Posted 2/17/1997
Valentine's Day used to be my favorite holiday. I loved the fact that there was a day where you could get presents and cards and chocolate without anyone having to die, a day where love was the answer, a day where...
...nevermind. Anyway, that was obviously then and this is obviously now.
Can you tell it was a bummer day? This is how I spent the evening of Friday, February 14th: Watching "Crusty Demons of Dirt II" (a dirt-biking video) for the third time with my roommate and his buddy Blaze as they ate all of my Valentine's candy that I bought for myself to ensure that I'd *get* Valentine's day candy, and it's a good darn thing I did because there were no flowers, there was no candy, there wasn't anything other than dirt-bike racing on the TV as I sat back and thought to myself "There must be more to life than this?"
This wasn't my worst V-Day ever, though. The worst one I ever had was when I was a sophomore in high school. I'd had my wisdom teeth dug out of my head the day before (on Friday the 13th of February), and spent Saturday in pain and bleeding. I'd broken up with my first ever real boyfriend a few weeks before, so there were (again) no flowers, no candy, hell, not even any crusty demons of dirt.
Sure, there have been good Valentine's Days. Probably the best one I've had (with no offense to anyone I've ever spent Valentine's Day with, you know who you are) was when I was a sophomore in college. None of my friends had plans for the evening, so I had a Feb. 14th "Anti-Valentine's Day" party. Everyone was required to wear black. The drink of the evening was Mountain Drool (Mountain Dew, lemon and vodka), which made for a bunch of really hyper drunk people. Next thing I knew all the smokers were over by the window, the drunks were over by the punchbowl, five people left with the 12th floor Residence Advisor so she could get them all stoned, and two people disappeared for 20 minutes -- I later found out that they'd gone back to a dorm room, had sex and come back to the party. Ahhhh, youth. The door prizes were these little toy sheriff's kits, replete with spurs, badge and handcuffs. Yee haw.
So, isn't it time for Easter yet? I need to catch up on my free chocolate consumption. At least the Easter Bunny won't let me down...
Posted 2/18/1997
Whew. I'd like to apologize for the horrible attitude displayed in my Valentine's Day column. Lest you all think that my beau deserted me, we did go out to dinner on Feb. 13th.
Valentine's Day Eve is a much better time to go out, anyway. Most importantly, nobody goes out the night before V-Day, so getting a reservation is no problem. I mean, how can you be romantic when you're surrounded by other couples overtly exuding romance?
Also, if you're into public adoration (you might have noticed by now that that's one of my favorite things), it's more fun to go out on Feb. 13th because the other folks in the restaurant will look at you and your significant other and think to themselves, "Oh, isn't that sweet!"
So I'm feeling much better today. It's the Tuesday after a three-day weekend. The best thing about a three-day weekend is the subsequent four-day work week!
It's time to go running now. Later!
P.S. Let the record show that the beau in question came over the night I wrote this, and that there were flowers involved. :-)
So, why "motormouth.com"?
Posted 2/24/1997
Why indeed. A few years ago I was hanging out with my buddy Steve Sloan in his office and David Bowie's "Young American" was playing on his CD player. He told me that the song reminded him of me. Since I'm not going to be young all my life (only most of it), I figured that I'd borrow from Tom Petty's "American Girl", and www.americangirl.com was born!
Unfortunately for me, a company that will not be named (publishers of a magazine called "American Girl"'a8 and various other merchandise) didn't appreciate that I had americangirl.com, which they wanted for their own Web site. They had their lawyer send me a nasty letter. I called Stan Bunger at New Media News and he interviewed me for TV. And I didn't give up the domain name.
So after another month, the company had Network Solutions (AKA the InterNIC) put www.americangirl.com on hold for "trademark infringement".
The InterNIC said I could pick another name for simultaneous use, so I chose americangrrl.com, which has more of an edge than my original name (LynnB trivia: I thought of that name during the movie "Fierce Creatures", which features many growly animals). I registered www.americangrrl.com. The company wanted the right to approve my new domain name, though, and when I told them my alternate choice they about had kittens.
So I didn't hear from them for a few weeks until Monday, Feb. 24 at 9:10 p.m., when there was a knock on my apartment door. I opened it and there stood a guy who hadn't washed his hair in a month, wearing a T-shirt that hung to his knees and was screened with large brown splotches with the charming caption "Who Farted?". He looked at me.
"Lynn Benson?" he asked.
I squeaked back, "Yes."
Woo hoo, I got served. Deeeeelightful. At least the messenger got lost on his way to my apartment and had to drive around for an hour.
So, in order to keep them from being "entitled to sue" me "in Federal Court and to recover from" me "damages, including all of [the company's] attorneys' fees incurred in prosecuting its lawsuit"* against me, I canceled both my americangirl and americangrrl domains, replacing them with "motormouth.com", which has nothing to do with my citizenship or my gender, and is actually the nickname bestowed upon me by my father when I was two years old.
Aren't you glad you asked? But I'm not bitter or anything.
;-)
*Quoted from a letter from Farella Braun and Martel LLP, dated Feb. 24, 1997, and served to me by Prince Charming}
LynnB's Beauty Tips
Alternate title: Products my face can't live without
Posted 3/3/1997
Follow these suggestions and you'll look just like me! Uh, yeah. Whatever.
Most of these tips are androgynous, but #'s 2 and 7 are more female-focused.
1) Carmex! This is wonderful, wonderful lip protector stuff. A former beau turned me on to it. I always put it on before I go running in cold weather -- it is the only product that has kept my lips from cracking (yummy).
Carmex is cheap! For $1.19 you get a 1/4 oz. vat, which doesn't sound like much but it lasts forever.
Incidentally, the third "active ingredient" listed on the side of the Carmex cap is alum, which is the product that made the opera singer's voice all high and squeaky in that Bugs Bunny cartoon. So be careful and for goodness sake, don't swallow the stuff!
Bonus tip: To make your lipstick last all day long, apply Carmex to your bare lips, then use your lip liner to color in your lips, then apply lipstick over that. Your lipstick will last longer without drying out.
2) Eyelash curler! This product is poked fun at on every TV sitcom featuring clueless men in America. They pick it up and squeeze the handles together, wondering what it is. Well, let the mystery end: It's an eyelash curler. Just open the handles, put your eyelashes in the slit and squeeze the handles together. Release the handles and viola!, curled eyelashes.
CAVEAT: Be careful when inserting eyelashes that you don't also insert your eyelid. Ouch! Also, if you wear mascara, be sure to curl your eyelashes before applying mascara.
3) Nivea No-Oil Moisture Hydrogel! Wonderful moisturizer that doesn't make one's face break out. Highly recommended. It's kind of pricey (around eight dollars), but you can find it in grocery stores so you don't have to dress up and go to Nordstrom or anything like that.
