I don't like cleaning. I do it, because if I didn't, I would be living in squalor.
I think what I dislike the most about cleaning, is how short-lived the "clean" state actually lasts. When I finally do get it together, and scrub the toilet, clean in between the shower tiles, and dust every horizontal surface, I feel a brief satisfaction. Although within a week, the gunk and the dust, and the mess are all back.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Day 72 - I Baked Something
The title says it all.
Between being fed meals at work, and having a fiancé who cooks all the time, I thought that I'd forgotten how to use an oven. But I managed to use one today to make croissant bread pudding (homemade croissants courtesy of my very own Bill).
Between being fed meals at work, and having a fiancé who cooks all the time, I thought that I'd forgotten how to use an oven. But I managed to use one today to make croissant bread pudding (homemade croissants courtesy of my very own Bill).
Day 71 - To Rally or not to Rally
I had a lot of fun last night. Too much fun. Most of today was spent on the couch, watching episodes of The Wire until I got depressed and then binge-watched Broad City.
Around 6, my phone started coming alive.
"Come out! Come out!" It buzzed. My dearest friends wanted me to join them on a beautiful Saturday night out in the city.
I must have contemplated whether or not to go out for over two hours. Then the sun set, and my bed called to me. "Lorraine, come here." It said. "I have a secret."
So I went to hear what the secret was. Turns out it's that my bed is really really comfortable.
Around 6, my phone started coming alive.
"Come out! Come out!" It buzzed. My dearest friends wanted me to join them on a beautiful Saturday night out in the city.
I must have contemplated whether or not to go out for over two hours. Then the sun set, and my bed called to me. "Lorraine, come here." It said. "I have a secret."
So I went to hear what the secret was. Turns out it's that my bed is really really comfortable.
Day 70 - You Look Like...
I went out tonight for a friends birthday. While on the dance floor, someone told me I looked like Gillian Anderson. While a comment like that may have annoyed most people, I'm rarely ever told that I look like someone, so I appreciated the comparison.
I thanked him and moved along. I had dancing to do and time was running short.
The bar closed, and I called a Lyft home. While talking to the driver he randomly said "You're from Oklahoma, aren't you?"
"Huh? No..." I responded. "Why?"
"You just look like you're from Oklahoma. I know a lot of people from there, and you look like them."
"Well, there are a lot of white people in Oklahoma..."
"No, it's not that! He insisted. Not just that. They have a certain look. A certain bone structure. Are you sure you're not from Oklahoma?"
"Yeah, pretty sure. I'm from here."
He almost looked as though he didn't believe me.
"Where are you from?" I asked - a question I don't always feel comfortable asking someone with an accent, but felt that it was more than appropriate at this point in the conversation.
"Pakistan," He said. "But I've been here for 15 years."
I realized people probably tell him he looks like he's from this place or that all the time. Maybe he just thinks that's how people make conversation.
I said goodbye and thanked him for the ride. I looked in the mirror when I came home, maybe to check to see if Scully in a cowboy hat would be staring back. But it was just me; tired, drunk, Lorraine from San Francisco.
I thanked him and moved along. I had dancing to do and time was running short.
The bar closed, and I called a Lyft home. While talking to the driver he randomly said "You're from Oklahoma, aren't you?"
"Huh? No..." I responded. "Why?"
"You just look like you're from Oklahoma. I know a lot of people from there, and you look like them."
"Well, there are a lot of white people in Oklahoma..."
"No, it's not that! He insisted. Not just that. They have a certain look. A certain bone structure. Are you sure you're not from Oklahoma?"
"Yeah, pretty sure. I'm from here."
He almost looked as though he didn't believe me.
"Where are you from?" I asked - a question I don't always feel comfortable asking someone with an accent, but felt that it was more than appropriate at this point in the conversation.
"Pakistan," He said. "But I've been here for 15 years."
I realized people probably tell him he looks like he's from this place or that all the time. Maybe he just thinks that's how people make conversation.
I said goodbye and thanked him for the ride. I looked in the mirror when I came home, maybe to check to see if Scully in a cowboy hat would be staring back. But it was just me; tired, drunk, Lorraine from San Francisco.
Saturday, August 1, 2015
Day 69 - Like a Hurricane
I met my friend Tanya, and several of her friends, at Off The Grid in the Haight tonight. We tried a variety of different fusion foods from various trucks until we'd eaten our way around the world.
Then we walked a few blocks to Hobson's Choice and split a punch bowl. After a few hours of good food, good drinks, and good laughs, we decided to call it a night. I unlocked my bike and said my goodbyes.
As I rode home, I felt the breeze blow through my hair. It felt so liberating. For a moment I was completely content, as I glided down Cabrillo, singing softly to myself. That is, until I realized that I was only feeling this liberating breeze blowing through my hair because I wasn't wearing my helmet.
"Shit!" I said out loud as I slammed on my breaks. I realized that I must have left my helmet at the bar.
I turned around, and rode back to the bar as fast as I could. I got there in a speedy 10 minutes, sweating and panting, I asked the bouncer if I could leave my bike with him while I ran in to grab my helmet. He gave me an odd look and agreed. A newish-looking couple was sitting at our table. "Excuse me," I said. "Is there a helmet over there?" I definitely caught them off-guard, but they obliged in standing up and briefly looking. I turned my flashlight on and ducked under their table when they weren't able to find it.
