The Mother Lives

In our apartment, apparently. Steamroller was trying to hide it, but she certainly wasn't fooling me.

Tonight I met SteamMom. She was very nice. She spoke English. We said hello, nice to meet you. I asked if she's having fun; she said she is. She apologized for the inconvenience, told me the furniture was nice, thanked me for letting me stay here.

I told Steamroller that when I came home the fridge door was a little bit open (it needs to be pushed closed; she often doesn't close it all the way). I phrased it as "I'd hate for all the food you're cooking to go bad." Her mother assumed responsibility for this and apologized and assured me she'd take care to make sure it closes.

Meanwhile I'm looking for a new place to live. I just don't want to deal with Steamroller anymore.

So, Diamond Heights? Not the place for me. At all.

First of all, I went to look at an Avalon apartment. Avalons have the reputation of being REALLY nice. These were not nice.

I had to take BART to Glen Park, and then take a bus to see the apartment. The guy who works at Avalon told me I could either take the bus OR just walk up the hill, five or six blocks.

Yeah, that guy was a freaking LIAR. It was more like a dozen blocks, with HUGE hills. It's not something a normal person would walk up.

I get up there, and realize that although I'm still in San Francisco, I feel like I'm in suburbia. The guy gives me the tour, and tells me the place was built in 1972. That explains why it looks like it was built in ... 1972. The cabinets all look like wood paneling. Carpeting is old and stained. Old fashioned elevators. The guy tells me that there's asbestos. Great!

So we finish, I leave, and I wait for the bus to take me back down the huge hill. I wait, and wait. Then I wait some more. I'm FREEZING. It's much colder up there than where I live, right next to the Bay. It's also dramatic looking. If you were filming a movie that started with a man who has a deep voice saying, "It was a dark and stormy night, when Nanette decided to go out for that fateful walk that would change her life... forever" you would have filmed in Diamond Heights. It was cold, it was windy, the fog wasn't just rolling, but BLOWING across the sky.

The bus never comes. I check the schedule and it says a bus should come every half hour. My eyes are tearing it's so cold and windy. Fuck that. Taxi to the rescue. I'll not be living there. Too far from work, too suburban and isolated (perhaps I'd feel differently if I had a car), and too old.

I Think I Speak For All of Us...

When I say, what the fuck?

Everyone in my office was talking about this yesterday afternoon.

What I find surprising are the lack of details about the guy who plowed into everyone.

Happy Tuesday

This guy writes some really funny shit. You should read it. And laugh, and laugh. And then laugh some more.

In case you wonder who I get most of my book recs from, please see this.

Mutual blog love.

Oh No She Di'in't

As if it hasn't been enough that Mr. Steamroller has spent more than 75% of each week sleeping here. As if it hasn't been enough that Mr. Steamroller has been here at times when Steamroller herself hasn't been here. As if it hasn't been enough that Mr. Steamroller has contributed to mess, disappearing paper towels, and our front door being left open and/or unlocked.

I get this e-mail:

From: Steamroller
To: GreenYogurt
Subject: Parents' visit
Date: 8/26/2006 9:21:43 A.M. Pacific Daylight Time

Green,

Sorry! I should have told you earlier :) My parents are planning to visit me next week starting 8/29 (yay!) and will stay here for about a month. Hope you won't mind! They will spend most of their time in my room :P and as far as use of kitchen is concerned, my mother is a very tidy housewife :) and we can work out what "cooking schedules" will work. Hopefully that sounds good to you. Thanks! Let me know~

Take care,
Steamroller

Fuck. No. So I just sent her back a response with one line: We need to talk. Because quite frankly, this does NOT sound good to me. AT. ALL. In fact, this sounds downright unacceptable to me. I do NOT want to live with parents. If I did, I have my own parents to go live with. I only wanted ONE roommate. Not one roommate who is my age, and two other senior citizen roommates from China. BULLSHIT her parents will spend "most of their time" in her bedroom. BULL FUCKING SHIT.

Absofuckinglutely not. Now I get the point that they're coming all the way from China to see their very only child in another country, and that's why they want to stay for a month. However. They simply can NOT stay here. I'm thinking anything over a week is really too much.