4) Tom's of Maine Spearmint toothpaste! I have a friend who swears by the cinnamon flavor, but I've found that is too spicy for me (and my tender girl gums) so I stick to the Spearmint or Wintergreen flavors. Also, be sure to change your toothbrush every three months, and always buy a new one after you've been ill.
5) Lots of water. Hydration is good for the soul. Plus, the more water you drink, the more breaks you can take at work. :-)
6) Kisses! Kisses! And more kisses! Puffy lips are in!
7) MAC nail polish! I especially like "Alumina" and "Blade". Don't forget your toenails, too!
Woo hoo!
3/27/1997
My roommate and I just moved. He got a killer deal on a rental house, so my month has been measured in moving boxes. How many packed, how many moved, how many unpacked.
This is my 11th move since 1989. Interestingly enough, it's my first move north of my original location.
Where I've lived:
1971-1973: Plymouth, North Carolina
1973-1975: New Bern, North Carolina
1975-1985: Clayton, California
1985-1989: Lafayette, California
1989-1990: Washburn Hall, San Jose State University
1990 (summer): Walnut Creek, California
Aug. - Sept. 1990: San Jose, California (house)
Sept. 1990-1991: Joe West Hall, San Jose State University
1991 (summer): Walnut Creek, California
1991-1993: San Jose, California (apartment on 3rd St.)
1993-1994: San Jose, California (house on 8th St. between San Fernando and Santa Clara Streets, we're talking Crack central)
1994-1995: Apartment off Moffett Ave. in Mountain View, CA
1995-1996: Apartment off Shoreline Blvd. in Mountain View, CA
1996-March 1997: Apartment in San Carlos, CA
1997: House in Redwood City, CA
Pretty insane, isn't it?
Thanks to Alex, this move went very well. He told me that so long as I packed all my stuff and put it in the living room, he'd take care of moving it. In return, I cleaned the old apartment for our move-out inspection. I'm pleased to say that 10 hours later, the apartment was cleaner than it was when we moved in. :-)
The new house is really incredible. We're renting it. It was built in 1957 and has all the original tile work. My oven is pink with chrome details and perfectly matches my pink 1957 Cadillac cookie jar. Gas oven, gas burners, with an exhaust fan that looks like something on the wing of a commercial-grade airplane. There's also an ironing board that folds down from the wall, Murphy-bed style.
The bathroom is a riot. The shower is tiled in a pucey-lime green. Let me tell you how attractive one feels when one gets naked at 8:00 a.m., enters the shower, looks at her skin and is green. Ick.
My bedroom is larger than the room I had in my previous apartment, which is a good thing because there was barely room for simeultaneous bedroom occupation by me and my cat in the old place. :-) There's a big window for afternoon sunlight and hardwood floors, with lovely woodworking around the doors.
Plus, it's the first time since I lived at my parents' house that I haven't had an apartment or room number in my address. And I can go ahead and spend all my quarters on pinball because we have a laundry room with a non-coin-operated washer and dryer.
Does this mean I'm a grownup now?
Posted 3/27/1997
3 months from moving day: Denial. Roommate casually mentions that a move to a house might be happening soon. Start unpacking the boxes you stowed at the top of your closet when you moved in four months ago. Throw away everything given to you longer than three years ago. Unpack four boxes, get bored and go watch TV.
2-1 months from moving day: Casual excitement. Roommate seems to think that this move is a definite possibility. Go to the house, meet the current renters (who your roommate has known for many years). Meet your potential new landlord -- polish your combat boots before the meeting in order to make the best impression possible. It seems to work. Roommate pleads with you to go along with the move (and the rent increase). Crunch some numbers and decide that you can afford to both move and eat, just not at the same time. Pop some popcorn.
4-1 weeks from moving day: Mild shimmers of panic. Clear out excess stuff from bookshelves and kitchen and bedroom. Throw away eight old bottles of nail polish and four post-dated lipsticks in the bathroom, then go crazy and throw out everything that wasn't purchased in 1997. Ask roommate to take out the garbage. Explain to the cat that moving boxes will soon be encroaching on her domain and to not panic because she gets to move, too. Tell her about the backyard she'll have all to herself once the move is complete. Hope that she understands but sense that she doesn't. Decide that you'd much rather scrub than move. Make sure that roommate won't need any help with toting boxes, and promise to clean the apartment for the move-out inspection. Bake a therapeutic chocolate cake.
1 weeks-1 day from moving day: Manic frenzied packing. Wonder why you have so many clothes when you only have one ass to put 'em on. Vow to send extra clothes to somewhere they don't have The Gap. Decide no place on earth remains Gap-less. Spend the postage money on pink champagne. Impress your roommate by consuming 3/4 of the bottle. Pack Pack Pack everything that you can live without and mistakenly pack some things you can't live without. Refill your asthma prescription. Make an appointment for the steam cleaner man to come clean your previously brand-new carpets the day after moving. Be thankful that your roommate is taking care of moving everything into the garage of the new house. Freak out because it's two days before your final day in the apartment and you still haven't signed a rental agreement. Freak out because your new landlord is concerned that you and your opposite-gender roommate aren't engaged or even dating and don't even have any non-platonic feelings toward each other at all. Eat everything left in the apartment since you don't want to pack any of it.
MOVING DAY: Frenetic exhaustion. Rise at 6:30 a.m. after sleeping on the floor because your bed was moved to the garage the day before. Lock the cat in the bathroom to keep her away from the steam cleaner man. Call Pac Bell to establish phone service. Learn that you won't have a phone for a week (actually, it ended up being nine days). Calm the cat when the steam cleaner man goes into the bathroom to get water from the bathtub. Stuff the cat in her cardboard box and drive her to the groomers. Go to work. Go to the new house and sign the rental agreement (note that the landlord has described you as "a single woman" and your roommate as "a single man"). Go back to work. Pick up the cat from the groomer and bring her to work with you. Take the cat to the new house and lock her in the bathroom. Help your roommate hump boxes and mattresses up the stairs into the house. Find the garbage bag with clean sheets and make your bed. Let the cat out of the bathroom. Note that three minutes later she's hedonistically rolling around in the middle of the living room. Figure that she's pleased with the new arrangement. Unpack her bowl and feed her. Collapse with exhaustion.
Two weeks after moving: Relief. Plant your garden. Finish unpacking. Pop some popcorn.
Posted 4/7/1997
I've heard a number of lines in my day:
"Your daddy must've been a thief cause he stole the stars out of the sky and put them into your eyes!"
"That's a nice dress, it would look great on my floor"
"Excuse me, miss, would you like to come upstairs and check out my fishtank?"*
...etc. They're all pretty stupid and never worked on me. But on Saturday I heard one that took the cake.
I'd arranged to meet my friends Ken and Suzie at a bar in Burlingame on Saturday night. A couple of their friends are in a metal band called Caustic Velocity. We planned to meet at the club at 9:00.
I was a bit early arriving so I got out of my truck and walked toward the bar. As I walked in, two men were walking out. One looked at me and said "Wow."
