“Of so little weight are the greatest services to Princes,
when put into the balance with a refusal to gratify their passions.”
This is a quote from Gulliver’s Travels, by Jonathan Swift. I’m reading it for a book club I joined with my local book shop, Symposium. Yep, I’m getting out there…mixing with the people. I decided to join something, enroll in something, etc. to bring something into my life that isn’t work.
Tonight was the first class. I’ve never been part of a book club, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect. My friend Inga warned me not to let the pseudo-intellectuals tell me what to think. I wondered if the discussion would be over my head or if the class would be full of book snobs. I attended, I contributed, I made a couple of pretty good points (if I do say so myself), I even quoted the text at one juncture. *She beams with self-pride* I felt smart. I felt part of something. It felt good.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Áfram Ísland!
I just had a really fun night in San Francisco, which couldn’t have come at a better time, because I’ve been in a total funk about the City by the Bay…
This night’s adventures began, of course with the company of my friend Inga, the Icelandic lovechild herself, who, through a friend at work, found out about the cool free showing of an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic band called Sigur Rós who tours Iceland. I was half expecting some Nordic version of This is Spinal Tap, but was pleasantly surprised…more to follow.
We met up at our favorite “haunt,” the Westfield Centre, for a quick bite, pre-screening. The crew consisted of Inga and myself, Inga’s work buddy, Jeremy, and Jeremy’s friend Fred, whom we discovered quickly was French, and managed to use this bit of information against him, for our amusement, for the duration of the evening.
The movie was being shown by this organization that holds these free RSVP events, where you email your rsvp to participate and then line up to enjoy the free activity, first come, first served. So after dinner, we sauntered over to mezzanine to line up. This is where one might wonder how many people would line up an hour and a half early on a Monday night to watch an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic rock band. You’d be surprised.
So we were several…several people back in line, hands in our pockets, making each other laugh, listening to the bouncer-esque person yell as he paced the line about what i.d.s we should have ready to go and how our bags should be open and other security measures and precautions while we waited for the doors to open. In line, I learned a few things:
1. A “murse” is a purse carried by a man. (Mezzanine doubles as a gay club, so these are the people that would know.) I think I prefer the term Man-bag.
2. Áfram Ísland is Icelandic, and translates to, “Onward Iceland!” Inga was teaching us Icelandic phrases in hopes that if we were too far back in line, the bouncers would have no choice but to let the country folk of the very subject of the evening in to enjoy the festivities.
3. It does actually feel okay to give a homeless person some spare change. I get pan-handled all of the time and never give anything up. Tonight, I did, and I’m happy for it.
So the line began to move and we, and our bags, passed the security inspection. Mezzanine is a giant space. The main floor was covered with rows of black metal folding chairs set in front of a giant projection screen. We were led past this seating by the boy pair of our posse upstairs. Upstairs is a hip loft space…low ceilings, red lighting, full bars set up in the corners. The railing edge of the upstairs space overlooks the main floor and the movie set-up. Jeremy and Fred the Frenchman show us past all of this into an area where three big flat screen televisions line the wall, and cushiony black leather couches are in rows facing the screens like something out of a rap star’s home theatre on MTV’s Cribs. Inga and I were left to man the couch while the fellas bought us a round.
The film was fantastic. It felt like you were watching two parallels run perfectly even with each other. On one hand, you got a glimpse at this band, who like other groups of musicians, are cool and talented and make some good music. And now that you know this story about them, it makes you think perhaps you should buy their albums and wear a Sigur Rós t-shirt. On the other hand, the photography was beautiful and the entire documentary is laced with amazing shots of Iceland…lush green rolling hills, cool, clear streams and waterfalls, tiny horses, traditional sweaters, beautiful blonde people…this side of the film had us all running out the door making plans for purchasing airfare to Iceland now…before we go to bed….we’ll just do it.
And once you’ve seen such a piece of art, and enjoyed a couple of cocktails with such lovely company, the last thing you want to do is let the fun end there…so on we went, to Farmer Brown, a “soulfood” place in the same neighborhood as Mezzanine. I put “soul food” in quotes here because the restaurant was trendy, upscale, and inspired by soul food, but not in its core a true soul food place. (i.e. plaid tablecloths, greasy food, ketchup and syrup on the table with the salt and pepper…Southern table staples…were not present) However, that being said, it was damn tasty and fun. The menu item of note for this evening was their Bay Shrimp and Cornmeal Poppers served with a spicy remoulade and a little microgreen salad. Which we ordered a second plate of. Conversation was good, I tasted Pastis for the first time, we were silly on southern-inspired cocktails, and I laughed…a lot.
We entrusted Inga with the drive home…the long way home as it were…Noe Valley for Frenchie, Eddy and Divisadero for Jeremiah and then Alamo Square for myself. A drive through the Mission District was necessary to begin our path and somehow this led to a David Bowie sing-a-long and the renaming of the Mission to “The Mish.” As in, “Let’s roll down our window at the next stop sign and ask the people on the corner, what’s goin’ on in The Mish?” Music streaming out of the windows as four white kids dance happily in their seats. I don’t think it would have gone over too well in “The Mish,” but it makes me smile again just writing this. We dropped Fred off at his Noe Valley home on a steep steep hill, then swung by Jeremy’s where we ran in to get a power tool (I’ll save this for another blog) and so Inga could use the restroom on a square toilet, then home I went.
It was just one of those nights, where you stumble in…sleepy and tipsy. And as you are getting ready for bed, you periodically burst into laughter at a memory of something that was said or a face somebody made and you fall asleep, hoping that you’ll get to hang out with all of these people again sometime, and see what happens. Maybe we’ll go to “The Mish.”
Áfram Ísland!
This night’s adventures began, of course with the company of my friend Inga, the Icelandic lovechild herself, who, through a friend at work, found out about the cool free showing of an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic band called Sigur Rós who tours Iceland. I was half expecting some Nordic version of This is Spinal Tap, but was pleasantly surprised…more to follow.
We met up at our favorite “haunt,” the Westfield Centre, for a quick bite, pre-screening. The crew consisted of Inga and myself, Inga’s work buddy, Jeremy, and Jeremy’s friend Fred, whom we discovered quickly was French, and managed to use this bit of information against him, for our amusement, for the duration of the evening.
The movie was being shown by this organization that holds these free RSVP events, where you email your rsvp to participate and then line up to enjoy the free activity, first come, first served. So after dinner, we sauntered over to mezzanine to line up. This is where one might wonder how many people would line up an hour and a half early on a Monday night to watch an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic rock band. You’d be surprised.
So we were several…several people back in line, hands in our pockets, making each other laugh, listening to the bouncer-esque person yell as he paced the line about what i.d.s we should have ready to go and how our bags should be open and other security measures and precautions while we waited for the doors to open. In line, I learned a few things:
1. A “murse” is a purse carried by a man. (Mezzanine doubles as a gay club, so these are the people that would know.) I think I prefer the term Man-bag.
2. Áfram Ísland is Icelandic, and translates to, “Onward Iceland!” Inga was teaching us Icelandic phrases in hopes that if we were too far back in line, the bouncers would have no choice but to let the country folk of the very subject of the evening in to enjoy the festivities.