I just read my lease to see if there's anything in it that will help my cause. There isn't. It's frustratingly, California-ily vague as it avoids the entire issue of guests. In fact, to read the lease, no guests of any kind are ever allowed, based on this: "The apartment shall be .... occupied only by the persons specified and set out above..... Occupancy of the Apartment by any person or persons not named as Resident will be cause for immediate termination of the Lease and eviction of all occupants."

The way I interpret that is absolutely no guests are ever allowed in for any circumstances, though they don't define the words "occupied" and "Occupancy." Surely they don't mean no guests are ever allowed at all. I wish they'd defined this.

Yeah, so I'm beyond livid right now. Rage is coursing through my veins. Welcome home.

UPDATE: This morning I called Steamroller and told her that her parents simply can not stay for an entire month. I blamed it on our lease, saying that I would not put her in a position of violating the lease in such a way that we can get kicked out, and she can't do that to me. It was not a comfortable conversation for either of us. Ultimately she asked how long I would be okay with them staying, offering up three or four days. I said one week would be fine with me.

Mid-morning I got an e-mail from her saying they'd be staying in a hotel for three of the four weeks they'll be in town, and with us for the first week of their stay in the U.S. She asked if they could use the kitchen, explaining they have some dietary restrictions that restaurants won't be able to work with. My response was that as long as we both make a point to clean up after each meal, I'm sure we'll do fine, and she should let me know if she needs more space in the fridge/freezer/cabinets and I'll be happy to move things around.

In speaking with a coworker who was born and raised in San Francisco, but has family (her mother, for one) from China, I was warned that my cleanliness standards may not be the same as theirs. The example I was given was handling raw chicken and then touching doorknobs. I'm thinking I'll not be cooking much at all once they arrive, and then will Clorox Wipe everything after they leave. She also said it's perfectly common for 10 people to live in one bedroom, but I probably shouldn't mention Mr. Steamroller always sleeping over unless I want to get Steamroller in trouble with her parents. Which I don't.

Ummm... who wants to go out to dinner with me this week?

This Was Sent To Me With "High Importance"

You know you work in a law firm when......
1. You've sat at the same desk for four years and worked for three different departments.
2. You've worked at the same firm for 6 years and worked for 10 different attorneys.
3. Your resume is on a CD in your pocket.
4. You get really excited about a 3% pay raise. (Ain't this a kicker)
5. Your biggest loss from a system crash is that you lose your best jokes.
6. Your boss doesn't have the ability to do your boss' job.
7. Most days, you have the ability to do your boss' job.
8. Salaries of the members on the Executive Committee are higher than all the Third World Countries' annual budgets combined.
9. It's dark when you drive to and from work.
10. Communication is something your department is having problems with.
11. You see a good-looking person and know it is a visitor.
12. Free food left over from meetings is your main staple.
13. Being sick is defined as can't walk or you're in the hospital.
14. You're already late on the work task you just got.
15. You work 200 hours for the $100 bonus check and jubilantly say "Oh wow, thanks!"
16. Your boss' favorite lines are "when you get a few minutes", "in your spare time", "when you're freed up", and "I have an opportunity for you."
17. Vacation is something you roll over to next year or a check you get every January.
18. Your friends and family describe your job as "works with computers".
19. When your boss says, "We have a brief we need to file tomorrow - I need you here early," it really means: "Come in early, wait all day, skip lunch and plan to stay late because I won't give you the first draft until 3:30 and we really have until the last Federal Express leaves the airport to get it out."************************
20. You can comprehend just about all of the above.

Boy, the grandma sitting down the hall from me sure is having a different experience than I am.

Where's My Brain At?

So, I'm feeling a bit learning disabled today. And it's very quietly freaking me out. I was trying to figure out when it started - may have been yesterday, but I'm not sure. As if knowing when it started is important. As if I'll go to a doctor about it. Really, I know of no doctors or any professionals at all that deal with helping adults who are smart but have learning disabilities. Besides, I need a brain surgeon. Today I would like to sign up for a brain transplant.