I ignored him and entered the club's foyer. Ken and Suzie weren't there yet, and I didn't feel comfortable staying there without a guardian, so I ventured outside again.
The two men were still there, talking. I announced my plan to hang out and wait for my friends. The men finished their conversation and the one who said "wow" turned to me.
"Sooooo. What's your name?" he asked.
"Lynn."
"Well, mine's Lee, and, hypothetically speaking, if we got married, we could have the same monogram on our towels. And this is important, because I was on this game show once and won like 600 monogrammed towels. So this way we wouldn't have to change them. And then, hypothetically speaking, if we got divorced, you could keep the towels, because what's mine is yours, and what's yours is yours."
He took a breath and I stood there, stunned. Right at that moment some other guy came out to talk to Lee, so I hightailed it back to the parking lot, got in my truck, locked the doors and called my friend Ted on my cell phone to kill time until Ken and Suzie arrived.
Postscript: Later that night, Suzie and I went to the bathroom. I got into the stall and looked at the poster on the inside of the door. It was a flyer for a band coming soon to the club. Whose club? Lee's club.
*Thanks to Charley for these lovely examples!
Yup, it's been a while...
Posted 5/9/1997
I haven't written in almost a month. It's not because I'm blocked. It's because I'm torn.
I'm torn between wanting kiss my ex-beau and yet wanting to shake him till his eyes rattle around in his head.
I'm torn between wanting to live "chastely in singlehood" (a new edict by the Presbyterian church for all people who want to attain positions of respect and power therein) and yet wanting to go out and have incredible escapades with any of half a dozen guys.
Between my desire to be a good girl, and my desire to go out and party it up.
Between being the sweet, understanding one and wanting to be a bitch on wheels.
Between wanting to be young and single and wanting to be married and pregnant.
I feel like I'm 12 years old again. My hormones are in full force but I'm not really sure what to do with them. I'm an adviser for the junior high youth group at my church and when I look at the girls I see myself mirrored in them.
A lot of this probably stems from the fact that I'm single again after four years of monogamy. It's really quite a change. The last time I didn't have a long-term boyfriend (or a serious beau) I was 20 years old.
My roommate doesn't understand why I'm not pursuing a full-time romantic relationship when he knows (and I know) that's what I want. His suggestion is "Go for it." This week he said, "Lynn, I hope you're not just holding out for the perfect man because you're never going to find him."
But why should I give my time, my effort and myself to a specific man if I'm not certain he's the one I really want to be with?
It's tough when your greatest fear is that of being alone, but you're not sure your attention span will ever allow you to spend the rest of your life with just one person, despite the fact that your number-one goal in life is to be pregnant and have babies and you know you couldn't do that without companionship.
Ugh. Is this why women start drinking?
I thought so.
I have succumbed.
Posted 5/12/1997
These are my first ever words entered into a computer purchased by me, moi, myself.
I feel so grown up!
When I first started my Silicon Valley career, I resisted the whole computer-at-home thing. I knew that once I got a home computer, I'd be doing technical support all day, every day.
I think I'll just use it for writing and e-mail and USENET. It's been mentioned to me by higher-ups that one-third of the incoming Internet traffic at my present company goes to my computer. It's also been mentioned that I might want to cut down on that a bit (I swear, 90% is for research. Honest! Infoseek loves me, and I love Infoseek. Plus, I have pen pals to keep up with.).
So, once I got my domain-name settlement (they reimbursed me for the time it would take for me to re-do the graphics on my Web page) I sought out my coveted steed: Macintosh PowerBook Duo 2300c. I mentioned to Dragon that he would do well to send any sale listings my way. He had a phone number and full pricing for me within 20 minutes.
The Duo 2300c is now discontinued. I don't understand why... it's truly adorable. I bought a 32 MB RAM simm for it, to add to the 8 MB simm already on the board. So now I'm screaming along at 40 MB. I told Brandon that tonight and he said "Wow! That's fast!" He's a difficult one to impress so I'm rather tickled.
Of course, it didn't come with *any* modem software, so I couldn't get the modem to dial out so I could FTP my Internet tools. Sigh.
But, I got Word on it, and I even named it today.
What did I name it?
Why, "woohoo", of course!
Snippets of conversations:
Posted 5/27/1997
At an open studio for Alex's aunt (who did the cover artwork for Neil Young's "Harvest Moon" album and has the platinum CD to prove it), Kevin and I saw a white cat with black spots.
"Kevin, that cat looks like a cow." I told him.
"Must have come from Gateway," he countered.
* * * * *
"Did you get a haircut?" Alex asked me when I walked in at midnight.
"Nope."
"Oh. It looks shorter in the back."
I grinned. "I been makin' out."
"Bwahahaha," Alex laughed and said into the phone, "My roommate's groovy."
* * * * *
"Lynn, there is no way you'll resist sex till you're married." Alex proclaimed.
"Yeah, you're probably right. You know me, like when I train I'll say I'm going to run four miles but actually only run two and a half? Well, I figure I'll need to up my estimate so that when I flake I've committed for longer than I actually originally intended."
"But why even try?" he asked me.
"Well, when I've been dating a guy for a while and we've been having sex, I get wrapped up in the physicality of it to the point that it clouds every other aspect of the relationship. If my physical needs are being met, then I don't think about whether my mental and emotional needs are also being sated. Consequently, I stay in unfulfilling relationships longer than I should."
He nodded. "I can understand that. You'd never hear a guy say what you just said, but it makes sense."
* * * * *
Aside: Those who don't know me very well have congratulated me on my recent embrace of the celibate philosophy. Those who do know me pretty well laughed when I mentioned it. I think someone's even started a pool...
* * * * *
"Unrequited sweat is clammy." Edwin
* * * * *
Kevin and I were in my rental car in Truckee, stopped at a red light behind someone whose bumper sticker read "What are you looking at, Butthead?"
We were laughing about it when the guy stuck his hand out of his (open) sunroof, gesturing towards us with his index finger and pinkie extended.
"He just told us to f*ck off!" Kevin exclaimed.
"Is that what that means?" I asked.
"Well, it sure doesn't stand for 'world peace'," he countered.
á * * * *
Posted 6/3/1997
My cat's been missing since Thursday and now all the fish are dead.
I don't think there's a correlation between the two occurrences. I think it's just a really bad time to be a pet in the home of Alex and Lynn.
I'm pretty upset about the recent turn of events. OJ (originally named Odysseus Joseph, shortened to OJ when it was discovered that he was a she) came into my life as a street cat when I lived in crack-addled San Jose. She was tough and smart, real street-smart like. Her lean figure betrayed her often unsuccessful dumpster diving, but she kept her coat clean and shiny. I named her, adopted her, and got her spayed.
She's disappeared before, but has always come back within 48 hours. While we both still lived in San Jose she was gone for a couple of days. I went into my housemate's room, where he was watching TV, and asked if he'd seen OJ around.