3. It does actually feel okay to give a homeless person some spare change. I get pan-handled all of the time and never give anything up. Tonight, I did, and I’m happy for it.
So the line began to move and we, and our bags, passed the security inspection. Mezzanine is a giant space. The main floor was covered with rows of black metal folding chairs set in front of a giant projection screen. We were led past this seating by the boy pair of our posse upstairs. Upstairs is a hip loft space…low ceilings, red lighting, full bars set up in the corners. The railing edge of the upstairs space overlooks the main floor and the movie set-up. Jeremy and Fred the Frenchman show us past all of this into an area where three big flat screen televisions line the wall, and cushiony black leather couches are in rows facing the screens like something out of a rap star’s home theatre on MTV’s Cribs. Inga and I were left to man the couch while the fellas bought us a round.
The film was fantastic. It felt like you were watching two parallels run perfectly even with each other. On one hand, you got a glimpse at this band, who like other groups of musicians, are cool and talented and make some good music. And now that you know this story about them, it makes you think perhaps you should buy their albums and wear a Sigur Rós t-shirt. On the other hand, the photography was beautiful and the entire documentary is laced with amazing shots of Iceland…lush green rolling hills, cool, clear streams and waterfalls, tiny horses, traditional sweaters, beautiful blonde people…this side of the film had us all running out the door making plans for purchasing airfare to Iceland now…before we go to bed….we’ll just do it.
And once you’ve seen such a piece of art, and enjoyed a couple of cocktails with such lovely company, the last thing you want to do is let the fun end there…so on we went, to Farmer Brown, a “soulfood” place in the same neighborhood as Mezzanine. I put “soul food” in quotes here because the restaurant was trendy, upscale, and inspired by soul food, but not in its core a true soul food place. (i.e. plaid tablecloths, greasy food, ketchup and syrup on the table with the salt and pepper…Southern table staples…were not present) However, that being said, it was damn tasty and fun. The menu item of note for this evening was their Bay Shrimp and Cornmeal Poppers served with a spicy remoulade and a little microgreen salad. Which we ordered a second plate of. Conversation was good, I tasted Pastis for the first time, we were silly on southern-inspired cocktails, and I laughed…a lot.
We entrusted Inga with the drive home…the long way home as it were…Noe Valley for Frenchie, Eddy and Divisadero for Jeremiah and then Alamo Square for myself. A drive through the Mission District was necessary to begin our path and somehow this led to a David Bowie sing-a-long and the renaming of the Mission to “The Mish.” As in, “Let’s roll down our window at the next stop sign and ask the people on the corner, what’s goin’ on in The Mish?” Music streaming out of the windows as four white kids dance happily in their seats. I don’t think it would have gone over too well in “The Mish,” but it makes me smile again just writing this. We dropped Fred off at his Noe Valley home on a steep steep hill, then swung by Jeremy’s where we ran in to get a power tool (I’ll save this for another blog) and so Inga could use the restroom on a square toilet, then home I went.
It was just one of those nights, where you stumble in…sleepy and tipsy. And as you are getting ready for bed, you periodically burst into laughter at a memory of something that was said or a face somebody made and you fall asleep, hoping that you’ll get to hang out with all of these people again sometime, and see what happens. Maybe we’ll go to “The Mish.”
Áfram Ísland!
Friday, September 07, 2007
You Asked For It
So this little entry is being posted under duress. I received a shout-out for my blog from my dear friend Inga two days ago where she said, and I’m quoting here, “go read it so she feels pressured to update more than once every galactic rotation.”
Then, she follows that up with a detailed (and one-sided) account of the German dinner we shared last night at a very delicious establishment called Suppenkuche, where she proceeds to label me an amateur because I chose to ask the waiter to serve me brussels sprouts in place of the braised cabbage.
What is this Sh$%?
She does make an attempt to smooth it over by first saying:
“Katie, I may or may not call you an "amateur" in here for substituting brussel sprouts for red cabbage. Let it be known that I know you are a foodie and a connoisseur of all things food, but... I stand by my decision because in the multiverse of Teutonic cuisine, homemade cinnamony red cabbage touts brussel sprouts. Hands down. Every time. But I still LOOOVE YOUUUUU please don't be MAAAAAAAAAD-UH!”
I think she thinks I need to be schooled in all things European cuisine and that she is apparently the authority that is going to take on that challenge, however, I’d like to say in my defense that I am well aware of the station that braised red cabbage has on a German menu, it is also a well known fact that brussels sprouts are cooked with bacon, and in the universe of any cuisine…anything cooked in bacon trumps braised red cabbage. Smacking those hands on the table. For Infinity. But I still LOOOVE YOUUUUU, please don’t be MAAAAAAAAAD-UH!
Then, she follows that up with a detailed (and one-sided) account of the German dinner we shared last night at a very delicious establishment called Suppenkuche, where she proceeds to label me an amateur because I chose to ask the waiter to serve me brussels sprouts in place of the braised cabbage.
What is this Sh$%?
She does make an attempt to smooth it over by first saying:
“Katie, I may or may not call you an "amateur" in here for substituting brussel sprouts for red cabbage. Let it be known that I know you are a foodie and a connoisseur of all things food, but... I stand by my decision because in the multiverse of Teutonic cuisine, homemade cinnamony red cabbage touts brussel sprouts. Hands down. Every time. But I still LOOOVE YOUUUUU please don't be MAAAAAAAAAD-UH!”
I think she thinks I need to be schooled in all things European cuisine and that she is apparently the authority that is going to take on that challenge, however, I’d like to say in my defense that I am well aware of the station that braised red cabbage has on a German menu, it is also a well known fact that brussels sprouts are cooked with bacon, and in the universe of any cuisine…anything cooked in bacon trumps braised red cabbage. Smacking those hands on the table. For Infinity. But I still LOOOVE YOUUUUU, please don’t be MAAAAAAAAAD-UH!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
A letter to Sarah
Hi Sarita,
So I’m at a crossroads. I thought I’d use this email as a sounding board more than anything, since by the time you get this and have a chance to respond, my decision will probably already have been made. So here it goes.
First of all, I made the free trip to Tulsa last week to interview for the restaurant in Oklahoma. It wasn’t me. I don’t know how to describe it without sounding completely snobbish and egocentric, but they tout it as the best restaurant in town (Bartlesville, which it probably is), but it was atrocious. The servers were sloppy and disheveled. The service was mediocre. They were serving probably 30 covers that day…which is a busy lunch in their books, and they all looked like the ship was going down. The space itself was disorganized and poorly laid out. The menu is written by a corporate chef that visits quarterly to update it as well as coming in for special events, etc…however, he is based out of Dallas. The day to day kitchen is executed by 2 line cooks, who I’m sure do what the chef’s directive is, but it is not fine dining. We ordered the hummus at lunch, which is apparently the best-seller, and the presentation wasn’t bad, pita triangles lined each side of a square plate set on a diagonal and then a large dollop of hummus was at the top corner. On either side of that was a pile of cured olives. The huge dollop of hummus had a sprig of rosemary standing up out of it. Nice…
The entire interview, which lasted about 3 hours, including lunch, was basically these two corporate guys telling me all about the place and continually asking me if I was interested. I got the feeling that they were trying to fill a position that’s been open for too long and then here I come, with a nice education and some experience in the Napa Valley, but only in the industry for 4 years, so I’m still a little cheap, so I’m the perfect candidate.
