy.
Sierra Leone Refugee Group, Great American Music Hall, San Francisco.
My God, these boys and lady could play! I cannot really put my finger on a genre for this band, they were thrown together in a refugee camp and obviously decided to pass time by banging on a few instruments, singing, rapping and dancing. A feast for the ears. Never seen a bassist with grey dreads down to his ass before, he insured my eyes did not suffer fatigue, in fact if I wanted to I could have taken the cheeky chappy home. Got very drunk this evening all because of the amount of dancing I was doing.
Hot Chip, The Fillmore, San Francisco.
The best band at Coachella Music Fest. By far, they rocked and my second dose of them made me firmly believe that there are one of the most original, entertaining in a quirky way, lads from home who are causeing riots here. The police stated the next day that this was an illegal rave, seriously guys it is not exactly in a barn in the middle of Kent, we bought tickets and from what I know no E's were being flogged. Rave! It rocked. But I could not liken it to any of the raves I ever attended in my youth (listen to Granny here!). They are so good live, their CD doe not do them justice, you have to see these boys live.
Marianne Faithful, Guess where? Yeah the Fillmore, San Francisco.
Seated at round tables elegantly lit with votives, Mum and I, I treat her for her birthday, sat in a very different Fillmore than what I am used to. It was all very civilized, until Marianne opened her mouth! I have some of her CD's and have only played them a few times, however after this show I cannot stop playing her. She is fantastic. Girls, she is one for the ladies.
OK so there's a few. I have tickets for The Kings of Leon in September will be stood in line at Popscene in two weeks for Maximo Park, this venue is really small, and tickets can only be bought on the door, so it is a pain in the ass, but the last gig I went to there was the Teddybears and they were worth the wait on a chilly foggy night. So I am in line for that one. The Klaxons are plying next Thursday for $15 so I may pop up to the city for that one.
OK, back to Howard Stern on Sirius. He is having a butr ring hoopla game at the moment- all very entertaining I am sure ;-)
Friday, May 25, 2007
Bay To Breakers SF
OK- So here goes - I have finally found a little time to Blog. I know I should make more of an effort, mind you it would only be for Keith, since he's the only one of you lot who bothers to read this sodding thing!It has been chicken oriental since I last logged on. I have not even started to think about adding all the live gigs I have been to- I really must tell all about the Coachella, Palm Springs Festival in April, there are some funny tales to be told, all detrimental to my angel like persona, however I am prepared to show myself up for the sake of you guys. The lasses met Lilly Allen which gave them a buzz- Not as much as watching the little Minx strut her stuff on stage - High as a kite on pot - she said it not me, prancing about the stage with her quirky dress and trainers. I definitely got a kick out of watching her, she is a true starlet. For how long one can not make assumptions, but I reckon she'll manage to squeeze another record out. And if not, she's always got her New Look fashion line to help her pay the mortgage.
The above picture was taken in Golden Gate Park, which is simply lovely - a new discovery for me, since I have been dating a soccer player, it seems I spend a bit of time in the park, and with my love for lillys and the odd leg I find my fetishes can be quenched in this tranquil part of San Francisco. Sunday is usually my day of choice for my little wanderings. Last Sunday was to say the least most interesting.
The Bay to Breakers is a 7 mile race through the city - from the bay to the beach, through many historical neighbourhoods, and past plenty of famous sites. Some people, let's just say the old wrinkled, skin down to the belly when it should be on the forehead-types seem to find it necessary to grace us with their naked presence. I am still searching for a reason why. They sure like their photos taken. I will not scare you off my blog, therefore have posted the pseudo C.H.I.P.S. picture.
These guys were walking through the park and decided to arrest me, for what exactly I cannot recall, I am sure it was a minor traffic offence such as dancing in the middle of the road. Anyway, they dumped me in the trolley-come-bike at such force nearly paralyzed me for life. I remember them fireman's lifting me into the damn cart, and dropping me like you'd dump potato peelings into a compost heap. The metal seat dug into my spine and I made a small yelp. However this did not seem to deter them from slapping the 'cuffs on me. Not funny when they said they had no key. I just had visions of them abandoning me on Ocean Beach, leaving me there all cold and miserable waiting for the tide to come and get me.