He pointed to the television. "Yeah, your cat's driving that Bronco with a shotgun to it's head."
My other housemate came in holding a small, round piece of paper. It said, "My name is Applesauce."
He handed it to me. "Here, an alias for your cat."
I guess after 3.5 years she's finally gotten tired of all the jokes and has taken off for warmer, more humor-impaired climes. I combed the block for her on Friday and Saturday, and yesterday Kevin came over to help me scour the neighborhood.
We walked block after block. My voice started to give out. At one point I turned to him to apologize. "I'm sorry we have to walk so far to look for her."
"Lynn, we can walk all night if you want."
Awwwww...
Oh, so anyway, I took half a day off work on Monday and went to the local humane societies. No sign of OJ, not in the cages or in the Found Pet files or (thank God) the DOA records. I called the vet to let them know she's missing, and am hoping that the breakaway collar with her rabies vaccination tag with the vet's phone number is still securely around her neck.
I got home from my humane society hunt and looked at the 40 gallon fish tank in our living room. All of the fish except one were dead. Some floated in the top corners, others had sunk to the bottom. All looked glassy-eyed and bloated.
Only two of the fish were mine. I'd had them for five years. They were feeder goldfish, the type you get at the pet store, 12 for a dollar. Julie, my then roommate, started the tank. My only condition was simple: I would not scoop dead fish out of the tank. I'd gone through that too often with my previous, softer-hearted-than-I roommate and would not do it again.
So the tank got started and a fish died daily. After about four died, Julie got tired of her chore and just let them sink. A while after that, the carcasses would dissolve, chewed apart by the survivors.
My neighbor Steve suggested we call our tank "Donner Lake." We taped the Far Side cartoon depicting "The Donner Party Memorial Statue" to the tank -- for those who haven't seen it, it's a foot between two pieces of bread.
This is turning out to be much sicker than I'd originally intended. Sorry.
I miss my kitty! And now the fish are gone. I feel like Job, and await the coming of the locusts.
6/10/1997
I called Kevin (actually, his answering machine) on Friday night and announced "Kevin, you're dating a jock."
It was with very good reason. A month or two ago I decided that I needed to do a triathlon. I was biking a lot at the time because I'd rear-ended someone and my truck was at the body shop for a month. CSAA (my insurance) will pay $15.00 of one's rental car fee for 10 days, so rather than incur expense I traveled via bicycle.
It wasn't too bad. I'm a recreational runner (actually ran competitively for Sun Microsystems until the team disbanded) and my bike is pretty cool. Plus, I live 1.1 miles from my job and probably five miles from church, and since lately those were the only places I needed to go on a regular basis, not having a car ended up being only a bit inconvenient rather than a huge tragedy.
Whenever I really needed to go somewhere (like to the Shane Co. to pick up my mom's Mother's Day gift) John drove me. Kevin saw a lot of Redwood City -- he'd drive down for dates rather than me going to SF. He also saw the Lucky store in San Carlos and the Hollywood Video next door. :-)
So between running and biking I figured I was up for a 400 meter swim/11 mile bike/3 mile run extravaganza. My buddy Chris took me to his pool and paced me through a 700 meter workout that was tiring yet strangely exhilarating.
I ended up joining the pool last Friday, and put my body through a ohmigawd-am-I-really-ready-for-this, pre-triathlon workout. Swam 500 meters, biked about 10 miles and ran 3.5 miles.
And *damn*, it felt incredible. I finished in less than two hours, had a blast, and was even able to sprint the final block.
When I was running a lot, Mike would call me his "bionic girlfriend." I'm not quite there yet now, but I'll finish this triathlon and maybe even *compete* in another one!
To keep myself motivated (and accountable), I'll post a training log.
Hell, I'm not having sex, so I've got to do something to get my heart
pounding and my body sweaty!
Posted 6/10/1997
The cat is still missing. I'm thinking that she wandered off and someone adopted her. The alternatives are too painful to even consider. As a result, I didn't sleep too much last week.
I'm haunting the Humane Societies and Sabrina helped me put up some "lost cat" posters. She even charmed the manager of Safeway into allowing her to post one near the supermarket entrance. She's French, so her charm is genetic.
Mike sent me an e-mail for an OJ update. The subject line was "Meow". It made me cry. Then, last week, he drove to San Carlos to see if maybe she'd returned to my old apartment.
Could I even *ask* for a better ex-boyfriend?
***
One fish did end up surviving the mass suicide. He's in negotiations with 20/20 to tell his story. I keep waiting for him to post a "Fish Gate" web site.
***
Work is going pretty well. cyberPAGE is an incredible product and blows doors off the competition. It's a lot of fun to market because it's so truly great. So buy it! I have a performance review coming up. :-)
***
Dragon got a new Newton -- I think it was a birthday present to himself. It's enormous. I took him to Barley and Hopps for his birthday and as we walked towards the restaurant he tried to put the Newton in his back pocket. I laughed at him. He insisted it would fit. I insisted it would make him look like he had a square, flat ass. He took it out of his pocket.
***
I was driving down 101 on my way to meet a new net.friend when I realized that the car broken down on the side of the highway belonged to my buddy Mike (not the ex-boyfriend, though that's how I met him). I got off at Shoreline and got back on the freeway at Middlefield, but that was too far so I had to get back on 101 (going north this time), got off at Rengstorff, got back on and stopped 25 yards behind Mike.
His sidewall was ruined. He'd passed a wreck in Menlo Park and figured that he ran over some of the debris. He had his tools with him and had taken off the ruined tire when his jack broke. I let him use my cell phone. He gave me a smoke, told me to apologize to the person I was meeting, and we caught up a bit while he was on hold with AAA roadside assistance.
***
Michelle looked at me yesterday. "Are you making that noise or is it a Web page you're on?"
I had no idea what she was talking about, so I blamed the noise on my computer.
She called me on it again today. Apparently, I make this clicking noise by snapping my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Apparently, I do this every half hour. Apparently, it's a totally unconscious movement on my part.
I told her to call me on it whenever she notices me doing it.
Sadly, that's not the most annoying thing I do without realizing it. Occasionally, when I'm on stage acting in a play, I'll mouth all the other actors' lines.
Really! Co-actors have hit me backstage for it.
Odd.
Posted 6/21/1997
The first day of summer is my favorite day of the year. I celebrated the solstice by completing my first-ever triathlon. Let me tell you, it was fantastic!
The tri fell into the "sprint" classification: 400m swim (in a lake), 10.5 mile bike, 3 mile run.
The promo literature said that the first wave would leave the shore at 7:00 sharp. Unfortunately, the City of Pleasanton had changed its rules regarding bike-course volunteers, which left the RD scrambling for a few more over-18 course volunteers. The airhorn finally blew at 7:40 a.m.
I was in the middle of the pack. The open-water start was one of my two biggest fears about the race -- I've read stories on the net about getting kicked in the face by vigorous swimmers. All went well, though, and even though my goggles weren't prescription I was able to see both orange buoys. The water was really warm -- no wetsuit required (good thing since I don't have one :-).