I know what you’re thinking. All of this would be a great challenge and maybe I’m the one to come in there, bust some ass and turn it all around…show the people of Bartlesville what fine dining really is. But, honestly, I just had this sick feeling while I was in the building that I would be embarrassed to have my name attached to this place. Enter the snob I’ve become. Whatever. It didn’t feel right. All of this is also coming from knowing that they only budgeted mid-thirties for salary for this position and it is basically a GM position. Now, having said all of that, if they call tomorrow and come through with an offer like 50K, I’ll strongly consider it because, let’s face it…money talks.
The biggest bummer is that the entire time I was home I just had this huge sinking feeling because I knew I wasn’t really feeling it and I would have to tell my parents that this wasn’t the “Katie’s going to decide to move home” trip and I didn’t even want to tell them that I had an offer in San Francisco (I’ll get to those detail in a minute) because it would make me feel like the disappointment of the century. And when I did tell them, that was exactly the reaction I got. My mom spent the rest of that hour trying to drag all of the negative aspects of the job to light.
Now, that’s one hand...On the other hand, I received a job offer with La Boulange in San Francisco. This is the cute French Café/bakery chain in San Francisco. You remember the one on Union Street, I’m sure…tres adorable! Basically, you walk in and the length of the dining room has a large pastry case and counter. Behind the counter, mounted on the walls are chalkboard menus. Guests can come in and order breads to take home, or pastries of all sorts, additionally, there is a soup/salad/sandwich menu that you can order from. Once you order it, you get a number and the order goes to a little kitchen in the back. A cook prepares it and a staff member delivers it to the guest in the dining room. The place has another counter where a coffee station is set up, with self-serve organic coffee. The tables are minimal, wooden, simple with simple café chairs. The dining room is wired with wifi, so people can linger on their laptops, or they can take their items to go. It is a GM position and likely, they will place me in their new Hayes Valley location, slated to open near the end of August. Otherwise I would be in their North Beach location on Columbus Avenue, in which case, they would be firing the current manager in time for me to move in. I would prefer the Hayes Valley location.
The compensation package they offered is a little too low, unfortunately…but includes the opportunity for bonuses, but the first potential bonus would be 9 months away. This isn’t enough for me to move to San Francisco. I’ve done the math on paper and if I consolidate all of my non-student loan debt (credit cards, etc) then I could do it for a little more, so if tomorrow, when I speak to them and tell them this, and they offer me a slightly better number, then I will very likely be moving to San Francisco to be the GM of a small French Café/Bakery.
Here’s where it gets sticky….you know me, the chicken….the thought of taking the plunge and moving to SF absolutely terrifies me. I’m excited as well, but really really nervous. Plus, my family is completely unsupportive. Which I shouldn’t care about, but it really bothers me. And I keep having people react a little bit like I’m taking a step down by moving to a place with such casual service. Do you think it’s a step down? I mean, yes, it’s simpler service, but it’s a new experience for me. And also, part of what’s really appealing to me is that this is very similar in concept and execution to what I see myself owning someday…so why not learn on someone else’s dime?
Sigh….I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. Shouldn’t I know? Shouldn’t I have this strong gut feeling pulling me in one direction? I definitely am very interested in the café bakery, I really love the concept and I think it would be good experience and I could be happy, as long as the job doesn’t also make my financial ruins reach a catastrophic level, or keep me at work so much that I have no time to appreciate the quality of life in San Francisco, then I kinda want it. I’m completely self-assured, aren’t I?
Thank you, dear sounding board. Please don’t hold back any advice or other comments, as even though I think the decision will be made tomorrow, it may not be and then your voice would be most appreciated in further consideration.
much love,
Katie
So I’m at a crossroads. I thought I’d use this email as a sounding board more than anything, since by the time you get this and have a chance to respond, my decision will probably already have been made. So here it goes.
First of all, I made the free trip to Tulsa last week to interview for the restaurant in Oklahoma. It wasn’t me. I don’t know how to describe it without sounding completely snobbish and egocentric, but they tout it as the best restaurant in town (Bartlesville, which it probably is), but it was atrocious. The servers were sloppy and disheveled. The service was mediocre. They were serving probably 30 covers that day…which is a busy lunch in their books, and they all looked like the ship was going down. The space itself was disorganized and poorly laid out. The menu is written by a corporate chef that visits quarterly to update it as well as coming in for special events, etc…however, he is based out of Dallas. The day to day kitchen is executed by 2 line cooks, who I’m sure do what the chef’s directive is, but it is not fine dining. We ordered the hummus at lunch, which is apparently the best-seller, and the presentation wasn’t bad, pita triangles lined each side of a square plate set on a diagonal and then a large dollop of hummus was at the top corner. On either side of that was a pile of cured olives. The huge dollop of hummus had a sprig of rosemary standing up out of it. Nice…
The entire interview, which lasted about 3 hours, including lunch, was basically these two corporate guys telling me all about the place and continually asking me if I was interested. I got the feeling that they were trying to fill a position that’s been open for too long and then here I come, with a nice education and some experience in the Napa Valley, but only in the industry for 4 years, so I’m still a little cheap, so I’m the perfect candidate.
I know what you’re thinking. All of this would be a great challenge and maybe I’m the one to come in there, bust some ass and turn it all around…show the people of Bartlesville what fine dining really is. But, honestly, I just had this sick feeling while I was in the building that I would be embarrassed to have my name attached to this place. Enter the snob I’ve become. Whatever. It didn’t feel right. All of this is also coming from knowing that they only budgeted mid-thirties for salary for this position and it is basically a GM position. Now, having said all of that, if they call tomorrow and come through with an offer like 50K, I’ll strongly consider it because, let’s face it…money talks.
The biggest bummer is that the entire time I was home I just had this huge sinking feeling because I knew I wasn’t really feeling it and I would have to tell my parents that this wasn’t the “Katie’s going to decide to move home” trip and I didn’t even want to tell them that I had an offer in San Francisco (I’ll get to those detail in a minute) because it would make me feel like the disappointment of the century. And when I did tell them, that was exactly the reaction I got. My mom spent the rest of that hour trying to drag all of the negative aspects of the job to light.
Now, that’s one hand...On the other hand, I received a job offer with La Boulange in San Francisco. This is the cute French Café/bakery chain in San Francisco. You remember the one on Union Street, I’m sure…tres adorable! Basically, you walk in and the length of the dining room has a large pastry case and counter. Behind the counter, mounted on the walls are chalkboard menus. Guests can come in and order breads to take home, or pastries of all sorts, additionally, there is a soup/salad/sandwich menu that you can order from. Once you order it, you get a number and the order goes to a little kitchen in the back. A cook prepares it and a staff member delivers it to the guest in the dining room. The place has another counter where a coffee station is set up, with self-serve organic coffee. The tables are minimal, wooden, simple with simple café chairs. The dining room is wired with wifi, so people can linger on their laptops, or they can take their items to go. It is a GM position and likely, they will place me in their new Hayes Valley location, slated to open near the end of August. Otherwise I would be in their North Beach location on Columbus Avenue, in which case, they would be firing the current manager in time for me to move in. I would prefer the Hayes Valley location.
