Good point, albiet a little sweeping in its assumption that all Republicans/Conservatives feel this way

I try and stay away from politics on this here blog, but once in a while something comes along that is too good not to share. The following excerpt has been floating around the interwebs for a little while now. I found it here. While it does pigeonhole an inferred group of people, I happen to think some of this makes a good point. Enjoy. Or don't.

• You didn't get mad when the Supreme Court stopped a legal recount and appointed a President.
  
• You didn't get mad when Cheney allowed Energy company officials to dictate energy policy.
  
• You didn't get mad when a covert CIA operative got outed.
  
• You didn't get mad when the Patriot Act got passed. You didn't get mad when we illegally invaded a country that posed no threat to us.
  
• You didn't get mad when we spent over 600 billion (and counting) on said illegal war.
  
• You didn't get mad when over 10 billion dollars just disappeared in Iraq.
  
• You didn't get mad when you found out we were torturing people. You didn't get mad when the government was illegally wiretapping Americans.
  
• You didn't get mad when we didn't catch Bin Laden.
  
• You didn't get mad when you saw the horrible conditions at Walter Reed.
  
• You didn't get mad when we let a major US city, New Orleans, drown.
  
• You didn't get mad when we gave a 900 billion tax break to the rich. You didn't get mad when the deficit hit the trillion dollar mark.
  
• You finally got mad when the government decided that people in America deserved the right to see a doctor if they are sick. Yes, illegal wars, lies, corruption, torture, stealing your tax dollars to make the rich richer, are all okay with you, but helping other Americans...oh hell no.

Because I love food. And you guys.

I just bought $75 worth of gift certificates to some of my favorite restaurants for SIX DOLLARS!!! How did I do it? Do I have connections in the restaurant industry? Is my boyfriend's dad in the food business? (He is, but that's not how I got this deal.)

Restaurant.com is running a deal where you can buy a $25 gift certificate to any restaurant on their website for $2. Just enter the promo code COOK. That's it. And the only strings attached are that you usually have to spend $35 at the restaurant in order to redeem the certificate, it's only valid Monday-Thursday, and it's not good on alcohol. If you ask me, that's still a phenomenal deal. Bon appetit, you guys!

Editor's note: I am in no way affiliated with this website. I just really, really like food!

A $189 misunderstanding

The Rad Boyfriend and I recently booked a trip to Florida to visit family and attend a wedding. We purchased plane tickets a few weeks ago and we've been looking into hotels ever since. Our main criteria for hotels was (a) cheap and (b) close to our friends. Today I went on hotels.com and found some pretty inexpensive options that were super close to our friends. After emailing back and forth with the bride, I decided on one hotel in particular and gChat'ed a link to Rad Boyfriend:

me: [link to hotel]

$84/night

1.4 miles from that other hotel they were talking about

and it's a 3.5 star hotel

let me know what you think

Sent at 11:10 AM on Tuesday

Sometime after 11:10, I changed my gChat status to "I think I want Burger Lounge for lunch."

Between 11:44 and 11:49, the following exchange took place:

Rad Boyfriend: Mmmm

Do it

me: ok

total is $188.92

for 2 nights

Sent at 11:49 AM on Tuesday

Rad Boyfriend: Haha no wait

Burger lounge I meant haha

me: dude

i just booked it

HE SAID "DO IT"!! Internet, if you asked your boyfriend what he thought about a hotel, and the next response you got from him was "do it," what would you think?


Luckily the hotel is really nice and close to our friends and only $84 per night, which is much less than we were expecting. And most importantly:

me: are you mad?

Rad Boyfriend: Not really

No

Amused a little

So it all worked out. And he's still Rad.

Feeling whimsical

Dogfish
by Mary Oliver

Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing
kept flickering in with the tide
and looking around.
Black as a fisherman's boot,
with a white belly.

If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile
under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin,
which was rough
as a thousand sharpened nails.

And you know
what a smile means,
don't you?

*

I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,

whoever I was, I was

alive
for a little while.

*

It was evening, and no longer summer.
Three small fish, I don't know what they were,
huddled in the highest ripples
as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body
one gesture, one black sleeve
that could fit easily around
the bodies of three small fish.

*

Also I wanted
to be able to love. And we all know
how that one goes,
don't we?

Slowly

*

the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.

*

You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.

And anyway it's the same old story - - -
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.

Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.

And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.

*

And look! look! look! I think those little fish
better wake up and dash themselves away
from the hopeless future that is
bulging toward them.