I should have warmed up with a few laps first, because by the time I was warmed up, I only had 100m left to swim! Finished the swim, grabbed my glasses from Kevin (who got up at 4:30 that morning *and* timed all my splits for me, what a guy) and ran to my bike.
My transition was slow -- 10 minutes! Wet sunglasses were the culprit. They're Bolle shades with a prescription insert -- two sets of glasses to wipe down! By the time I dried them, washed my feet and got set for the bike leg, my heart rate had dropped a bit. I climbed up the hill out of the park and thanked an encouraging volunteer.
Alex, my roommate, had swapped the knobby tires on my hybrid with some new road tires, and inflated them to 90 p.s.i. My other fear about the race was that I'd get a flat -- I don't think I've changed a flat tire more than once in my life. My tires were just fine, though. The ride felt really short -- the promo literature billed it as a 12 mile bike but a friend's computer clocked it at 10.5. Anyway, without the knobby tires to slow me down, it felt more like six miles, tops. Alex had also lent me his toe cages and they helped considerably.
At the end of the bike I rode back down to the park, got my feet out of my toe cages and promptly fell over. No blood, OK I'm fine, ran to rack my bike and don my singlet (with my race number, which happened to be 13, great...).
I'd stayed really well-hydrated on the bike so I passed the first aid station. The run course was a modified figure-eight. We ran up a hill to get to the center of the "8", then made 3 "S" loops and ran down the hill, through the park to get to the finish line. I stopped at the aid station twice (it was in the center of the 8), and the second time I stopped some speed demon was right on my tail so I tried to dodge between two signs to get out of his way, slamming my chest into the corner of a sign in the process. Jeez...
The run was harder than my workout trials had been -- probably because it was fairly hilly (my neighborhood is rather flat). I was pleased to run down the final hill, and kicked it into gear to sprint to a 1:27:27 finish.
Things that weren't so great:
* Someone stole the high-end raffle prizes from the transition area the night before the race. :-(
* The guy who barreled nearly into me at the aid station
* My 10 minute swim-to-bike transition time
Things that were great:
* The volunteers!
* The non-competitive aspect -- it was a great choice for a first tri
* My road tires
* Coming in under my goal time
There are two more Tri For Fun races this summer, and then in September they hold a "Tri For Real".
Four minutes after crossing the finish line, I looked at Kevin and happily exclaimed "I want to do it *again*!"
Here are my split times:
Start of swim: 0:00
End of swim: 7:42
Start of bike race: 7:52
End of bike race: 54:15
Start of run: 55:30
End of run: 1:27:27
My worst-ever Fourth of
July
Posted 7/16/1997
Don't get me wrong. I love Independence day. The weather is always beautiful and the fireworks blow me away.
This year's (1997) celebration was no exception. Kevin, Katherine and I went to my church's Pancake Breakfast, then watched 90 minutes of the Redwood City parade (the largest July 4th parade west of the Mississippi, thank you very much). That afternoon, Kevin and I hooked up with his buddy and watched fireworks from Pier 39. There were fireworks that looked like smiley faces! We walked all the way back from Pier 39 to Kevin's apartment on the other side of Nob Hill.
It was a fabulous day. So fabulous, that it nearly made up for the worst Fourth of July I ever hope to have.
The year was 1988, the summer between my junior and senior years of high school, when I was an exchange student to (then) West Germany.
I'd been in the country for a couple of weeks, long enough for my initial gut-wrenching homesickness to have subsided, and was determined to enjoy this day of American patriotism.
At Gymnasium (high school) after homeroom, we walked to history class. I had not met that teacher yet and anticipated a brief report about the U.S.A.'s butt-kicking founding fathers and mothers.
My enthusiasm waned as the teacher stared at me, grunted "who are you" to me auf Deustch, and instructed me to have a seat toward the front, and spent the next hour and 15 minutes regaling us about the Motherland's history of strip mining.
If she saw me rolling my eyes, she didn't let it interrupt her repetitive guttural drone.
The only break was when a note got passed to me. It was from Martina, my overly-enthusiastic and as a result annoying-as-hell German classmate. She wrote to ask if I'd like to attend the high school's production of "Unsere kleine Stadt."
Sure, what the heck.
***
I met Martina that evening and she immediately began telling me about her dream boy, Gustav*. She showed me a dime-store four-photos-for-2DM picture of him, his hair blurred across his face, and told me her starry-eyed German equivalent of "I want to be his personal doormat until the end of time."
This was not going to be an enjoyable evening.
That fact was reinforced when we entered the theater and I received a program. "Unsere kleine Stadt," von Thornton Wilder.
"Our Town"! We're seeing "Our Town" in German tonight!
"Our Town" was one of the few plays I'd neither performed nor seen in my illustrious childrens theater career. To this day, I don't know the meaning of a single thing I heard that night. Actually, that's a lie -- I didn't understand anything on the stage. I definitely understood Martina's every pining word about Herr Gustav Dreamycakes, who incidentally sat five rows in front of us and nearly managed to elude her desperate attempts to get closer to him, except when they met at intermission and he refused to say any more than "hey Fraulein" to her.
I've never been more uncomfortable in my life.
Once the show finally ended (what was that thing with all those people sitting mutely in their chairs, anyway?), I pulled a Gustav and begged off spending the rest of the evening with Martina, escaping her bovine lovesick gaze.
Once I finally arrived at the home of my host family, I dropped my things in my room and went into the family room, where my host mother greeted me with, "Oh, the Americans blew up an Iranian airbus and now there might be a war."
"Goodnight, I'm going to bed."
*Name changed to protect him if he ever finds this page
My vow is still intact.
Posted 7/17/1997
It's funny, I thought I'd be climbing the walls by now but I'm not. I think the longer one lives without sex, the easier sex becomes to live without .
Of course, it's only been 3.5 months.
Also, of course, I'm not the one dating me. He's been a terrific sport about the situation, and I hope that he doesn't start resenting me for my decision.
It's not like I'm living the life of a cloistered nun. We've been able to keep each other happy without getting naked.
You know, not doing it has actually been fun. I'm convinced it has added depth to our relationship. We're very intimate, often creatively so.
And his kisses make my heart race.
* * *
Life without "doing it" is infinitely less complicated. No worries of pregnancy, no worries about STDs (ironically, MS Word's spell checker wants me to change that to "studs"), no worries about whether my undies are up to par.
It has also given a new dimension to my athletic training. Most of my sweat has been expelled on the road, rather than between the sheets.
I figure that once I *do* get naked with someone, my body will be so fabulous it will have been well worth waiting to see. :-)
* * *
I'm not saying I don't have my moments of weakness. I'm really attracted to him and sometimes I get ahead of myself. But the one time we ended up going a bit further than expected, guilt pangs hit my gut within hours. That night, I had a whopper nightmare that I was pregnant and looking for an abortionist (which is weird, because I personally would never choose abortion unless my own life was in danger, though I support the right of other women to make a different decision).