The compensation package they offered is a little too low, unfortunately…but includes the opportunity for bonuses, but the first potential bonus would be 9 months away. This isn’t enough for me to move to San Francisco. I’ve done the math on paper and if I consolidate all of my non-student loan debt (credit cards, etc) then I could do it for a little more, so if tomorrow, when I speak to them and tell them this, and they offer me a slightly better number, then I will very likely be moving to San Francisco to be the GM of a small French Café/Bakery.
Here’s where it gets sticky….you know me, the chicken….the thought of taking the plunge and moving to SF absolutely terrifies me. I’m excited as well, but really really nervous. Plus, my family is completely unsupportive. Which I shouldn’t care about, but it really bothers me. And I keep having people react a little bit like I’m taking a step down by moving to a place with such casual service. Do you think it’s a step down? I mean, yes, it’s simpler service, but it’s a new experience for me. And also, part of what’s really appealing to me is that this is very similar in concept and execution to what I see myself owning someday…so why not learn on someone else’s dime?
Sigh….I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. Shouldn’t I know? Shouldn’t I have this strong gut feeling pulling me in one direction? I definitely am very interested in the café bakery, I really love the concept and I think it would be good experience and I could be happy, as long as the job doesn’t also make my financial ruins reach a catastrophic level, or keep me at work so much that I have no time to appreciate the quality of life in San Francisco, then I kinda want it. I’m completely self-assured, aren’t I?
Thank you, dear sounding board. Please don’t hold back any advice or other comments, as even though I think the decision will be made tomorrow, it may not be and then your voice would be most appreciated in further consideration.
much love,
Katie
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Another fabulous day of air travel…
So I recently took a little trip to Tulsa to interview for a potential job…I know…moving home to work in Bartlesville, Oklahoma…hardly something anyone would guess I would consider, but there I was. And the trip was so classically Katie that I had to share what I wrote while on my trip:
June 19
My day began at 5am…I closed the restaurant last night and came home and packed and crawled into bed at 1am. So four hours later, only about 20 minutes before my alarm was set to go off, the phone began ringing.
Groggy…I answered to an automated system telling me that I need to call the reservation system as my flight information has changed. So I call…another automated system. I’m pressing #s to navigate the menu and then their computer wants me to answer questions…the problem is that the computer can’t understand anything I’m saying and I’m getting angrier and angrier. After you scream AGENT into the phone about 4 times it seems to finally decide to go ahead and transfer you…
to Pakistan.
So now I’m talking to someone who has trouble hearing me and I’m having trouble understanding him and its 5:15am and I’m just loopy and pissed.
-My flight was cancelled.
-There is another flight that leaves at 2:30pm and will get me to Tulsa at 10:45pm….four and a half hours after my originally scheduled flight…would I like to book?
Do I have other options? No.
Yes, I’d like to book.
So I’m disappointed and frustrated--any loss of control over travel will do that to a person and this particular trip is only two nights anyway, so my time with the fam is getting cut short. However, this does afford me about 4 more hours of much needed sleep so I take a deep breath and snooze on.
Now, time has passed, I’m more rested, I drive to the airport and check in in plenty of time for my flight, which is now delayed.
Yup…delayed. Another hour, which means more waiting in Oakland, but I will still make my connection in Denver, so I’m okay…
3:30pm
We take off for Denver. Fairly normal flight…a few highlights include:
-TURBULENCE..not like I’ve felt before, it was as if the plane was sliding into a roll and then over-correcting to roll the other way. The passengers were gasping and my heart was racing. The captain explained that what had happened was that we were flying behind another plane (a safe distance, I assume) and our plane got caught in that plane’s gust.
-The flight went by fairly quickly. I befriended Karla, who was sitting next to me and had just had a girlfriend’s weekend in Calistoga with her longtime friends Bonnie and Barbara. They ate dinner at the CIA last night, and had a wonderful time.
Karla has a cocker spaniel named Morgen that she adores and walks on a leash that is more like a vest instead of a collar. “This way I am walking Morgen and Morgen isn’t walking me,” she explains. And Morgen is spelled with an “e” instead of an “a” because it is German, the word for ‘morning.’
And Karla’s father was in WWII and serviced the plane that carried the atomic bomb to Hiroshima.
Her daughter lives in Phoenix and her grandchildren are named Katelyn Morgen (Karla got to name her) and Ronnie, who is named after his dad. They have 2 pitbulls named Dino and Pebbles.
She is an artist-dabbles in oil painting since she retired.
Karla was cool.
Once we landed in Denver, I treated myself to 2 scoops of Dulce de Leche ice cream and waited to board the on time flight to Tulsa.
Once on, I found myself sitting next to a very sharp 6th grader who was on her way back from her first trip to Disneyland. Next to her was a woman who played piano for a singing group who performed for a rotary group in Salt Lake City, Utah.
If my first flight was turbulent, this flight was freakin’ rocking and rolling. Scary. We were flying on the outskirts of a massive thunderstorm and the captain apologized but said that it would likely be this way for the rest of the flight.
I was sipping Sprite and my stomach was turning but finally the ride smoothed out.
The captain came on again to inform us that the thunderstorm was parked over Tulsa and it’s a slow moving storm so we’ve been diverted to Springfield, Missouri.
Springfield, of course, wasn’t expecting us so as I write this we’re sitting on the tarmac with no place to park. This is how the last hour and a half has gone:
*Once on the ground, I call my parents to give them the update so far-we’re in Springfield. My Dad is currently driving in the bad weather towards the airport to come get me.
*I’ve relocated my seat to the row behind me where there are no passengers so I have a row to myself.
*I pick up a text message from Leah: “Umm. Did you 4get to tell me that j-lo is engaged?”
*I text her back that I totally forgot. Then, I use the airplane restroom. Consequently, this is my very first time in an airplane bathroom-and I cannot imagine two people fitting there, let alone having sex in one. My hat’s off to those nimble souls.
*Leah calls me,
“How could you forget something like that?!?!”
“Leah, I have a few other things on my mind at the moment…I’m in Springfield”
“Oh my God!” she screams and then bursts into laughter.
There really isn’t anything else to do. The captain comes on during this fit to update us. He explains that the storm is still hovering and the airport has no place to put us so we’re going to remain parked here, “we could end up sitting here for awhile…” he explains.
Leah can hear him on the speaker and begins a new fit of laughter all over again.
I talk with her awhile and then let her go to save battery juice.
*The sixth grader, who has been collected by her mother to sit up front somewhere has returned to show me photographs of her family on Splash Mountain and Space Mountain. In both shots, this girl has ducked in fear during the ride so that only the top of her head is visible in the photos.