I'm way more dyslexic today than usual. I keep typing things, then looking at the screen and thinking, "That's not what I meant!" Earlier this afternoon Tuna gave me a memo with handwritten revisions he wanted me to type in. I had a very hard time figuring out which revisions went where. A few minutes ago he asked me to get an attorney general opinion, and I wrote notes as he talked. "CA Atty Gen Op... Cit 36 Opp Atty Gen CA..." Why did I abbreviate "opinion" with both "Op" and "Opp"? "Opp" generally (in my personal shorthand) stands for "Opposing." When I called to get this opinion, I told the guy I needed Citation 63, even though I wrote 36. Then I realized I'd made a mistake with the number, but could NOT, for the life of me, figure out how to say the word "thirty six" out loud. What sounds make that word come out? I DON'T KNOW!

I'm having trouble remembering what I'm doing. It feels like ADD. I print something, stand up to go to the printer, take two steps away from my desk, then can't remember where I was going.

As I'm typing this I'm having to concentrate on it much more than usual - the temptation to be distracted by LEL bleating into her phone about apples and honey is overwhelming. Not that it's related to learning disabilities, but I am having a hard time with my temper also. I am quietly sitting here in a rage over how loud LEL is being. Normally I'm so good at ignoring her. Not today. Today I can feel the rage flying through my body so fast that it scares me.

I haven't been feeling well since yesterday. Perhaps it's all connected. Perhaps I should just go home and start over tomorrow. But I can't do that - it's bad enough I left five minutes early without permission yesterday.

There is a connection between my learning disabilities and what I eat. Blatantly artificial colors are bad for me. I don't think I've eaten anything wildly different from what I usually do over the last few days. In Florida one time, I ate Reeses Pieces even though I knew the artificial colors screw me up, and promptly screamed at my mother over the phone, and then later couldn't read something I'd written because my handwriting was worse than a third grade boy's. I had to call my mother back later when I'd calmed down to apologize.

I just worked up the courage to try out my handwriting -if it's awful, I know I'm way off course. If I can't write in relatively straight lines, or different letters are different sizes, then I know my head is not well. Right now my handwriting is okay. But I just prepared a fax cover sheet and somehow didn't notice it had no fax number on it. Whoever stole my brain better give it back.

Beating the Clock

Today I got a headache. Since I swore off Advil, but haven't fully committed to Tylenol, it creates an unhealthy situation when headaches come. If I don't treat it relatively soon, my headache turns into a migraine. Migraines take me hours to recover from.

This afternoon when my headache came, I thought I could just power through it until work was over. Wrong! When I started sweating like a 50 year-old woman going through menopause, I knew I was in trouble. Unfortunately, headaches make it hard for me to think logically. This was my thought process:

Headache. Take Advil. No, take Tylenol. I never bought any. Go get some - work has those sample packets in the first aid kit. Okay I'll go do that. No wait, I don't have any water to take them with.

Le grande sigh. Why do I have to be so picky? Why must I be such a water snob? I won't drink from the water cooler because they never change the filter. It didn't occur to me to go downstairs and buy a bottle of water. Not feeling well = not thinking well.

Nice Partner is out of town. Tuna smirked as he said goodbye a couple of minutes after 5 p.m. So I made the executive decision that it was okay for me to leave work early, to race home, down some Tylenol, and see if I could stop the headache from turning to a migraine.

Just as I was about to close Outlook, an e-mail came in. Thinking it would be from Nice Partner, I looked at the preview pane. The e-mail was from a friend saying she was hungry but didn't want to cook, and asking if I wanted to get dinner. I responded saying I did, but was trying to ward off an impending migraine and I'd call her at 6 p.m. after I knew if the Tylenol I planned to take, took.

As I left work, I realized I had a check to deposit. Fuckity fuck. But magically there was no line. I've never gotten out of the bank so quickly before in my life. I rushed home, took Tylenol, laid down and tried all my pain tricks to make the headache go away.

I vaguely remember telling myself to focus, though I can't remember what I was supposed to be focusing on. When I next looked at the clock it was 6:43 p.m. Well that's not too bad - only 13 minutes late. I stumbled into the bathroom to wash my face, and then realized I might be off by a half hour. Whoops!

Apparently being a friend means forgiving someone for calling you 48 minutes later than you said you would. By the time we met up about a half hour later, my headache was gone.

Map Skills

I failed Map Skills in third grade. I had no concept of North, South, East and West. A girl named Alana used to let me copy the answers out of her booklet. It wasn't until sixth grade that I understood the directions, explained by a boy I had a crush on. "12, 3, 6, 9. Never Eat Sour Watermelons." In twelfth grade when my parents and I set out on a college tour of upstate New York to see what schools I should apply to, my father tossed the map over to the back seat, and told me I had to navigate. My heart sank. Maps are not my forte.