So, nightmares and guilt pains have been a good deterrent. I've also gotten a great deal of strength from the Celibate FAQ, which is a much more entertaining document than it's name might lead you to believe.
Celibacy. Try it. You might like it!
Posted 7/17/1997
There's a new cat living at my house. The old cat has left for warmer climes. How's that for maintaining the balance of power?
OJ has run away for the third time in a month. She's been gone for a week. She ran off a couple of weeks ago but I found her after a day. This time, I figure she knows her way home. I've jogged through the neighborhood calling her name but she refuses to come to me.
Bitch.
Whatever. I'm tired of her attitude. I knew when I adopted her from the streets of San Jose that she'd eventually wander out of my life. I'm hoping she comes back but am not holding my breath.
In the meanwhile, Ken and Suzie have moved to a new condo that won't accept cats, so they gave guardianship of their favorite cat to me and Alex. The cat is named Minute, and she's less than a year old. Her fur is soft and silver-gray all over, except right around her nose where her fur is a shade lighter. It makes her appear illuminated.
Minute was Ken and Suzie's favorite, partly because Ken helped her into this world. Minute's favorite toy is the foil from a cigarette pack. She'll even fetch.
I haven't seen her do that yet, though, because she spends most of her day hiding. She ventures into sight once darkness falls, though, and has even slept on my bed a couple of times since OJ took off.
OJ was underwhelmed with Minute. I was afraid that Minute would equate me with the mean old cat, but she seems to have gotten over that.
There wasn't much sleep to be had in the apartment last week, what with OJ's restlessness and Minute crying for her real Mommy and Daddy. Once OJ left, Minute took joy in hopping onto my bedpillow at 4:00 a.m., then jumping over my head to the other side of the pillow, and repeating until I kicked her out of my room, at which point she'd cry at my door and the process would repeat itself.
I figure it's all just practice for motherhood.
Race Report: Wharf to Wharf 10k, Santa Cruz to Capitola 7/27/1997
Posted 7/27/1997
Sunday morning came very early. I couldn't find a place to stay in Santa Cruz (the Bayview Hotel in Aptos accepted my credit card and then called me back an hour later to say they had a two-night minimum stay that weekend, grrrr....), so Kevin and I woke up at 5:00 Sunday morning to drive to Santa Cruz.
True to form, there was a brief traffic jam on Highway 101 at 6:10 a.m. We still managed to make it to Santa Cruz by 6:50 a.m. Once I attached my race number to my tank top and gathered my world, Kevin and I boarded the shuttle to the race area.
We got to the starting line at 7:15 and wandered around, killing time until 8:00 when we were scheduled to meet my father and his friends (Dad and Kevin were going to walk the race route, while his friends and I would run the race). The Port-a-Lets were clean and didn't smell (I personally tested at least four of them).
We hooked up with Dad and they began walking, while I warmed up with his friends. I was actually in a Port-a-Let when the starting gun (actually, it was a starting trumpet) sounded, but still managed to get across the starting line before thousands of others. 14,000 runners competed in the race this year.
The race was a lot of fun. I didn't break my goal time of one hour (finished in 1:02:30), but I ran every step of the way and had a terrific time. Around mile two I saw Mike watching the race by the Crow's Nest, so I gave him a big sweaty hug and chastised him for not participating in the race.
The race course was *much* more hilly than I'd expected, and I'm fairly certain that's the reason why I didn't break my goal time of one hour. I swear I didn't think that mile 4 was ever going to end. I stopped at both water stops so that probably cost me about a minute, too.
The really incredible part of the race was the spectators. There were *30* live bands along the route, including the marching band from my alma mater, San Jose State University (go Spartans)! A number of spectators watched the race from their front lawns and cooled us off with their garden hoses. A lot of kids had those big super-soaker water guns. Getting sprayed felt great -- I was very warm, despite the fact that the morning was cool.
I'd tied my windbreaker around my waist, inadvertently covering my race number, so I'm afraid I won't get a picture from the event. Kevin took before and after shots of me with his new, tiny and absolutely adorable Canon Elph camera. We all met up after the race, picked up our goodie bags (the T-shirt design was pretty lame, and featured an androgynous runner. Think "Pat" with blonde hair), and drank beers while waiting for a deck table at Zelda's.
Kevin and I returned to Redwood City around 2:00 (I slept the entire way home), and napped until 5:00. That night he said the "L" word for the first time.
All in all, it was a terrific day.
Posted 7/29/1997
I was in an hour-long stretch class with four other people this afternoon. Most were decades older than me, and as it was my first time in the class I chose to keep my mouth shut and listen to their intermittent stream of conversation, interjecting comments only when I had something genuinely worthwhile to say.
Twenty minutes into the session, my classmates began griping about the many ill characteristics of computers, and how computers were doing horrible things to us. They were griping about carpal tunnel, griping about potential eye damage, and griping because "computers are so anti-social."
While it's true that a computer has never actually slapped me on the back with a cheery "howyadoing?", I disagreed (in my head; remember, it was my first class and it's never good to be outspoken when you're the new girl) with their final comment.
Computers get an undeserved bad rap that they've turned us into indoor-dwelling addicts of all things virtual. I cannot fathom another invention that has so encouraged social behavior since the telephone.
Think about it. Computers enable all people, from the outgoingly confident to the chronically lonely, to communicate with one another in as non-threatening and thought-inspiring forum as they ever could hope to find.
I've been a webgirl for a number of years now and the more experience I accrue, the more stories I hear about people brought together by various sectors of the Internet.
The most recent occurred this afternoon, towards the last hour of my workday. I'd received e-mail from Elizabeth, a children's librarian from Kansas who's been long-distance dating my ex-boyfriend's dear childhood friend, Kurt.
They've been corresponding for two years. Kurt went to visit her, she came to San Jose to visit him.
She just got back home from a week in San Jose and sent me a capsule synopsis of her visit:
"I wanted to tell you that Kurt and I are getting married. :) Woohoo!"
How did they meet, you ask? Via a listserv devoted to Battlestar Galactica.
Kurt posted a request for a book.
Elizabeth responded.
Elizabeth sent him the book.
"Most times I forget how I met him," she said in her final message of the evening. "But when I stop and think about it, it just blows me away."
***
It makes me especially angry when the unknowing grumble that computers are confining us in our darkened carpeted dens or "veal-fattening pens". I speak strongly on this issue because of the people I've met through the 'net.
If not for the Internet, I would most likely *not* know:
My current boyfriend: He was one of my customers when I was the customer service department for Aimnet. Our first discussion was either about dial-up networking with NT or his request that Aimnet add "alt.tv.my-so-called-life" (later shortened to alt.tv.mscl) to it's Sprint newsfeed. We reacquainted ourselves after I left Aimnet for SOS Group, he invited me to his company Christmas open house and I went. The next morning he sent me an e-mail page that read: Nice to finally met you! Hey Lynn, you want to get married and conquer the world together?" He was very pleased when I told him I'd dumped my beau (more about him later, unless you want to skip ahead).