*

And probably,
if they don't waste time
looking for an easier world,

they can do it.


Thank you, Alice.

While the boss is away....

....there's only so much busy work I can do.

My boss has been out sick ALL WEEK. I've done everything I can possibly do in the meantime to keep myself busy, and I am getting B-O-R-E-D. Hence I thought now would be a good time to write a blog post. Only I don't really have much to write about, so this might be a hodgepodge of miscellaneous topics:

• The Rad Boyfriend and I are going to Florida in May to visit family and attend a wedding. We'll be in Miami for 2 nights and in Orlando for 2 nights. Any suggestions on what to do in Miami? The last time I was there, I was 15 and only remember The News Cafe and this. (Don't click on that if you're at work--while not offensive, it might shock some work folk.) Any suggestions on restaurants and whatnot would be helpful =)
  
  
• Because I'm poor, I went clothes shopping at Target recently and found some AWESOME stuff. Seriously ladies, check it out!
  
  
• When I first moved into my current house, everything was white: white walls, while built-ins, white appliances, white white white. Even my bedset at the time was white:

So I went to Bed Bath & Beyond recently and bought a bedset almost the exact opposite of white: it's brown. Dark brown with shades of aqua and lime green. Pair that with the dark wook furniture and the darker curtains I bought, I'm starting to think it's just too dark in the room. ::Sigh:: I guess we live and learn through decorating mistakes.

• Here is an adorable picture of Tioga, one of the kitties Red and I have temporarily adopted:

I say temporarily because her mommy and daddy are in Peru doing Peace Corps-type work and will be back in July. I'm gonna miss these kitties!

On being in a relationship

Scene: I accidentally used Rad Boyfriend's toothbrush over the weekend, and almost did it again last night. His response:

"Here's how you can tell the difference between my toothbrush and your toothbrush: mine is the normal-looking one, and yours is the one that looks like it's been shoved in a blender."

But I like it here....

Dan over at [redacted] recently wrote a post about moving back to New York City after living in Miami for a few years. I left the following comment about my fear one day moving back home:

Glad you're back. However I must say, being a born-and-bred New Yorker who moved to warmer climates myself, this worries me. Does this mean I'll end up moving back to the snow and sleet, too? Is every New Yorker's inevitable plight to move someplace awesome and warm, only to realize how much they miss the En Why See? Because I really, REALLY like it here in San Diego. :-/

Here is his response:

Put it this way, Danielle. If New York and San Diego were people, New York would be Jon Hamm and San Diego would be a Jonas Brother, and when the Jonas Brother saw Jon Hamm hanging out all nonchalantly on the street corner he'd be like, "What are you doing, Jon Hamm?" and Jon Hamm would be like, "Just waiting for you to fuck it up, Jonas Brother."

All I have to say is this: if San Diego somehow stops being awesome, or if I ever tire of wearing flip-flops to work (whichever comes first), and this results in me moving back to New York, Don Draper better have an affair with me.

Choosing my words carefully

I live in San Diego where the weather is warm and the sun is out and I can wear flip-flops 300 days out of the year. Most all of my friends and family are on the East coast, where they were just hit with feet of snow and will likely suffer through at least 2 more months of below-freezing temperatures. This makes for awkward conversation when my mom calls and asks me what I'm doing. Because I don't want to lie to her, but at the same time, I don't want to tell her that I'm sitting outside sipping champagne and enjoying brunch on the patio of a nice restaurant.... that would just be mean. So how do I handle this situation? By downplaying it:

Mom: Hi babe, how are you? What are you doing?
Me: I'm good. We're... uh... sitting outside, nothing special.
Mom: How is the weather? Is it nice out?
Me: Uh, yeah. It's in the 70's. Which is a nice change, because it rained here all last week.
Mom: The 70's? Really? Ugh. It's 34 and snowing here. AGAIN.
Me: Aw man, that sucks. But at least the snow is pretty, right?
Mom: Yeah, until I have to dig my car out of it.
Me: Uh... well....
Mom: So what's the temperature there?
Me: Um.. 72 I think?
Mom: Aaahh!! Are you wearing a t-shirt and flip-flops?
Me: Yeah, but it's the first time I've gone out without a sweater in weeks.
Mom: A sweater?! I've been wearing my winter coat for 3 months already! I am so jealous.