However. I live in the BAY Area. On the East Coast there's the tri-state area, comprised of New York, New Jersey and Connecticut. The Bay Area is comprised of .... well, I don't exactly, aside from San Francisco, the East Bay (there's no West Bay, because wouldn't that be in the Pacific Ocean?), the South Bay ... I don't recall ever hearing of a North Bay. But surely, if you're in the Bay Area, wouldn't you assume that the Bay, the San Francisco Bay, would be part of that experience? How could you be sittin' on the dock of the Bay, without the Bay itself?

Yesterday when I was on the way to the supermarket/bookstore, I was standing on the platform, waiting for the train. Two girls stood next to me, and one of them said, "Oh! Look at the ocean!" I smiled at her and agreed, saying "The Bay is really pretty today." The Bay *did* look pretty - there were quite a number of sailboats out, the sun was shining, water was sparkling.

She fully turned to me, and explained, "I'm from Ohio - all we have is the dumb lake. But this ocean is beautiful!" I nodded as if I knew what lake she was talking about, and replied, "It really is beautiful. This is the Bay, and that's (pointing up) the Bay Bridge. The Pacific Ocean is on the other side of the city."

She continued looking out at the water. She then turned to her friend and suggested they walk, so they could walk along the ocean. I tried. I wonder if she failed Map Skills out in Ohio.

Read Early. Read Often. Just Read

By Friday afternoon, I was in the middle of three books and about to start a fourth when I realized how ridiculous that was. How many books do you have to be reading at once before they all start blending together in your head? I don't know, and didn't want to find out.

I made it my goal for the weekend to finish at least three books. Goal accomplished.

Pledged: The Secret Life of Sororities, by Alexandra Robbins
You may think I read this book because she's a hometown girl, but that's not why. I didn't even realize she was from Long Island until I got to the end of her book and saw that she had a website that would give updates on four of the people profiled in her book. A friend of mine had read this, and I've liked almost every book she's suggested to me - that's why.

It definitely taught me about a world I knew nothing about. I'm now positive it's a world I don't belong in, wouldn't have been welcome in, wouldn't have thrived in. Just reserved her other three books from the library.

The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green, by Joshua Braff
Braff, you ask? Like that guy from Scrubs and Garden State? Yes, like him, except his brother. Zach's brother is not only a writer, but lives in Oakland, CA and is hot. But married, so never mind the hot part. That's not why you should read the book. If you ever whined that you hated hebrew school, this book is for you. You're not jewish? Eh, read it anyway - it's funny. And the cover is bright green.

Someone from work recommended it to me, and I liked it so much that next time she recommends a book to me I won't take three months to get it from the library.

The Gift of Fear, by Gavin de Becker
Eh. Here's the book in a nutshell - trust your instincts/gut/intuition. The end. If you're not tapped into that part of yourself, if you're not street smart at ALL, then this book would be great for you. It's non-fiction, and this guy is famous within his world of evaluating threats. It's not exactly a waste of time to read, but for me, it's a bit of preaching to the choir. Easy read.

Next up? Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, by Nick Flynn
I started this last week, but it got pushed aside for the above three. I bet you can guess what I'll be doing on my lunch hours this week.

Okay fine. The book I vaguely mentioned below? The one that I read in three hours while sitting in the bookstore yesterday? Straight Up and Dirty, by the blogger Stephanie Klein. Yes, it was in the self-help section. I can't quite figure out what to say about it, except that ... well, I wouldn't have paid $24.95 for it. It wasn't exactly three hours wasted, but it wasn't exactly three hours well spent either. She's also a hometown girl, though she apparently grew up in a very different world from the one I grew up in.

The Basket

After I turned 17 and could drive, every so often my mother would send me to do the food shopping. Not often at all - less than once every other month, and often with my brother, and always with her credit card and a note saying I was authorized to use it that day.

For some reason I was always embarrassed to push the shopping cart. Maybe I was worried someone would think I was buying all that food just for myself; I don't know. I would try to fit everything in a basket and of course it never worked. You just can't fit all the food needed for a four-person family in one of those baskets.