"Hey!" I yelled to the bartender, after I didn't find it under the table. "Do you have a helmet? I mean, I left a helmet. Did anyone turn it in?"
He didn't even give me eye contact, and shook his head.
I walked out of the bar, defeated. Where could it have gone?
And then...oh. I felt my backpack, and sure enough there was a hard helmet-shaped object in there.
I tried to walk out of sight of the bar, but I'm pretty sure the bouncer saw me pull my helmet out of my backpack. Then as I hopped on my bike, to ride away as fast as I could, the chain fell off the gears. So I sat about 10 feet away from the bar fixing my bike for the next 5 minutes, and then took off like a storm.
Then we walked a few blocks to Hobson's Choice and split a punch bowl. After a few hours of good food, good drinks, and good laughs, we decided to call it a night. I unlocked my bike and said my goodbyes.
As I rode home, I felt the breeze blow through my hair. It felt so liberating. For a moment I was completely content, as I glided down Cabrillo, singing softly to myself. That is, until I realized that I was only feeling this liberating breeze blowing through my hair because I wasn't wearing my helmet.
"Shit!" I said out loud as I slammed on my breaks. I realized that I must have left my helmet at the bar.
I turned around, and rode back to the bar as fast as I could. I got there in a speedy 10 minutes, sweating and panting, I asked the bouncer if I could leave my bike with him while I ran in to grab my helmet. He gave me an odd look and agreed. A newish-looking couple was sitting at our table. "Excuse me," I said. "Is there a helmet over there?" I definitely caught them off-guard, but they obliged in standing up and briefly looking. I turned my flashlight on and ducked under their table when they weren't able to find it.
"Hey!" I yelled to the bartender, after I didn't find it under the table. "Do you have a helmet? I mean, I left a helmet. Did anyone turn it in?"
He didn't even give me eye contact, and shook his head.
I walked out of the bar, defeated. Where could it have gone?
And then...oh. I felt my backpack, and sure enough there was a hard helmet-shaped object in there.
I tried to walk out of sight of the bar, but I'm pretty sure the bouncer saw me pull my helmet out of my backpack. Then as I hopped on my bike, to ride away as fast as I could, the chain fell off the gears. So I sat about 10 feet away from the bar fixing my bike for the next 5 minutes, and then took off like a storm.
Day 68 - The Right Attitude
On my way to work this morning, I accidentally (and a little aggressively) tried to pass a cyclist who was turning left. She motioned angrily at me and yelled, "Hey! I'm turning!"
I was a little out of it, and taken aback, and therefore failed to respond. I just rode by in silence. We continued along the same route, turned into the same parking garage, and then parked our bikes in the same bike cage. So she's a co-worker, I realized.
It reminded me how important it is to be aware of your surroundings and to treat everyone with respect. I should treat everyone I encounter as if it's someone I have to see every day, not just because they might actually be a co-worker, but because that's how everyone deserves to be treated.
That same evening, I rode my bike home more slowly and more carefully. I stopped at a stop sign in Golden Gate Park to let a car that had been waiting go. The car started to pull into the intersection when a bike zipped by me, and took the car's turn. I looked over at the driver, expecting him to impatiently wave me along, or give me a cyclist-hating stare. Instead he just smiled and gave me a thumbs up. He choose to thank me for stopping rather than get hung up on the cyclist who didn't.
That's the right attitude, I thought as I smiled and waved back.
I was a little out of it, and taken aback, and therefore failed to respond. I just rode by in silence. We continued along the same route, turned into the same parking garage, and then parked our bikes in the same bike cage. So she's a co-worker, I realized.
It reminded me how important it is to be aware of your surroundings and to treat everyone with respect. I should treat everyone I encounter as if it's someone I have to see every day, not just because they might actually be a co-worker, but because that's how everyone deserves to be treated.
That same evening, I rode my bike home more slowly and more carefully. I stopped at a stop sign in Golden Gate Park to let a car that had been waiting go. The car started to pull into the intersection when a bike zipped by me, and took the car's turn. I looked over at the driver, expecting him to impatiently wave me along, or give me a cyclist-hating stare. Instead he just smiled and gave me a thumbs up. He choose to thank me for stopping rather than get hung up on the cyclist who didn't.
That's the right attitude, I thought as I smiled and waved back.
Day 67 - Spider Eviction
I stepped into the shower this morning only to come face to face with a large brown spider. He wasn't far from the shower head and I could have easily washed him down the drain. Instead, I grabbed a tupperware from the kitchen and came back, only to see a second spider on the other side of the shower. I managed to trap both spiders in two separate containers. Proud of my humane solution to the problem, I woke Bill up to show him the two secured arachnids.
He sleepily feigned "my hero," and asked that I be sure to dump them somewhere far from our apartment.
I stepped outside, removed the lids, and shook them out of the containers. They both stood on the concrete, confused, likely shaken, and then slowly started wondering off to find a new home.
He sleepily feigned "my hero," and asked that I be sure to dump them somewhere far from our apartment.
I stepped outside, removed the lids, and shook them out of the containers. They both stood on the concrete, confused, likely shaken, and then slowly started wondering off to find a new home.
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