One of my running partners: Charley sent me mail after finding motormouth.com in the local section of Yahoo!. He's great and always sends me something uplifting when I need some postitive reinforcement.
My boss: Dean was also an Aimnet customer, and sent me a lovely complimentary note one afternoon. Months later he offered me a job. Yay!
Alvaro in Brazil: Alvaro saw me on TV. The "New Media News" segment about my americangirl.com woes received global syndication. We've been pen-pals since October. He called me on Saturday to wish me good luck in the Wharf to Wharf race.
Lately I've reacquainted myself with a college buddy, and last week even received an adoring message from a ql seventeen-year old systems wiz who speaks ganz toll Deutsch.
"I have fallen in love with your Web site."
:-)
I won't even go into the fact that I've found two jobs, bought a laptop, and found roommates for two friends via USENET and the WWW.
***
Speaking of my web site, last week I learned that I've been being watched. Someone set a "bot" (a computer process) that checked my columns.html page every 30 minutes for changes.
The bot originated from inside the firewall of my ex-beau's employer.
Pretty creepy, eh?
I posted a "I know you're running a bot, kill it or I'll complain to your hostmaster" notice to columns.html and it the bot was gone by 9:45 the next morning (btw, thank you for that).
Maybe sometimes computers encourage us to be a smidgen *overly* social.
Posted 8/5/1997
So as I'm stumbling into work this morning, late, I see a floral delivery truck pass by and park next door to the warehouse.
I think "Oooh, flowers! I hope he comes to my desk," and enter the warehouse. Michelle (our graphic artist) is on the phone.
I tell her that there's a floral delivery man in the area. She asks her boyfriend (with whom she's speaking) if they're from him.
They're not.
So I turn on my Mac and knock knock knock, it's the flower guy bearing roses. *Beautiful* roses.
The moment of truth...
"Lynn?"
Woo hoo, they're for me!
I set them down on Michelle's desk (insult to injury) and sign my name on the "received" line, thank the driver (who thought the sign on our door was far too small), and grab for the card before the door even closes.
Ohmigod! They're *not* from Kevin!
There is something strangely illicit about receiving flowers from someone other than your significant other.
Especially when that significant other has recently been elevated to Boyfriend status.
So, if you're the person who sent me flowers with a card that read only "Nice Website," thanks.
God, I love the Internet!
Posted 9/3/1997
Oh dear readers, I've wholeheartedly neglected you, for which I apologize from the bottom of my little grrl heart. You've been patient with me, which I greatly appreciate.
My silence was for a good reason. See, August was a pretty amazing month. I did another triathlon and shot a high-powered rifle for the first time!
The triathlon was the third of the Tri For Fun series. This time I swear that the swim was at least 300 yards longer than the first one. Couldn't have anything to do with the fact that I hadn't hit the pool for weeks... naah... Anyway, the bike went OK despite horrible headwinds, and the run was actually almost enjoyable. For those of you keeping track, here are my split times from this, my second triathlon (all times are in minutes:seconds, not hours:minutes or even years:months):
Swim split (about 600 yards): 9:10
Transition One: 2:50
Bike split (11 miles): 47:45
Transition Two: 1:15
Run split (3 miles): 32:06
Another good experience. The Tri For Real is September 21. I have a lot of training to do before then. But first I need to buy new shoes - I've blown through three pairs of running shoes this year! Ugh!
At the height of my anxiety about my life, Dragon took me to the Los Altos Rod and Gun Club, where we shot his Eagle Arms A2 rifle. It was incredible, such a feeling of power! Plus, gunpowder odor makes my uterus tingle. Now if I could just keep from flinching when the bullet engages I'll be set. Maybe next time...
Must be cause it's election day...
Posted 11/4/1997
Have you ever had a day so frustrating that you just wanted to stick sharpened pencils into your arms?
Yup, I thought so. And it was probably today, November 4, that drove you to it.
Just call it woman's intuition.
***
I seem to have lost my command of the AP Stylebook.
***
OJ never came back home to me. Minute loathes me (probably because she associates me with that mean OJ cat).
***
A voice from my past thought that *he* was the ex-beau to whom I refer throughout this site. Even though he doesn't know what a "bot" is.
***
I don't have that much going on in my life, but even so can't seem to find an appropriate date to meet with my cousin or my ex-coworker.
***
I wish I were back in Paris, eating duck and being happy.
***
My office-mate has been having an equally frustrating day.
"Has it just been one of those days that makes you want to stick sharpened pencils in your arms?"
"Not *my* arms, *other* people's arms!" she cried, storming out of the office.
Good point.
Posted 11/5/1997
Well, even though yesterday was wretched, it turned out OK in the end.
I got a phone call from a net.friend last night. After asking "are you naked?", he wished me a happy anniversary.
I smacked myself in the forehead. How could I have forgotten??
The first time I had contact with this person was on Election Night last year. I was hanging out with my roommate and a couple of friends, hoping that by drinking too much I'd wake up and find that Bill Clinton *hadn't* been re-elected, when my pager went off. This guy had sent me a cyberPAGE asking if I knew the election results. I left him a message on the VM number he left for me, cause I'm just "an Internet sort of gal," and thus began one of the strangest friendships I currently hold dear to my heart.
I've seen this person exactly once: He came to my 25th birthday party last year. I recognized him before he even spoke. Nice guy. But we've both been too busy (and I harbor a sense that he doesn't think I'm good enough for a ride in his convertible) to meet ever since then. So instead, we have these amazingly personal (No, not erotic, not intimate, but personal) telephone conversations.
Very odd.
So he called me last night, and was so surprised that I answered on the first ring that he blurted out, "Are you naked?" I immediately knew who it was. He always calls me after I've had a couple of beers, don't know how he always knows when I've been drinking but maybe he's one of those Psychic Friends Dionne Warwick is always talking about.
I was on the other line when he called so I asked him to call me back in 10 minutes. Once 13 minutes passed I found his number in my Franklin Planner and was reaching for the telephone to call him and say "Nice ability to call me back in 10 minutes" when the phone rang.
Pretty funny. So I told him about my trip to France with Kevin (yikes, I haven't even told *you* about that yet. A story will happen soon, I promise!), and after a few conversation tangents we hung up the phone, me feeling much happier than I had when, say, I wrote yesterday's column.
Posted 11/20/1997
... and it was magical.
Really. I was never one to get all misty-eyed at the idea of Paris by moonlight. When I was in eighth grade, my entire family pushed me to take French. I rebelled. "No, I'm taking German."
Typical eighth grader, huh?
I guess I've held off on writing about our trip because I didn't really know how to put it into words. In a way, I still don't. But I'll try to muddle through anyway.