When I moved to FL, I switched from my parents once-a-week method of food shopping, to my grandparents once-every-few/couple-of-days method. As a single person, it worked better for me. Still does. To this day, I rarely take a shopping cart when I walk into a supermarket.

Today, on my way to the supermarket, I decided to stop at the bookstore. There's a blog I stumbled across a couple of months ago. The author of it wrote a book. There was something that had been rubbing me the wrong way about the blog, but I couldn't figure out what it was, and I wanted to see if the book would clear things up for me. It did.

But that's not what this post is about. One of the issues the author raised in the book is what it says about you if you take a basket over a shopping cart when you enter a supermarket. In a nutshell, she equates being alone with being a loser, a failure, and that taking a basket sends the message to everyone that you are that loser.

I had never thought of that before reading the book. So glad I decided to stop off at the bookstore before heading to the supermarket.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

LEL very much wants me to respect her. Her age, the fact that she's been at this firm longer than I have, her intellect, her as a person, the fact that she's the mother of children who are my age, whatever reason I choose doesn't matter. She just wants me to respect her.

She wants me to show my respect by saying good morning to her in the mornings when I come in. No matter which of us arrives at work first. No matter if I walk in with Nice Partner - she'll go so far as to say good morning to him while ignoring me. Because I should say good morning to her. First. Then, and only then, will she respond in kind.

LEL wants me to show my respect for her by not getting upset that she never says thank you when I do anything that deserves a thank you. She wants me to show my respect for her by laughing at all her jokes, and being visibly impressed with all the obscure information she knows.

LEL wants me to be impressed with how involved she is at her temple, and to admit that she's more jewish than I am. (It's a jew-off!) LEL wants me to agree with all the cliches she uses. She wants me to admire her dedication in keeping her candy dish filled during business hours.

LEL wants me (and everyone else) to think she's oh so important, and that's why she often stays at her desk during her lunch hour. As if the Cowboy can't handle life without her for 60 minutes. LEL thinks whatever she is doing is so much more important than whatever anyone else might be doing, and has told every attorney who dares to use the printer she uses, any time she's printing something. As if they should be on the lookout for her document and hand it to her the second it's spit out of the printer. Right.

LEL almost never knocks on the doors of offices - she just barges right in. Most recently she barged into Tuna's office when I was in there. He not-so-warmly told her, "LEL, I'll speak with you later; please give us a few minutes." She left, and Tuna looked at me and rolled his eyes. With a straight face, I said to him, "I'm trying to be professional." Tuna cracked up, which made me start laughing, and when I went back to my desk it was obvious LEL thought we'd been talking about her. Aside from that five second laugh, we were talking about a client.

LEL wants me to never criticize her for anything. I should never ask her to lower her voice (everyone else does) even though she speaks louder than people speaking to foreigners who don't understand English. I shouldn't be upset that she sprays perfume at her desk, or that she has casual conversations in a foreign language with other co-workers in an effort to exclude non-foreign language speakers around her.

Years ago my mother told me she didn't believe in respecting elders simply for their age. "Respect has to be earned." I agree with that. I can't respect someone who demands respect. I can't respect someone who doesn't show respect to people I believe have earned it.

I guess that's how I stepped into the elevator this afternoon after work with LEL, and we never made eye contact or spoke to each other. We didn't speak all the way down to the lobby, and neither of us said anything when she crossed right in front of me as we walked the same two blocks together (I was on my cell phone the second we hit the lobby floor anyway).

Cat Lady has told me LEL is depressed. She's told me LEL and Mr. LEL are constantly fighting with each other. Sometimes I feel sorry for LEL, for feeling that way. I know how it feels to have everyone hate you, and it's the most lonely feeling. But then she sprays her overly flowery perfume on her wrists 7 times (EACH wrist), or speaks on the phone to a friend so loudly that I can't hear a client on my phone, and I stop giving a shit.

Kind of ironic that if LEL stopped trying so hard to demand what I don't feel, that alone might actually earn her some respect. I'm sure there's some significance to her respect, power struggles, low self-esteem, and wanting people to be impressed with her.

Now Serving.... Number Three

When I was hired at Doolittle, Yette, Hyde-Itt, I worked for two partners. Then the Cowboy decided to switch things up and have me work for Nice Partner and Tuna, while LEL worked for him (a partner) and two baby attorneys (one of whom she gave away, claiming she couldn't learn how to support a litigation associate).