And so it goes. No matter how much I downplay it, my mother will always assert that I have it better out here than she has it back home. Until I remind her that she gets to snuggle up with this every night:

Why he's so rad

Six months ago, right when we started dating, I mentioned in passing that I'd never had flowers sent to my office before. Thursday afternoon I came back from lunch and found this on my desk.




He is awesome =)

It's been a long, long time

For those of you who still have me in your "blogs I'm following" list, hi! And welcome back! For those of you who have taken me off your list, well you're probably not reading this anyway. So =P

It's been a while, I know. I promised (twice) to start writing this blog thing again, and both times I broke my promise. It's just that things got so busy so fast, I barely had time to sleep let alone update a website. I know, I suck. So how's about no more promises? Much like starting a new relationship, let's just see where things go from here.

I think I mentioned in some previous posts that I finally made my life-long dream of moving to California come true. Too much time has passed to get into an in-depth discussion about the past six months, so let's pick up where we should've left off....



....with this season of LOST. I am not loving it. Maybe I need to watch each episode twice like I did last season. Maybe I need to sit back and just let it happen without reading too much into it. (HA!) Or maybe I've just grown out of the show.

My main complaint is that after 5 years of messing with our heads and constantly adding new characters and storylines without reconciling previous ones, they've yet again added a whole new twist. IN THE LAST SEASON. Aren't they supposed to be tying up loose ends at this point? Who is this Asian leader and what does he want with the Losties? How long have he and his people (and the temple) been there? How does this plot line tie in with the history of the show and the island? How does it tie in with the whole parallel universe thing they've got going on?

I was all prepared to spend 16 episodes being shocked and amazed and saying stuff like, "Ooohh NOW I get it!" But instead, I've spend the last 3 (has it been three? I've lost count already) being annoyed and bored. Don't get me wrong, I will still watch every episode and analyze the crap out of it with Red as we sit on the couch sipping wine. But the less interesting it gets, the more wine I will drink. And considering the amount of wine I already drink, more is definitely not good.

LOST: Please go back to be interesting. My Tuesday nights (and ability to function on Wednesday morning) depend on it.

Pros and cons of living in a gay neighborhood

Pro: Everything is better. The food and service in restaurants, the quality and selection in grocery stores, the friendliness of merchants, EVERYTHING.
Con: The staff constantly hits on your boyfriend.

Pro: Houses and lawns are well-maintained, and the trash is always taken out and sorted properly.
Con: The bums know this and go through all the trash cans in your alley.

Pro: Small children are few and far between, as are loud football parties.
Con: Brunch establishments are packed on the weekends.

Pro: Everyone has a dog.
Con: They're usually small and yappy and poop on your grass.

Pro: Cars are kept clean and with minimal obnoxious flair.
Con: Cars are washed by flamboyant shirtless men (not so much a con) who blast techno music at 8am on Sunday morning (definitely a con).

Pro: Everyone is super nice and friendly.
Con: They Constantly. Hit on. Your boyfriend.

The Wedding, Part 2

Last we heard about The Wedding, the girls were on their way into the church to meet the boys for some aisle-walkin'. That part went off without a hitch; even the 3-year old ring bearer and his little flower girlfriend did their parts and walked hand-in-hand down the aisle. And it was just as adorable as you might think.

Aside from one minor trip over a chair at the alter, the reading I gave at the church (from my iPhone) went well. The groom kissed the bride and we all cheered and clapped and took a thousand and one pictures. Including this one:

Told you they were as adorable as you thought they were ;-)

The limo ride to the reception was.... well, I'm not allowed to talk about the limo ride to the reception. Just know that there was a lot of drinking and personal picture-taking involved. And that it was F-U-N!!!

So we get to the reception hall and we're all nice and toasty, ready for some more boozin' and dancin' and actin' a fool. We hover outside of the hall while all the guests file in, and stop every single server on his or her way out that has even the slightest bit of food left on their serving tray. (We were HUN-GOR-AY!!) As we're milling about aimlessly, Cousin Dee (not to be confused with Me Dee) ushers a very frantic looking woman into the hallway. This woman is clearly upset and begins to talk a bit of smack about another family member, something about someone's husband and who has to stay away from him and some how someone told someone else to keep her hands of him, whoever "him" is. Very confusing. Very agitated. I thank God the bride is not around to witness it. This woman eventually calms down, and someone finally tells us to just go inside and eat, that it'll be at least an hour before the DJ introduces us. So we do.