*New update from the captain…there seems to be a hole in the storm over Tulsa, so we are refueling and are going to attempt to fly in. They are making sure that there is plenty of fuel so that if we need to hover over the storm for a bit before it opens up we can do so. Also, this surplus of fuel will allow us to return to Denver in the event that the storm doesn’t open up.
*I decide to write.
We’ve now taken off and are in flight to Tulsa. The captain, who’s now good buddies with the Tulsa flight tower is very optimistic that we’ll be able to get in there.
Obviously, I’ll be typing this as a blog entry and will be able to report on the final outcome by the time I’m plugged in.
Will Katie get in to Tulsa?
Is this chaotic flight some sort of cosmic note that she should or shouldn’t be contemplating a move home?
Will she be fresh and on time for her 11am job interview?
Here comes the turbulence…
I’m putting the pen and paper away now…stay tuned.
~ ~ ~
We landed safe and sound in T-town around 1:30am.
June 19
My day began at 5am…I closed the restaurant last night and came home and packed and crawled into bed at 1am. So four hours later, only about 20 minutes before my alarm was set to go off, the phone began ringing.
Groggy…I answered to an automated system telling me that I need to call the reservation system as my flight information has changed. So I call…another automated system. I’m pressing #s to navigate the menu and then their computer wants me to answer questions…the problem is that the computer can’t understand anything I’m saying and I’m getting angrier and angrier. After you scream AGENT into the phone about 4 times it seems to finally decide to go ahead and transfer you…
to Pakistan.
So now I’m talking to someone who has trouble hearing me and I’m having trouble understanding him and its 5:15am and I’m just loopy and pissed.
-My flight was cancelled.
-There is another flight that leaves at 2:30pm and will get me to Tulsa at 10:45pm….four and a half hours after my originally scheduled flight…would I like to book?
Do I have other options? No.
Yes, I’d like to book.
So I’m disappointed and frustrated--any loss of control over travel will do that to a person and this particular trip is only two nights anyway, so my time with the fam is getting cut short. However, this does afford me about 4 more hours of much needed sleep so I take a deep breath and snooze on.
Now, time has passed, I’m more rested, I drive to the airport and check in in plenty of time for my flight, which is now delayed.
Yup…delayed. Another hour, which means more waiting in Oakland, but I will still make my connection in Denver, so I’m okay…
3:30pm
We take off for Denver. Fairly normal flight…a few highlights include:
-TURBULENCE..not like I’ve felt before, it was as if the plane was sliding into a roll and then over-correcting to roll the other way. The passengers were gasping and my heart was racing. The captain explained that what had happened was that we were flying behind another plane (a safe distance, I assume) and our plane got caught in that plane’s gust.
-The flight went by fairly quickly. I befriended Karla, who was sitting next to me and had just had a girlfriend’s weekend in Calistoga with her longtime friends Bonnie and Barbara. They ate dinner at the CIA last night, and had a wonderful time.
Karla has a cocker spaniel named Morgen that she adores and walks on a leash that is more like a vest instead of a collar. “This way I am walking Morgen and Morgen isn’t walking me,” she explains. And Morgen is spelled with an “e” instead of an “a” because it is German, the word for ‘morning.’
And Karla’s father was in WWII and serviced the plane that carried the atomic bomb to Hiroshima.
Her daughter lives in Phoenix and her grandchildren are named Katelyn Morgen (Karla got to name her) and Ronnie, who is named after his dad. They have 2 pitbulls named Dino and Pebbles.
She is an artist-dabbles in oil painting since she retired.
Karla was cool.
Once we landed in Denver, I treated myself to 2 scoops of Dulce de Leche ice cream and waited to board the on time flight to Tulsa.
Once on, I found myself sitting next to a very sharp 6th grader who was on her way back from her first trip to Disneyland. Next to her was a woman who played piano for a singing group who performed for a rotary group in Salt Lake City, Utah.
If my first flight was turbulent, this flight was freakin’ rocking and rolling. Scary. We were flying on the outskirts of a massive thunderstorm and the captain apologized but said that it would likely be this way for the rest of the flight.
I was sipping Sprite and my stomach was turning but finally the ride smoothed out.
The captain came on again to inform us that the thunderstorm was parked over Tulsa and it’s a slow moving storm so we’ve been diverted to Springfield, Missouri.
Springfield, of course, wasn’t expecting us so as I write this we’re sitting on the tarmac with no place to park. This is how the last hour and a half has gone:
*Once on the ground, I call my parents to give them the update so far-we’re in Springfield. My Dad is currently driving in the bad weather towards the airport to come get me.
*I’ve relocated my seat to the row behind me where there are no passengers so I have a row to myself.
*I pick up a text message from Leah: “Umm. Did you 4get to tell me that j-lo is engaged?”
*I text her back that I totally forgot. Then, I use the airplane restroom. Consequently, this is my very first time in an airplane bathroom-and I cannot imagine two people fitting there, let alone having sex in one. My hat’s off to those nimble souls.
*Leah calls me,
“How could you forget something like that?!?!”
“Leah, I have a few other things on my mind at the moment…I’m in Springfield”
“Oh my God!” she screams and then bursts into laughter.
There really isn’t anything else to do. The captain comes on during this fit to update us. He explains that the storm is still hovering and the airport has no place to put us so we’re going to remain parked here, “we could end up sitting here for awhile…” he explains.
Leah can hear him on the speaker and begins a new fit of laughter all over again.
I talk with her awhile and then let her go to save battery juice.
*The sixth grader, who has been collected by her mother to sit up front somewhere has returned to show me photographs of her family on Splash Mountain and Space Mountain. In both shots, this girl has ducked in fear during the ride so that only the top of her head is visible in the photos.
*New update from the captain…there seems to be a hole in the storm over Tulsa, so we are refueling and are going to attempt to fly in. They are making sure that there is plenty of fuel so that if we need to hover over the storm for a bit before it opens up we can do so. Also, this surplus of fuel will allow us to return to Denver in the event that the storm doesn’t open up.
*I decide to write.
We’ve now taken off and are in flight to Tulsa. The captain, who’s now good buddies with the Tulsa flight tower is very optimistic that we’ll be able to get in there.
Obviously, I’ll be typing this as a blog entry and will be able to report on the final outcome by the time I’m plugged in.
Will Katie get in to Tulsa?
Is this chaotic flight some sort of cosmic note that she should or shouldn’t be contemplating a move home?
Will she be fresh and on time for her 11am job interview?
Here comes the turbulence…
I’m putting the pen and paper away now…stay tuned.
