May 18, 2007

the one in which i am slightly hypocritical

Posted in restaurant review, self-flagellation at 7:03 pm by riseyp

while on my nightly internet crawl, i stumbled on this article on LA’s pinkberry frozen yogurt obsession. as a proud “orange curtain escapee”, nothing raises my ire more quickly than the vapidity of my former homies.

as is my custom, i got all frothed up. i could instantly picture the impatient throngs of over-tanned, underfed MILFs double-parking between spinning and bikram classes for a nonfat treat. these are the same people who believe in the negative caloric effect of celery. and high colonics.

so anyway, here i am up north, feeling all superior cause i compost, and occasionally ride my bike to work. (never mind that it’s been over three weeks.) yet sadly, this morning, i had to forgo the bike once again and drive into work so as not to arrive later than 10am. (woops.)

halfway down Park Street, i questioned my habit of picking up a bagel or a croissant for breakfast along the way. declaring such a meal insufficiently nutritious for my on-again/off-again healthy-eating plan, i decided to stop in Oakland’s Chinatown for a banh mi at Cam Huong.

as usual, the streets were filled with cars, trucks and pedestrians going about their morning errands, so I couldn’t find any parking nearby. as luck would have it, however, someone had double-parked in front of the tiny storefront, so i rationalized this meant that i could double-park there too.

keeping my eye on the car while i ordered and waited for my sandwich, i began to notice traffic getting worse and worse along Webster Street. maybe the nearby closed-off streets for the farmer’s market, and that big Golden State Warriors sign i saw out in front of the convention center actually meant something.

hmm, yeah. something like “DO NOT MAKE A BAD TRAFFIC MORNING WORSE BY DOUBLE-PARKING AROUND HERE.”

eventually, a cop drove by, and i actually had the balls to assume, “nah, he won’t stop to ticket me. Oakland cops have far bigger fish to fry.” but before i knew it, the ladies in the restaurant were all a-flutter, along with several passing shoppers, everyone having noticed before i did that the cop did indeed stop to ticket me, and that i better get a hustle on, and now.

“but i haven’t paid yet! or gotten my sandwich,” i whined. i stomped out to my car, fuming, waiting for the officer to bring me my ticket, which was doubtless going to cost me plenty.

then a miracle happened. as i sat in my car, one of the ladies working the counter brought me my sandwich, and then change for the $10 bill i gave her. then the cop, a handsome, strapping young Vietnamese-American man, gave me my ticket — and literally apologized for it. he explained that area merchants had complained so much to city hall about the double-parking problem, the police had been ordered to crack down on offenders.

and the cost of the ticket? $30. that, plus the $2 for my delicious sandwich, was well worth the price of admission.

awwww. i ❤ oakland. i really, really do.

and i promise not to double-park again!!!

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June 8, 2006

Confessions of a former Bridezilla

Posted in divorce, nostalgia, self-flagellation at 7:03 pm by riseyp

Top Signs You Shouldn’t Marry “The One You’re With”

  • By the third time you have sex with this person, you ask yourself, “Is that it?”
  • When he asks if you’re bothered by his sexual dysfunctions, you immediately (and repeatedly) lie, “Of course not!”
  • You soon begin to have recurring, sexual dreams about all your favorite ex-boyfriends.
  • You crush on and daydream about other men with increasing frequency.
  • You’re afraid of losing weight, getting hit on, and not knowing whether you’d have the willpower to say no.
  • You don’t discuss any of this with your therapist.
  • Nevertheless, you’re about to turn thirty, so you hound him for an engagement ring. (your boyfriend, not your therapist!)
  • You drag him to estate jewelry stores, agree on a ring you like and he can afford, and are disappointed that he didn’t buy it the day you found it.
  • You get in a fight over when he’s going to propose, not knowing he’s already bought the ring and hidden it under the bed you are both sitting on during the fight.
  • He “finally” proposes during a weekend getaway/goodbye party for his best (lesbian, anti-marriage) friend, who tells you the next day that she dreamt your engagement ring was made of spikes.
  • You worry that you weren’t thin enough for the “day he proposed” pictures.
  • You worry that he wasn’t good-looking enough for the “day he proposed” pictures.
  • At a friend’s bachelorette party about a month after your engagement, you get so drunk that you dance on the bar and… um… hook up with a random stranger.
  • You try to hide this from all your friends who were there; of course, they all know, you know they all know, yet no one discusses it.
  • You lose so much weight between the engagement and wedding that you have to get the ring resized three times.
  • You obsess about the wedding plans and are so controlling of every detail, he has no idea what’s been planned and what hasn’t – and it gets to the point where you can tell: he knows better than to ask.
  • He shaves his goatee a bit too closely one day, and you begin to wonder, “Is it wrong to marry someone who looks um… no-so-good without facial hair?”
  • You hire a personal trainer so that you are in perfect shape for your big day, yet you look at him and wonder if he’s going to ever lose any weight — but of course you don’t dare say anything.
  • A week before the wedding, you burst into tears when you accidentally shut the car door on the fingers of your left hand, worrying: “The photos will be ruined!!!”
  • You drain $5,000 in savings and rack up over $10,000 in debt for the wedding, despite the fact his father pitched in $16,000 for it.
  • You can’t decide which friends to ask to be your bridesmaids, and so you end up with too many.
  • The one you definitely should not have asked is a fairly casual acquaintance, and clearly ends up resenting you for every penny she spends on the wedding, despite the fact you bought her bridesmaid’s dress for her.
  • She doesn’t get you a wedding gift.
  • She is one of the witnesses to your little “indiscretion” at the aforementioned bachelorette party.
  • You don’t enjoy much of your wedding day, and are disappointed in your bridesmaids for various things you expected them to do, but didn’t.
  • The sex is so strange and bad on your wedding night that you ask yourself, “What the fuck was I thinking??”
  • You’re bored during your honeymoon and have joyless, obligatory sex maybe two or three times in two weeks.
  • Months later, you continue to obsess about details of the wedding that weren’t “just right:” e.g. people who didn’t RSVP or who failed to show up, the disappointing taste and design of the wedding cake, the prematurely-lit floating candles that burned out too soon…
  • Less than three years later, you begin to obsessively fantasize about your husband meeting a tragic, untimely death.
  • You have absolutely nothing against him except for one tiny detail… he’s not the one you should have married.