We had such an extraordinary time. And I'm not saying that because the trip was perfect - actually, we both ended up getting sick, and I probably would have ended up in the emergency room one Saturday morning if not for the kindness of our hosts and France's socialized medicine. But we handled all the stressors without stressing out or hollering at one another. It was thrilling.
We spent the first week in Paris, and we rented a car for the second week and drove all around the country. Kevin drove (I can't drive a stick), and I navigated, with the help of his Michelin France Road Atlas and a 99 cent compass suctioned to the windshield.
Although I thought a week would be too long to spend in Paris, we ended up seeing maybe 1/200th of the city. Paris is the size of San Francisco and the similarities don't stop there - terrific shopping, incredible food (I swear, it's a good thing we walked as much as we did or else my clothes would no longer fit) and the friendliest people! I was very surprised. Last time I was in France, the people were so horribly snobby! This time, they could not do enough for us. With the exception of a crotchety old mapseller, every person we spoke with was warm and friendly. I was even trying to speak French and they *still* treated us nicely (my French is murderous. I arrived in France armed with nine polite French phrases and one *really* dirty one, and that was enough to get us through).
Paris was enchanting. It's nearly the best place in the world to be in love. We did a lot of walking, shopping, talking, and eating. We had duck nearly every other day. Yummmmm...
Kevin celebrated his birthday while we were in Paris. We went on a boat cruise of the Seine, the river that runs through the heart of Paris. That night, we had dinner "at the most beautiful brasserie in all of Paris" (so claimed my guidebook - and they were right!). It's called Bofinger. I had a duck there that changed my life.
Both in Paris and the countryside, we stayed in some of the most amazing hotels I've ever seen. In Normandy we stayed in a 18th century chateau all done in pink brick. Our room overlooked the grounds and pathways. They even had a hotel dog who greeted us every time we drove up to the parking lot. Their closest neighbor was a stud farm (Kevin joked, "I have an appointment there at 2:00 this afternoon."), though we could hear the bang bang of trap shooters in the distance.
Another place we stayed was an ivy-covered Tudor-style home in Tiffauges, home of Blue Beard's castle. The proprietress spoke no English, but was quite happy to chatter at us in rapid, lilting French. The next morning we hiked around Blue Beard's castle ruins and admired his catapults and siege tower. The castle was actually closed for renovation, but nobody was there (except for five suspicious-looking goats) and the door was unlocked so we just walked in. It was a foggy day, and a bit creepy to roam about on a site where infanticide and alchemy were committed (the former much more successful than the latter). We took a self-timer picture of the two of us on the ruins of the chapel steps.
From Tiffauges we drove to Cognac, where the buildings are covered in a gray soot that is acutally the evidence of evaporation in the cognac-making process. We drove through to Bordeaux, well, Cestas actually, the home of my neighbor Sabrina's family. Sabrina moved to the US to marry an American, and her family insisted that we stay with them while we travelled. Meeting them was the high point of the trip (well, nearly the high point). The night we arrived, we ate homemade duck pate, duck confit, and an incredible prune-custard torte that tasted *much* better than it sounds.
While in Cestas, we hooked up with Sabrina's best friends, none of whom I'd met but it seemed as though I had, based on all the stories I'd heard and pictures I'd seen of them. They all spoke English pretty well and we had a great time eating at a Turkish restaurant until one in the morning.
After Cestas, we drove through a city I can't mention because that's where I did the bulk of my Christmas shopping, and I don't want my friends to know what I got for them. We then drove back up to Paris, after spending the night in a roadside automated hotel (if you arrive after 11:00 p.m., you stick your credit card into a machine and it spits out a room key, very cool).
We went to the very top of the Eiffel Tower on our last night in France. We'd hoped to do that on Kevin's birthday, but it had been cold and rainy that evening so we figured the view wouldn't be as spectacular. The night we went, though, the overcast day turned into a beautiful clear night, and we could see lights for miles and miles. After going to the top, we went down to the first level and had a drink at Altitude 95, the bar in the Eiffel Tower. I caught Kevin peeking in the mirrored wall while we were kissing. After leaving the bar, we hopped into a cab and went to Ile Saint Louis, one of the two islands in the Seine where we spent most of our time. We had dinner in a small restaurant, lingering until we'd burned through not one, but two tableside candles. We didn't leave the restaurant until past 11:00 (I knew what time it was thanks to the beautiful Tissot watch Kevin gave me earlier that day).
Our flight back to San Francisco was uneventful. Customs cleared both of us, with no hassles (Kevin didn't even have to pay taxes on the amount he'd spent over $400). For the first time ever, no security guard opened my suitcase and pawed through my dirty laundry. Guess I don't look as suspicious at 25 as I did at 17. Good.
We were met at the airport by Dave and Sabrina, who drove us home in their late-1960's Lincoln Continental. Kevin spent the night and left the next morning.
I watched his train until I couldn't see it anymore.
And yes, my vow has been broken. Unregretfully.
Posted 12/24/1997
It's been a pretty kick-*ss December. Nope, make that a pretty kick-*ss year.
Kevin's Web Word Wizard is selling like gangbusters. He's even sold it to someone in Norway. Ahhh, I love the Internet!
I ended up going to Internet World in New York City a couple of weeks ago. It was on very short notice -- found out I could go on Monday, and was on the plane Tuesday night. Actually, Wednesday morning. Do *not* fly on Tower Air under any circumstances, ever. With the time I spent waiting at the airport for their planes to depart, I could have flown cross-country TWICE. Grrrr. The real kicker was arriving at JFK at 2:00 for my 4:00 flight and being told, "Oh, that flight has been rescheduled for 8:30." In the six and a half hours I had to wait, I finished one book (Ishmael, by Daniel Quinn), started and finished another (Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut), plus a magazine. Oh, and I painted my nails (Kevin would be meeting me in SFO, after all). By the time I got off the plane, I had read two more magazines and was 280 pages into another book (A Thousand Acres, by Jane Smiley). So at least the time was spent productively. I'd rant more about it, but hey, it's nearly Christmas.
Oooh, it's nearly Christmas! My shopping is done (I did most of it in October while in France). Kevin started his shopping on Sunday, but he bought my gift first, so that's good. Heh heh heh...
Life at work continues to go well. I got a wonderful performance review and feel so blessed to be working there!
So I'm going to my Mom's house for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, and for Christmas dinner the two of us will go to Kevin's parents' house. We all spent Thanksgiving together, too, so everyone already knows everyone else. I'm looking forward to it (and looking forward to giving Kevin his gift, which I purchased more than a month ago...).
The only fly in the ointment of my life is that Kevin and I still haven't determined what to do for New Year's Eve (no, besides that). We might go to a party if we can work our way around the transportation issue. We wanted (well, I wanted) to see SuperDiamond at the Fairmont, but it is already sold out. If you have any New Year's tips for San Francisco, let me know!
Merry, Merry Christmas to all of you who are into that. Happy day off to those who aren't. Bless you all!