Then we go back out and dance our way inside. Every couple does a funny dance on their way in, except that the best man and I have decided that he's going to carry me in. Which actually turns out to be pretty funny, because the best man is a 300-pound black man that looks sort of like the Notorious B.I.G., and I am a 125-pound (shut up, I'm estimating) white girl dressed in an elaborate bridesmaid gown and holding flowers. Oh, and he carries me out to Don't Stop Believin'. True story!!

So at this point in the festivities, the bride and groom have danced their first dance and my BFF Caila (hi Caila!!) take this opportunity to go use the ladies room. We walk out into the hallway and are confronted by 6 or 7 servers, 2 managers with headsets, and a flurry of wedding guests. We see 2 children crying in a coat closet and someone trying to console them. The entrance to the patio is being blocked by a member of the catering staff, and we have no idea what the frack is going on. We look out onto the patio and see two females, one of which is the agitated lady from earlier, being held back by a dude, while another lady is being held back by someone else. They are clearly involved in some sort of altercation. Just as we begin to understand the situation, I see blue and red flashing lights. In what probably took all of 10 seconds, the following happened: a manager in a headset pushed his way through the crowd gathering in the hallway yelled at everyone to clear out and refuses to let anyone in from or out to the patio; a wedding guest claiming to he a police officer (who actually is) tries unsuccessfully to push his way outside to help, and become increasingly angry when no one lets him through--they eventually let him through; the bride's brother and his girlfriend try to exit the hall and are frantically pushed back inside by Caila and myself, but when the girlfriend insists she has to pee (poor girl, she'd been holding it for hours!), we have to let her through and explain that there is a fight taking place on the patio outside, and please don't tell the bride or groom. At this point, 6 uniformed police officers and 2 undercover cops have congregated on the patio of this restaurant. The uniformed officers try to enter the building and are politely asked not to, with pleadings of, "Come on guys, this is a wedding. We don't need the bride to find out about this. They're inside having a good time, they just danced their first dance. Let's not make this worse. Can we keep it outside?" (I fully admit to being one of the first people to say those words.) At first, the officers get all "who the fuck do you think you are, I'm a cop and there's been an altercation, I can do whatever I want," but then an undercover agent comes over and makes the same argument that this is a wedding, let's keep it down, and the police take care of the situation outside.

Phew. It seems to be over.

But it's not. Before we can say, "Oh good, let's not tell the bride or groom about this," the groom comes flying around the other side of the patio, clearly upset. And I'm using that term very lightly. He was mad. Fuming, in fact. And rightly so. He has a few choice words for the ladies involved in the fight (who, let's just say, should've been acting with the utmost class and respect considering their relation to the bride and groom), throws his jacket on the floor, and storms out of the restaurant. Both his father and I chase him down the street until I realize I'm the one in 4 inch heels. So I stop running and go back inside to do damage control. Caila and I are both very hush-hush about the situation, downplaying it as much as we can, giving as little detail as possible. The groom comes back inside smiling, and it seems as though his father has calmed him down. The party continues. The bride at some point comes over to my table and casually asks, "Soooo.... how many people saw the fight? Who else knows the cops were called? Come on, you can tell me. I can take it. I've been drinking since this morning."

Aaah, what a wedding. The rest of it went off without a hitch. I gave my speech, we all danced and ate, I nearly suffocated in my dress, my cousin got naked in the bathroom because of a Spanks malfunction, and we all agreed that it was a night to remember.

Winter

I think I was born with thin blood. Or at least some sort of condition that renders me incapable of ever getting warm. Because even when it's 72 degrees outside, the slightest breeze will make me shiver.

It's been about 65-70 degrees during the day here in San Diego, and that's perfectly fine with me. But it goes down to around 57 at night and holy crap, am I freezing. Last night I slept in pajama pants, a t-shirt and sweatshirt, and under a "level 4" down comforter and I was STILL COLD. I wear a sweater and a pea coat to work every day, and still bring a scarf or wrap to drape around my shoulders. Even though I can wear flip flops to my office, I've opted for boots the past two weeks. Because once my feet start getting cold, then my hands start to feel it, and before I know it, I'm curled up in a ball under my desk basking in the warm air coming from my computer.

And the funny thing is that I've always been this way. San Diego didn't "get to me" or "thin my blood" as some like to joke. I was always the first one to wear my winter coat and the last one to ever leave the house without a sweater, even in the dead of summer. Because you know how cold it gets in those air conditioned stores......

So I ask you, Internet: WTF? Why am I so damn cold? I moved from the frigid home of the Nor'easter that is New York, to a desert on the ocean where the temperature is a constant 60-80, and I still can't shake the cold. Are there others like me? Do YOU turn the heat on in October like I do? Some support would be nice here.