After I was sure this was not meant as a demotion, I was fine with the change, and actually have come to love how swimmingly it's all working out. I like Tuna and Nice Partner, they like me, we all work together well, etc. It's enough to make you puke. I'll stop.

This summer, I got a wannabe baby attorney, in the form of a summer associate. Although she was terrible about turning in time sheets, I loved working for her too. So much that in what may appear to be an ass-kissing move, I asked our HR guy to write me down to do this again next summer. Shut up, I really DO like the clueless wannabes. They're very cute.

While all this was going on, one of the managing partners who works from our SF office half the week and from another office the other half, started coming to me every so often. Not for anything big though. A FedEx here, a fax cover sheet there. I thought he was asking for a favor, and I'm happy to help. He doesn't have a secretary in our office. He used to go to the secretary who used to sit across from his office, but she moved to another floor. I thought he was only coming to me because I'm now the closest secretary.

But today he came and asked me to transcribe a tape for two invoices he wanted to send out. My two main lawyers don't ever dictate, and therefore I don't have a transcription machine. Another secretary offered to do the tape for me, so after profusely thanking her, I let her. Then I went over to our HR guy, knocked on his door, and said, "Do I work for Managing Partner?" His jaw dropped and he gasped, "Oh my god, nobody's talked to you?!"

Umm... no. Dude just started arriving at my desk with work for me. The HR guy fell all over himself apologizing (I think he likes that despite my working in Granny Row, I don't go running to tattle to him all the time like the other Grannies). I reassured him I don't mind at all, and that I think I can juggle one associate and two partners without any problems.

The HR guy told me he would make sure the change is noted in my file (which will help me come review time).

And that's the story of how I came to be working for three attorneys.

When I Croak... (More Dresser Talk)

Brandi [8:01 A.M.]: it's lovely and it's made extremely well.
GreenYogurt [8:01 A.M.]: it really IS lovely. I told Beth One she has to come over to admire it
Brandi [8:01 A.M.]: you can pass it on my child when you croak.
GreenYogurt [8:02 A.M.]: lol, fabulous. can I be an eccentric old lady who tapes all her money to the undersides of each drawer too?
Brandi [8:02 A.M.]: please do.

I can just imagine Brandi's kid, talking to her friend when she's the age I am now.

Kid: What am I going to do with this stupid dresser? The drawers are too small to fit anything but condoms and drugs* in, and .... Hey! I have an idea!

*Brandi does not do drugs, and does not think her wee child will either.

So I Went To Brunch Yesterday...

and this is what I got!

Take Me Out...

On Tuesday, about fifteen minutes before quitting time, I went to the restroom. Right as I closed the stall door, I heard, "Green?!" Le grande sigh. I hate talking to people while peeing. "Yes?"

Voice of non-grandma who works on another floor: What are you doing tonight?
Me: Going to Trader Joe's.
Non-grandma: So... you could do that tomorrow. Want to come to the Giants game with me tonight?
Me: Sure!

So that's how I wound up going to see the Giants Tuesday night. Winnie had gotten four tickets from her boss and was determined to sell the extra two in order to pay for food at the game. This was like the fifth baseball game I was going to in my life. I knew nothing about selling extra tickets, or scalping or any such things.

As we strolled down the Embarcadero, we kept passing groups of men. One man would be holding a sign that said "I Need Tickets" and the other man would be trying to sell tickets. Winnie kept asking them why the guy who needed the tickets didn't just buy from the guy standing next to him. They were not trying to buy tickets to go to the game. They were hustling. Guy A bought the tickets as cheaply as possible, and then Guy B sold them for as much as possible. They were working together.

Winnie told me she hates bargaining. It reminded me of buying a car. I loved it. Didn't love how it didn't feel legal, but I loved sauntering away from the Guy A's when they wouldn't offer us enough. We had a parking pass and everything! We could sell the tickets outside of the ballpark directly to people who wanted to watch the game, cutting out the middle man, thus making us more profit. Those are the lines I was feeding the guys when they'd say "Aww, why ya gotta be that way?" I gotta be that way because I want to get us more money. Duh.