~ ~ ~
We landed safe and sound in T-town around 1:30am.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Brrrr...
icy toes
cold pink nose
multiple layers
of warm fuzzy clothes
nice hot bath
you do the math
my heat doesn’t work
and I’m freezing
It has been fantastically beautiful and warm in the Napa Valley for a few weeks now. So lovely, in fact, that I slept with my windows open...with fans on.....even thought to myself, "damn it's gonna be hot in here this summer." But the weather broke, and finally it rained again, bringing with it a very cold coastal chill, and I'm back to my old habits. I had to break out the screwdriver tonight and settle in for a soak in the tub. And now I'm off to snuggle underneath my pile of comforters, and hopefully fall fast asleep....before my skin has a chance to cool off again.
cold pink nose
multiple layers
of warm fuzzy clothes
nice hot bath
you do the math
my heat doesn’t work
and I’m freezing
It has been fantastically beautiful and warm in the Napa Valley for a few weeks now. So lovely, in fact, that I slept with my windows open...with fans on.....even thought to myself, "damn it's gonna be hot in here this summer." But the weather broke, and finally it rained again, bringing with it a very cold coastal chill, and I'm back to my old habits. I had to break out the screwdriver tonight and settle in for a soak in the tub. And now I'm off to snuggle underneath my pile of comforters, and hopefully fall fast asleep....before my skin has a chance to cool off again.
Monday, January 29, 2007
On traveling...
I think I have some sort of travel curse over my head. I’ve never had my safety jeopardized or anything tragic like that, thank “god,” but most of the time, traveling is just a tremendous pain in the ass for me.
Case in point:
The last three years that I have gone home in the winter, I have been stuck in one city or another at some point during my travel. Just to warn you, I am about to launch into a bit of a rant on my bad luck with airlines, however there is a positive outcome at the end of all this…stay tuned.
January 2005 Sacramento to Tulsa, connecting through Denver.
I should have never gotten on the plane. My flight was so delayed out of Sacramento because of snow in Denver that I knew getting on the plane meant missing my connection. Before leaving sunny Sacramento, I had secured a flight for the following day to Oklahoma City (instead of Tulsa). Then, after a sleepless night in the Motel 6 –which, consequently, I had to pay for, including cab fare each way- the snow that had hit Denver, was now in Oklahoma, so my parents couldn’t drive the hour and a half to pick me up in OKC, so I was stranded there as well. Luckily, my good friend (albeit, a Sooner) Chris, gave up a date to come rescue me from the airport and let me crash with him in Norman. Thank you again, Chris. Fun Stuff.
Motel 6 on a snowed in night in Denver $90
Cab fare each way to and from the airport $50
Learning that next time, my carry-on should have useful items like a cell phone charger and shampoo…priceless.
December 2005 Oakland to Tulsa, connecting through Dallas.
I had learned my lesson…no way am I going to connect through Denver in the snow. Dallas, this time. And my carry-on had everything I needed in it to get me through the night, should I need it. So my flight left on time. We arrived in Dallas on time. We are taxi-ing to the gate and then…what’s this? There’s another plane still at our gate…we have to wait for them to leave before we can park and de-plane. 15 minutes…20 minutes…30 minutes…we got off the plane at the same time my connection was taking off. And since it was the last flight to Tulsa out of Dallas that evening…guess who spent the night at the Motel 6 in Dallas? Yup…at least this time it was on American Airlines. I was booked for the 6am to Tulsa the next morning. I had a hot bath, watched a Lifetime made-for-TV movie and was in Tulsa by 8am the next day.
January 2007 Sacramento to Tulsa, connecting through Denver.
Okay, so I was a little nervous. Denver was just closed a week or so prior to this flight because of a massive snow storm and I was hoping I wouldn’t get stuck. Especially since now, you can’t really pack liquid provisions in your carry-on, just because somebody figured out you could haul weapons of mass destruction in the air as long as you cleverly disguised it with a shampoo bottle. I packed a hat. So…I get to the airport…the plane boards on time…we take off on time, we land on time and then I connect through Denver as planned. I made it home in one day. Whew. I have 10 lovely days in Oklahoma and my flight will leave on Saturday. However, mid-week, the local weatherman begins jumping up and down predicting a MAJOR ice storm to hit Tulsa on Saturday. Perfect. So, after waiting it out a day or so…and then witnessing the grocery stores selling out of things like bags of salt, and makins’ for hot cocoa and beef stew, and the news reporters interviewing hardware stores about purchasing generators to run the heat in your homes, we decided to change my flight to Friday (a $100 fee) to beat the storm. So on Friday, I’m all packed up and we get to the airport. It’s freezing cold, but not icy…yet. My flight is listed as "on time" and I’m checked in. I grab a sandwich and I notice a few flurries. My flight is still listed as on-time. I browse the gift shop and consider buying a t-shirt that has a picture of the state of Oklahoma on the front and the phrase, “Nothing tips like a cow,” on the back when a woman comes over the intercom and announces that all Continental Airlines flights have been cancelled out of Tulsa. I’m flying United, but this is not promising. I go back to my gate, and they’ve changed the status of my flight to “delayed.” A few minutes go by and the flurries have turned to flakes, and then the flakes turn to icy crystals and Southwest Airlines cancels all flights. My flight is still delayed. Finally United comes over the intercom and announces that my plane, which is flying in from Denver is going to attempt to land. If they can do so, then we’ll leave for Denver shortly after, however if they can’t…then the plane will turn around and go back to Denver with its original passengers on it. Oh boy.
My plane landed in Tulsa. Then, the pilot decided to wait another 45 minutes for the next weather report to be issued before boarding and deciding whether we should try to fly out. Finally, they cancelled my flight, which meant another 2 days in Tulsa and I was out $100, but we didn’t lose power and I baked cookies and played cards…so it was fine. I was re-scheduled for Monday.
Monday…I get to the airport and check in only to find that my flight has been delayed…and the delay is going to guarantee that I miss my connection in Denver. This is very familiar territory. They can book me for sure on a flight with a different airline at 10pm that night, but I can try for standby on other flights up until that point. Goodie. My plane finally leaves Tulsa 3 hours after it is scheduled to and I arrive in Denver ready to jump from gate to gate on standby until something works out.
Now, I need to take this moment to tell you that I am an extremely good sport during all of these adventures. Yes, it sucks…a lot. But, I am not one to take it out on the customer service reps at the counters in the airport and can pretty much roll with the punches when it comes to situations that are out of my control…to a point. This is not to say that I was not frustrated or tired, or cranky, but I am all smiles to the people making the decisions and I think that is why it all paid off and what happened next happened:
The very next flight out of Denver had a standby seat available for me…in first class.
~Queue the sounds of angels singing~
Ahh…first class. How the other half lives. I’ve seen it, and frankly, I loved it. I plan to one day be a regular first class customer. Well, I aspire to. I currently have nowhere near the kind of income needed to support that aspiration, nor am I in a career field that will bring me that kind of financial liberty. One can dream, though, right?
I do have to say that it is really just not fair that first class is so fabulous. I’ve said before that I’ve felt like cattle when flying coach, and now I know….we are indeed just a line of cows being shuffled into the rear of the cabin while coats are being checked and cocktails are complimentary behind that little curtain. I was greeted with a welcome beverage. Then just after take-off, I was given a little white ramekin filled with warm mixed nuts while our attendant took our dinner order. A full plate of food on an airplane? You don’t even get the tiny bag of pretzels in the back anymore. And it wasn’t bad. I’m a total food snob and of course it wasn’t fabulous, but it wasn’t bad. They served it on a tray, and our table-top was lined with a linen napkin, and I had wine with dinner. And afterwards, I was given a hot towel to cleanse my fingers. Yes…a hot towel. I’m telling you, this gig is just a massage away from a spa retreat compared to coach.