As per your requests

Mrs. Mia Wallace.

I can't argue with that

Boss's wife: So what were you for Halloween?
Me: Uma Thurman from Pulp Fiction. I had a syringe sticking out of chest and blood coming out of my nose and a black wig. It was pretty cool.
Other attorney in office: I love it!! Did you carry around bags of heroin too?
Me: Nah. I thought that given the profession I've chosen to embark upon, that might not be appropriate.
Other attorney: Oh, so.... coke?

5 new reasons why San Diego is awesome

1. I can wear jeans and flip-flops to work every day. (At least at this job.)
2. Bringing your dog into work is not uncommon.
3. Saying you work "downtown" here is not the same as saying you work downtown in New York in that your commute isn't 2 hours long.
4. Burritos.
5. Beer. San Diego was recently voted the #1 city in America for beer.

Wedding, Part I

My best friend got married a few weeks ago and I was the maid of honor. It was an awesome weekend filled with car towing, scotch drinking, falling, fighting, dancing, and police intervention. Let's recap that weekend, shall we?

Wednesday morning, 8am: Rad Boyfriend and I walk out of my house in San Diego and realize my car is not where I left it. I call the police and they inform me that it's been towed. After 2 hours of phone calls, emails, faxes and tears, RB drives me to work, picks me up later, then drives me to the airport. And all without complaint.

Wednesday night, 11pm: My red-eye to NY is full, RB comes back to the airport to pick me up.

Thursday morning, 4:45am: Cab comes to pick me up and drive me to the airport, where I am told the chances of getting on a flight are slim. I somehow get to Atlanta, and then to NY.

Thursday afternoon: Exhausted and hungry, I arrive at what used to be my childhood home, but is now virtually a brand new house--new kitchen, new bathroom, new floors, new windows, new cabinets, new everything. I am immediately put to work cleaning.

Friday morning: I walk downstairs in my robe and nearly give our contractor a heart attack as he looks awkwardly at my mother, then back to me, then decides the best thing to do is to turn his body completely away from me. Laughter ensues. More cleaning. I spend 3 hours at the DMV. I come home, eat, and resume cleaning the house in preparation for the 20 people we will have over before the wedding the next day. Meanwhile, back in San Diego, Extremely Rad Boyfriend is at the tow yard with the million documents I've sent him, getting my car back for me. (Have I mentioned how awesome he is?)

Friday evening, 9:30pm: Exhausted and filthy, I go get my nails done and practically fall asleep in the pedicure chair. Chinese food at my house with the bridesmaids, all of whom are sleeping over, makes me so tired that I can't keep my eyes open. We finally all get to bed at midnight.

Saturday morning, the big day: I wake up to find that everyone else has been up for over an hour and a half. I take a shower and rush to the salon where everyone is getting their hair and makeup done. We spend 3 hours getting washed, blown, straightened, curled, sprayed, brushed, lined, and photographed. Back at the house, the bride's family arrives as the 7 girls try to get ready in 2 bedrooms. It is a veritable mess of safety pins, hair spray, tears, mascara, tape, heels, bags, bobby pins, and people. People everywhere: photographer people, bridesmaid people, family people, little people (as in children, I wasn't that lucky!!) and more People.

Saturday afternoon: It's pouring rain. The bride is surprisingly calm about all the People and photographers and big wet drops falling from the sky. As the 3pm hour of the ceremony draws near, the People start to leave. We receive multiple phone calls from the groom telling us that the wedding before theirs is running super late, and not to leave yet. Learning that we have at least another 20 minutes, the bride hitches up her skirt and goes upstairs to collect her belongings. She returns with 3 bags on each arm and a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, which she proceeds to drink straight from the bottle. We look around nervously for the photographer. The limo driver is waiting patiently under an umbrella in the pouring rain. We get the call that it's ok to leave, and we get on our way. The limo driver takes us one by one from the front door in the pouring rain and into the waiting limo--the limo that has marble floors. As everyone steps in with their heels, one by one we trip and fall. Hilarity ensues. The limo driver begins to pull away when I remember I've forgotten my speech, the reading I'm supposed to do in church, on the kitchen table. In a series of awkward turns that sends all of us flying around the back of the limo, we get back to my house.... only to find that someone has locked both doors (to which I have keys) and the screen door (to which I do not have a key.) "FUCK!" is the only thing I can say. Someone suggests I read the passage from my iPhone. "FUCK!" turns into "Fuck it." And that's what I end up doing.