Ultimately we sold the two tickets and parking pass for plenty of money for dinner, but not nearly as much as they were worth. I felt a bit awkward about pushing to get more money since Winnie just wanted dinner money and didn't care about making a profit, not to mention that I was her guest.

We got inside and Winnie wanted to get food first. I found a Hebrew National stand and got a hot dog and bottle of water from there. Who'd have thought - Hebrew National in San Francisco! I tried to forget everything my brother taught me the day he came home from seventh grade and started that night's dinner conversation off with, "Guess what I learned hot dogs are made out of!"

Sitting behind us was a couple on a date. The man sat down and promptly put headphones attached to a radio in his ears. He then proceeded to do the Nod and Smile at his date for the next two hours. During those two hours the woman didn't shut up about excercise. First she talked about all the excercises she does. Then she talked about her friend Chuck's workout routine. Then it was on to a friend's routine that involves toe extensions. Apparently the Nod and Smile wasn't fulfilling enough to her, so she listed her weekly schedule of pilates and yoga and whatever else. Finally, she whipped out a printed schedule to show the man. Pardon me while I make a note of what NOT to do on a date. Unless I want the guy to never ever ask me out again. Ever.

At one point there was a foul line drive right into the face of a woman sitting right near us. Everyone around her stood up to see if she was okay, and I saw her touching her face. Then I saw her sit down, then pass out. Two sections of people were shouting, "Get a medic!!!!" and the ushers who work the games were just looking around with lost looks on their faces. When somebody screams "Get a medic!" you don't radio your supervisor to see if you should - you just GET A DAMN MEDIC!

Some older guy who looked like he might have been doctorly ran down to the woman and futzed over her. Eventually (really, it took WAY too long) a medic arrived, and he and the doctor started escorting the woman up the stairs to leave. Two entire sections of people stood up and clapped and cheered for the woman. I wonder if after all that, she got the baseball that slammed her in the face.

Taxi Talk

I had a rough afternoon and evening today, so I treated myself to a taxi home from doing errands around 7 pm. I stood at the corner to hail the cab and a black man was standing there trying to do the same thing. When the car came to a halt 20 feet from us, I looked at him, ready for him to go take it. He'd gotten there first. As far as I was concerned, that was his taxi.

He told me to go ahead and take it. After thanking him, I ran to get in before someone else took it (forgetting this is not NY?). The driver of the cab had the radio turned to a news channel, and was listening to a sports recap. He was an older black man, and told me how ridiculous sports has become.

"They say he's great. He ain't great. He didn't save anybody. He just plays ball. They give too much importance to athletes these days. All I can do is laugh."

Told me how much things have changed in the last few decades.
"In the 60's they used to say black men were too stupid to be quarterbacks. It made me laugh."

Told me how how people respond to things.
"When Katrina came and it was all black folks needing help, took three days for the National Guard to show up. Lots of them STILL need help. But in the 50's when there was black boys looting by the Bay Bridge, National Guard was called. They showed up right away. None of this three day shit. All I do is laugh."

The guy talked all the way to my stop. I didn't say much - what does a white girl say to this? He kept telling me how he laughs at all these bad, unfair things. Seems to me like one of those situations where you laugh so you won't cry.

Becoming a Real Redneck Is As Easy As Stealing a Credit Card

Only thing is, you have to steal the credit card from someone stupid enough to not notice.

I've been up since 3:30 a.m., and decided to be productive and pay my bills. Which reminded me, what the hell is going on with the fraud on my credit card? So I called to find out.

What's going on with my credit card is this:

1. They now know that if there are ANY charges for weapons of any kind, it's not me and they should decline the charge. (Two different airsoft gun companies and one knife company make up over $2,000 of the disputed charges. I don't even know what an airsoft gun is.)

2. I have a new card that I activated today.

3. They will no longer be sending me those (horrible to use) blank checks made out to me. Yes, you can ask them to just stop sending them and they will. All I had to do was ask.

4. Visa believes that someone got my credit card number by using software that lifted it when I made an online purchase. The person then took the number and applied it to a fake credit card. They then used it both in person and over the phone.

5. Visa believes whoever stole my card number does NOT know my name, or my social security number. Thus, this has not affected my credit (per Visa, not per me).

6. As huge as this seems to me, in the world of identity theft, this is not awful and should be resolved before Halloween.