So I lucked out in the end…I suppose. It was quite nice to experience and I wouldn’t mind doing it again…however, I would handle being one of the cows in the back happily if it meant I was going to get to where the ticket says I’m going at the time it says I’ll get there.
Happy travels and safe flights to you all.
Case in point:
The last three years that I have gone home in the winter, I have been stuck in one city or another at some point during my travel. Just to warn you, I am about to launch into a bit of a rant on my bad luck with airlines, however there is a positive outcome at the end of all this…stay tuned.
January 2005 Sacramento to Tulsa, connecting through Denver.
I should have never gotten on the plane. My flight was so delayed out of Sacramento because of snow in Denver that I knew getting on the plane meant missing my connection. Before leaving sunny Sacramento, I had secured a flight for the following day to Oklahoma City (instead of Tulsa). Then, after a sleepless night in the Motel 6 –which, consequently, I had to pay for, including cab fare each way- the snow that had hit Denver, was now in Oklahoma, so my parents couldn’t drive the hour and a half to pick me up in OKC, so I was stranded there as well. Luckily, my good friend (albeit, a Sooner) Chris, gave up a date to come rescue me from the airport and let me crash with him in Norman. Thank you again, Chris. Fun Stuff.
Motel 6 on a snowed in night in Denver $90
Cab fare each way to and from the airport $50
Learning that next time, my carry-on should have useful items like a cell phone charger and shampoo…priceless.
December 2005 Oakland to Tulsa, connecting through Dallas.
I had learned my lesson…no way am I going to connect through Denver in the snow. Dallas, this time. And my carry-on had everything I needed in it to get me through the night, should I need it. So my flight left on time. We arrived in Dallas on time. We are taxi-ing to the gate and then…what’s this? There’s another plane still at our gate…we have to wait for them to leave before we can park and de-plane. 15 minutes…20 minutes…30 minutes…we got off the plane at the same time my connection was taking off. And since it was the last flight to Tulsa out of Dallas that evening…guess who spent the night at the Motel 6 in Dallas? Yup…at least this time it was on American Airlines. I was booked for the 6am to Tulsa the next morning. I had a hot bath, watched a Lifetime made-for-TV movie and was in Tulsa by 8am the next day.
January 2007 Sacramento to Tulsa, connecting through Denver.
Okay, so I was a little nervous. Denver was just closed a week or so prior to this flight because of a massive snow storm and I was hoping I wouldn’t get stuck. Especially since now, you can’t really pack liquid provisions in your carry-on, just because somebody figured out you could haul weapons of mass destruction in the air as long as you cleverly disguised it with a shampoo bottle. I packed a hat. So…I get to the airport…the plane boards on time…we take off on time, we land on time and then I connect through Denver as planned. I made it home in one day. Whew. I have 10 lovely days in Oklahoma and my flight will leave on Saturday. However, mid-week, the local weatherman begins jumping up and down predicting a MAJOR ice storm to hit Tulsa on Saturday. Perfect. So, after waiting it out a day or so…and then witnessing the grocery stores selling out of things like bags of salt, and makins’ for hot cocoa and beef stew, and the news reporters interviewing hardware stores about purchasing generators to run the heat in your homes, we decided to change my flight to Friday (a $100 fee) to beat the storm. So on Friday, I’m all packed up and we get to the airport. It’s freezing cold, but not icy…yet. My flight is listed as "on time" and I’m checked in. I grab a sandwich and I notice a few flurries. My flight is still listed as on-time. I browse the gift shop and consider buying a t-shirt that has a picture of the state of Oklahoma on the front and the phrase, “Nothing tips like a cow,” on the back when a woman comes over the intercom and announces that all Continental Airlines flights have been cancelled out of Tulsa. I’m flying United, but this is not promising. I go back to my gate, and they’ve changed the status of my flight to “delayed.” A few minutes go by and the flurries have turned to flakes, and then the flakes turn to icy crystals and Southwest Airlines cancels all flights. My flight is still delayed. Finally United comes over the intercom and announces that my plane, which is flying in from Denver is going to attempt to land. If they can do so, then we’ll leave for Denver shortly after, however if they can’t…then the plane will turn around and go back to Denver with its original passengers on it. Oh boy.
My plane landed in Tulsa. Then, the pilot decided to wait another 45 minutes for the next weather report to be issued before boarding and deciding whether we should try to fly out. Finally, they cancelled my flight, which meant another 2 days in Tulsa and I was out $100, but we didn’t lose power and I baked cookies and played cards…so it was fine. I was re-scheduled for Monday.
Monday…I get to the airport and check in only to find that my flight has been delayed…and the delay is going to guarantee that I miss my connection in Denver. This is very familiar territory. They can book me for sure on a flight with a different airline at 10pm that night, but I can try for standby on other flights up until that point. Goodie. My plane finally leaves Tulsa 3 hours after it is scheduled to and I arrive in Denver ready to jump from gate to gate on standby until something works out.
Now, I need to take this moment to tell you that I am an extremely good sport during all of these adventures. Yes, it sucks…a lot. But, I am not one to take it out on the customer service reps at the counters in the airport and can pretty much roll with the punches when it comes to situations that are out of my control…to a point. This is not to say that I was not frustrated or tired, or cranky, but I am all smiles to the people making the decisions and I think that is why it all paid off and what happened next happened:
The very next flight out of Denver had a standby seat available for me…in first class.
~Queue the sounds of angels singing~
Ahh…first class. How the other half lives. I’ve seen it, and frankly, I loved it. I plan to one day be a regular first class customer. Well, I aspire to. I currently have nowhere near the kind of income needed to support that aspiration, nor am I in a career field that will bring me that kind of financial liberty. One can dream, though, right?
I do have to say that it is really just not fair that first class is so fabulous. I’ve said before that I’ve felt like cattle when flying coach, and now I know….we are indeed just a line of cows being shuffled into the rear of the cabin while coats are being checked and cocktails are complimentary behind that little curtain. I was greeted with a welcome beverage. Then just after take-off, I was given a little white ramekin filled with warm mixed nuts while our attendant took our dinner order. A full plate of food on an airplane? You don’t even get the tiny bag of pretzels in the back anymore. And it wasn’t bad. I’m a total food snob and of course it wasn’t fabulous, but it wasn’t bad. They served it on a tray, and our table-top was lined with a linen napkin, and I had wine with dinner. And afterwards, I was given a hot towel to cleanse my fingers. Yes…a hot towel. I’m telling you, this gig is just a massage away from a spa retreat compared to coach.
So I lucked out in the end…I suppose. It was quite nice to experience and I wouldn’t mind doing it again…however, I would handle being one of the cows in the back happily if it meant I was going to get to where the ticket says I’m going at the time it says I’ll get there.
Happy travels and safe flights to you all.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Feels Like Home
So…It’s been awhile since I’ve written. So sorry to keep my swarms of readers on the edge of their seats, waiting for the newest edition of “what Katie thinks.” Where the hell have I been? Well, I moved. And I got busy…and distracted…but I’m back.