Now this whole incident was erased from my memory bank, probably something to do with consuming a lot of champers that day. I was only reminded of my arrest when I woke the next day with a huge bruise on my back, and when I finally rose from my pit, realised I was bent over like Fagin. Hummmm, what happened? I went to work and looked at my friend's digi'-camera; Everything became clear. I diagnosed my pain, and decided to track down the culprits, however upon close inspection did not quite make out the Officer's badge numbers, so I need your help? Anyone recognize these heavy handed Coppers? Please report them to the Crime Scene Incident room, which has been erected beside the Rose garden, just off JFK Drive, near the Conservatory, G G Park.
I love San Francisco.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Lazy Bloggerista
Summer is here and it is the 40th Anniversary of the Summer of Love. So San Francisco has endless possibilities for a single chika such as myself. I feel bad not blogging but I am sure you understand :-)
More pics and tales of the city soon.....
Friday, May 04, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
Ticketmaster Bullshit
Now I have to get this off my chest. I have been purchasing tickets from these robbing bar-stewards for 18 months and I just have to complain about the ridiculous charges these money grabbing gits have the cheek to charge for getting a ticket on line.
Most things for example my bargain BGBG $180 jeans were purchased on line for a significantly cheaper than retail price. In this case I paid $29.99 plus shipping on eBay.
Used books; get all mine for about $1 from Amazon, used of course but a damn site cheaper than the $15 they charge in Waterstones.
But what Ticketmaster do, how they actually run their business is daylight robbery. They first of all tempt you to sign up to their pre-release in order get your tickets 2 days before they go on sale to the general public. So being a geek I wait patiently for the 10am start and proceed to type furiously into the computer my pass word, which is a headache in itself since I am not exactly Carol Vauderman when it comes to numbers. This 15 minute frantic pounding of the keyboard is preceded by a nightmarish skit of trying to decode the special code, which is difficult since upper and lower case letters all mingle into a gauzed box of silliness. After several attempts you are in. Happy that you have secured for example two Wolfmother tickets for $30 each. Proceed to check out.
BANG a $8.50 service charge per ticket is added at the register, then a $2.50 charge because you want to consume your own ink and print them out on one's personal printer. What IS that all about? This really is day light robbery.
I have just been perusing Craig's List and have seen these tickets for $80 each selling to the poor fans who never have access to the magical world of Ticketmaster's pre-release system. I feel that these issuse need addressing because someone who has nothing to do with the actual mucisians are making a lot of cash from us.
OK that's my PMT rant over.
Most things for example my bargain BGBG $180 jeans were purchased on line for a significantly cheaper than retail price. In this case I paid $29.99 plus shipping on eBay.
Used books; get all mine for about $1 from Amazon, used of course but a damn site cheaper than the $15 they charge in Waterstones.
But what Ticketmaster do, how they actually run their business is daylight robbery. They first of all tempt you to sign up to their pre-release in order get your tickets 2 days before they go on sale to the general public. So being a geek I wait patiently for the 10am start and proceed to type furiously into the computer my pass word, which is a headache in itself since I am not exactly Carol Vauderman when it comes to numbers. This 15 minute frantic pounding of the keyboard is preceded by a nightmarish skit of trying to decode the special code, which is difficult since upper and lower case letters all mingle into a gauzed box of silliness. After several attempts you are in. Happy that you have secured for example two Wolfmother tickets for $30 each. Proceed to check out.
BANG a $8.50 service charge per ticket is added at the register, then a $2.50 charge because you want to consume your own ink and print them out on one's personal printer. What IS that all about? This really is day light robbery.
I have just been perusing Craig's List and have seen these tickets for $80 each selling to the poor fans who never have access to the magical world of Ticketmaster's pre-release system. I feel that these issuse need addressing because someone who has nothing to do with the actual mucisians are making a lot of cash from us.
OK that's my PMT rant over.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
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