June 7, 2005

A Nasty Shock

Posted in body image, dieting, self-flagellation at 10:47 am by riseyp

So I went to Voldemort yesterday. Turns out the doctor I was scheduled to see couldn't make it; they'd tried to call me but had my old work number and a totally random emergency contact number. But I insisted on staying as I really needed to get looked at. Fortunately, there was no need to rush back to work, and I wasn't feeling super-impatient; so while I had to wait for two extra hours, I'm glad I stayed (becuase I must be a true masochist).

1. The exam itself was very brief and not a pain at all.
2. As I predicted, I did have a Bartholin's cyst. So they gave me a shot of local anethesia (ouch) and took care of it.
3. Unfortunately, they inserted a catheter which I have to keep in for a week to prevent the cyst from recurring. (No, thank God it's not one of *those* catheters!)
4. They weighed me and I am 20 POUNDS heavier than I thought I was!!!! Fucking scary!!
5. My blood pressure (for the second time now) is borderline high: 130/90.

SIGH. I joined eDiets though, and have been eating sensibly today. If my damn "bits" didn't ache, I might be persuaded to go on a walk 😉 But I am too sore to ride on my scooter, even 😦

April 20, 2005

Mystery solved!

Posted in scootering, self-flagellation, weekend at 4:40 pm by riseyp

Warning: This is a highly embarrassing story about me and my cluelessness.

But at least now I know what was wrong with my scooter (aka The Angry Hornet).

So I went over to Lorenzo's place Monday night and was even more embarrassed than usual driving such a heinously LOUD yet relatively-teeny-tiny scooter (50cc for those in the know.)

It's like chatting on IM with some guy you really like, and typing with caps lock on for a really long time without knowing, and then finding out…

but much, MUCH worse.

Anyway, this was not helped one bit by the fact that I had driven this same scooter to Zeitgeist a week before, only to hear from my friend N the next day that everyone in the back barbecue area laughed their asses off as I drove away (because not only is the fucking thing LOUD as hell, but continues to be audible, and annoying, for miles and miles away…) SIGH!

So, anyway, I had to endure this extreme humiliation once again as I drove to Larry's for my diagnostic-checkup-slash-massage date. As I predicted, Larry was outside waiting for me because yes, you guessed it, he'd heard me coming. We rolled the scooter into his garage, and as he bent low to look underneath the exhaust, he said, "Aha. So do you want to know what the problem is?"

Gulp. "Okay."

"The uptake pipe is rusted through. You essentially have no muffler."

D'OH!!

But I have to say it's such a relief finally knowing what the problem is… It's just hard to stop beating myself up over the fact I had no idea where the exhaust was when I bought the scooter, nor did it ever occur to me to look *underneath* the exhaust once I found out where it was. People like me (clueless and impulsive) should NOT buy used vehicles on craigslist. M'kay??

But at least there is a plan in place. The shop in Livermore has shipped me one (1) lovely replacement exhaust which should get here by Friday. And on Saturday, Larry will replace it for me.

Best of all, I got to leave the scooter in his garage. Two reasons:

  1. No humiliating ride back through the Mission
  2. Instead, a ride on the (not loud at ALL) Ducati, baby!

April 1, 2005

Form Rejection Letters

Posted in self-flagellation at 4:03 pm by riseyp

I didn't get in to Stanford. I don't like rejection.
But I liked K's way of cheering me up:

me: oh, btw
me: I found out from Stanford that I was not accepted
k: stanford is full of poopyheads
me: heehee
k: for the record
me: unless I got in
k: yes
k: but
me: haa
k: my bro-in-law didn't get in
me: i know, poopy
k: and kelly from the a cappella group didn't get in
me: oh she applied there, too?
me: poopy cubed!
k: yah

Oh, wait. Kelly from the a cappella group *got in* to the a cappella group.

I didn't.

Rejection's a bitch.