So, on my new place…
It’s a studio, in an old Victorian house, in downtown Napa. It’s small and cozy and oozing with character. It’s very New York City meets San Francisco, or at least that is how I’m choosing to describe it. The ceilings are high, the space is limited, there is crown molding and a claw-footed bathtub, and the kitchen is green, per my request. I love it. The best part about it, is that it’s mine. If there are dishes in the sink, they are mine. If the bed isn’t made, it’s mine, if there is laundry to be done, it is mine. And when it’s quiet and I’ve just gotten home from a busy night at work and all I want to do is curl up in front of On Demand, then I can…because nobody else is there and I have sole possession of the remote control.
If you can’t tell, I’ve just left a roommate situation.
Don’t get me wrong, living with my roommates was a blast. It was like three’s company…or at least an alternative version of it. It was great. There was always somebody to talk to, and eat dinner with. We had a whole “scare the shit out of each other” campaign, which was hilarious. Think gigantic inflatable rabbits, rubber scorpions and wrapping on the window at night. But there is just something exciting and empowering when you make that leap to live on your own, and depend on only yourself. It also is very appealing when your best friend and roommate moves to Arizona and the other roommate falls in love with a nut job and begins to exhibit psychotic behavior.
So, back to the studio…it is fabulous, but not without its quirks. The refrigerator is vintage…a.k.a. “old,” and it keeps food cold, which is what it is supposed to do, however, the freezer takes about 4 days to make ice. And Healthy Choice Premium Fudge Bars don’t stand a chance, The bathtub is giant and high-sided and perfect with the appropriate number of candles lit and the right selection of music playing, but the hot water faucet handle is stripped, so it just spins on the fixture. But, determined bath-taker that I am, figured out that if you turn the inside of the handle with a screwdriver, the hot water will turn on, so a hot bath requires tools. And until just today, through some of the coldest nights the Napa Valley has seen this year, I was without heat. It was like the tundra in here. I had a whole “get warm before bed” system though…I took the screwdriver and cranked up the hot bath and soaked…then slipped into cozy pajamas and socks, and piled the blankets high in the Japanese tradition. It was teeth chatteringly cozy. I have already fought (and won) a battle with an army of ants in my kitchen. And no matter how many storage boxes I organize and fill, I can’t seem to find a place for all of my stuff (shocking, I’m sure, to those of you who know me and know how much stuff I have). But it’s mine.
The first meal I cooked in my new place was Thanksgiving dinner. A successful little soiree which included the fabulous company of one iclandic-austrian-american daughter of a spy, a charming german girl with a digital camera and the option to record video, and a clever and creative gay man whom I once had the pleasure of calling roommate. The four of us enjoyed turkey with all the “fixins” and laughed most of the evening. Highlights include a very embarrassing video of Inga and I playing “fluffy bunny.”
Since that beginning of the single life in my new abode, I’ve settled. I’m used to the commute and I carpool with a coworker who also lives in Napa to save on gas. I have visited the Laundromat (Launderworld) and think that if I purchase one more set of work clothes, I will be able to go a whole month before doing laundry. Yes, I have that many clothes. No, I do not have that much closet space.
Christmas was nice…Fajitas and margaritas with fellow friends not near their families for the holidays…however, nothing is quite like Christmas at home. And it’s always when we get close to the January break, and I know I’ll be going home for a visit soon, that I start to miss them the most. So that’s what I’m up to now…getting ready for the trip home and crossing my fingers that my January connection through Denver is not a complete disaster. Keep your fingers crossed, too.
So, on my new place…
It’s a studio, in an old Victorian house, in downtown Napa. It’s small and cozy and oozing with character. It’s very New York City meets San Francisco, or at least that is how I’m choosing to describe it. The ceilings are high, the space is limited, there is crown molding and a claw-footed bathtub, and the kitchen is green, per my request. I love it. The best part about it, is that it’s mine. If there are dishes in the sink, they are mine. If the bed isn’t made, it’s mine, if there is laundry to be done, it is mine. And when it’s quiet and I’ve just gotten home from a busy night at work and all I want to do is curl up in front of On Demand, then I can…because nobody else is there and I have sole possession of the remote control.
If you can’t tell, I’ve just left a roommate situation.
Don’t get me wrong, living with my roommates was a blast. It was like three’s company…or at least an alternative version of it. It was great. There was always somebody to talk to, and eat dinner with. We had a whole “scare the shit out of each other” campaign, which was hilarious. Think gigantic inflatable rabbits, rubber scorpions and wrapping on the window at night. But there is just something exciting and empowering when you make that leap to live on your own, and depend on only yourself. It also is very appealing when your best friend and roommate moves to Arizona and the other roommate falls in love with a nut job and begins to exhibit psychotic behavior.
So, back to the studio…it is fabulous, but not without its quirks. The refrigerator is vintage…a.k.a. “old,” and it keeps food cold, which is what it is supposed to do, however, the freezer takes about 4 days to make ice. And Healthy Choice Premium Fudge Bars don’t stand a chance, The bathtub is giant and high-sided and perfect with the appropriate number of candles lit and the right selection of music playing, but the hot water faucet handle is stripped, so it just spins on the fixture. But, determined bath-taker that I am, figured out that if you turn the inside of the handle with a screwdriver, the hot water will turn on, so a hot bath requires tools. And until just today, through some of the coldest nights the Napa Valley has seen this year, I was without heat. It was like the tundra in here. I had a whole “get warm before bed” system though…I took the screwdriver and cranked up the hot bath and soaked…then slipped into cozy pajamas and socks, and piled the blankets high in the Japanese tradition. It was teeth chatteringly cozy. I have already fought (and won) a battle with an army of ants in my kitchen. And no matter how many storage boxes I organize and fill, I can’t seem to find a place for all of my stuff (shocking, I’m sure, to those of you who know me and know how much stuff I have). But it’s mine.
The first meal I cooked in my new place was Thanksgiving dinner. A successful little soiree which included the fabulous company of one iclandic-austrian-american daughter of a spy, a charming german girl with a digital camera and the option to record video, and a clever and creative gay man whom I once had the pleasure of calling roommate. The four of us enjoyed turkey with all the “fixins” and laughed most of the evening. Highlights include a very embarrassing video of Inga and I playing “fluffy bunny.”
Since that beginning of the single life in my new abode, I’ve settled. I’m used to the commute and I carpool with a coworker who also lives in Napa to save on gas. I have visited the Laundromat (Launderworld) and think that if I purchase one more set of work clothes, I will be able to go a whole month before doing laundry. Yes, I have that many clothes. No, I do not have that much closet space.
Christmas was nice…Fajitas and margaritas with fellow friends not near their families for the holidays…however, nothing is quite like Christmas at home. And it’s always when we get close to the January break, and I know I’ll be going home for a visit soon, that I start to miss them the most. So that’s what I’m up to now…getting ready for the trip home and crossing my fingers that my January connection through Denver is not a complete disaster. Keep your fingers crossed, too.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)