In the next installment of this story, I will introduce to you the groomsmen, the priest, the catering staff at the reception hall, and the police.

To be continued.....

One of those rare moments when it makes perfect sense after the fact

Regarding the neighbors' cat

Me: What color was it?
Rad Boyfriend: I dunno, cat-colored.
Me: Like orange?
RB: No. Like.... dark.
Me: Black?
RB: Eehhhh... no, not exactly.
Me: So brown?
RB: Ya sure, it had brown it in.

The next day, said cat walks past us on the walkway.

RB: See? Cat-colored!
Me: Oooohh... yeah, I see what you mean now.

How to annoy me, alley edition

The alleyway is a new concept for me. Aside from college, I've never lived on a block that had an alley in (on?) it. And even in college, the alley was 10 floors down and on the other side of the building. So moving into a house that is not only directly on the alley, but having my bed mere feet from it, is a bit disconcerting. I'm not used to hearing the whispered conversations of couples that walk past my window at all hours of the night, or the loud cell phone conversations, or the barking dogs, or loud diesel truck engines at 4am, or the bums with shopping carts that troll the garbage cans on trash day. No, I'm not used to all that noise. And I don't like it. Some might even say it annoys me.

That front corner of the house right there, that's where my bed is. See how long that alleyway is? Do you know how many cars drive up and down that alley every day? Many.

String of bad luck

So I mentioned yesterday that my car got towed a little while back. While I'd like to say that it was a freak, one-time incident, and that my bad luck ended right there, I can't say that. Because it's not true. Oh so ever not true.

Let's backtrack to around the end of September. I knew I was flying home on September 30th for my best friend's wedding, the wedding in which I was the maid of honor, the wedding for which the entire bridal party was getting ready at my family's newly-renovated house. (By the way, a contractor who stays until 11 o'clock at night the day before the wedding to finish the job is an awesome contractor.) I knew I would be crazy-busy before and after the big weekend, so I set up some automated online bill payments so that I wouldn't have to worry about them. But instead of withdrawing the money from my account 2 days after payday like it was supposed to, the bill processing website withdrew the funds my account that day--leaving me with a negative balance for over a week. Awesome.

The wedding weekend was a lot of fun, but that's a story in itself. It involves rain, getting locked out of my house, tripping on marble floors in the limo, reading a speech in church off an iPhone, the bride downing Johnny Walker Blue mere minutes before walking down the aisle, and 10 police officers showing up to the reception. Again, awesome. But let's move in to the next bit of bad luck....

The day I was supposed to leave for the wedding weekend, Rad Boyfriend and I step out of my house and stop short, both wondering the same thing: where is my car? "I parked right in front of you last night," Rad Boyfriend says. "I thought so, too," I reply. In short, my car-- with New York license plates, registered to my father, and with a registration that expired THAT DAY--was towed to a lot that wouldn't release it to me without a) a notarized letter from my dad releasing it to me, b) a current registration, and c) $470. Yeah. More awesomeness. Luckily, Rad Boyfriend stepped in and helped with that situation BIG TIME. But still... not a great experience.

I won't regal you the tales of my stand-by travel nightmares, as you can read about them here and here. I'll just tell you that I didn't make it on a total of 7 flights that weekend.

So I finally get back to The Diego on Sunday night after the wedding. I go to work the next day, and all is well. And then Tuesday morning I'm driving to work when all of a sudden, my car just turns off in the middle of the freeway. The RPM's go all the way to zero, and just as I start to pull over, all the lights on the dashboard come on, the steering wheel locks, and the car just shuts off. In the middle of 6 lanes of traffic going 80 miles per hour. Talk about scary. I manage to pull over to the shoulder, then get the car started while on the phone with AAA. I bring it to the shop the next morning, and luckily it's nothing major--but it's still gonna cost me $200. Awesome, right?

So amidst all the drama, I'm on the phone with my mom, crying about all this money I've had to spend, sobbing that I can't afford all these unexpected expenses, when I suddenly remember: my car insurance (paid biannually, not monthly) is due next month. ANOTHER $370 down the toilet. Fuck me.

Luckily nothing terrible has happened since realizing that over $1,000 will be debited from my bank account in the first two days of November (ah, how I love paying rent).... but I'm keeping my guard up. With my luck lately, I wouldn't be at all surprised if I broke a mirror while walking under a ladder and watching a black cat cross my path.