Looking for locals

My goal for this weekend is to make headway on my two (real-life and for-serious) community projects, Assassins: San Diego and Pac-San Diego. It’s kind of backwards this time– I’m not having trouble with the content, but with choosing a good design. One of them is going to have a horizontal tabbed nav bar, since that seems to be all the rage these days. I’d really like to do a tongue-in-cheek Web 2.0 design, but… we’ll see.

Anyway. The meat of this entry is:

If you (the person reading this) live in San Diego (a city of southern California that lies close to the border of Mexico) and play well with others (people who are not you) and are always up for meeting more "others" with whom to play– PLEASE LET ME KNOW. Through comments or IM or e-mail, whatever.

More info:


this is the best

Gemma: When you stop speaking, it’s like stopping eating. The first day, there’s something thrilling, and new, before the pain begins. The pain where you want to give up, where you can think of nothing else.

Then the second day, you feel wretched, the third delirious, and suddenly there’s no appetite, it shrinks, it shrinks, until the prospect of speaking, the thought of words retching from the mouth, how ugly and gross it seems.

[…] But the silence. Listen, how rich it is, how pregnant, how full…


What do you remember, when all is said and done? A kiss? The taste of someone’s lips? A view, a breath, a tune? The weight of your grandmother’s coffin? The veins on your mother’s legs. The white lines on her stomach.

Don’t speak for a day and then start looking. The senses are sharp. Look at the world about its business. The snarl. The roar. Skin stretched over the teeth. The madness. […]

"Cigarettes and Chocolate," Anthony Minghella

The introspection of silence is the condition of all educated social
intercourse; the exteriorized caricature of inwardness is vulgarity and

"The Present Age," Kierkegaarde

Drilling in underwear, Pt. 2

The bad news is, when the cat managed to yank out the curtain rod bracket, a gaping chunk of drywall came out with it.

The good news is, the hole revealed exactly where wooden beams, empty space and the crappiest drywall this side of anywhere happened to be, which made re-installation a hell of a lot easier.



The second set of panels are light and breezy and airy and wonderful, and also dirt cheap ($15/set at IKEA). They are also very opaque, which means I totally live by the "clothing optional" philosophy in here. Think about *that* next time you IM me when I’m at home. (Uh, wait…)

I LOVE owning power tools, by the way. Any dude would be lucky to call himself my boyfriend. I mean, hey! I come with power tools! Power tools which I wield with flawless precision! Indeed.

I also included the coffee table in the picture because I promised Noah I’d upload pictures of my latest acquisitions. You can’t really see the side table, which is just as well because it’s buried under books, but it’s not the star of this show anyhow.


So, anyway, I’m in Palo Alto for the day [1]. If I come home and my curtains are not still in place [2], keep an eye out in the classifieds for a Russian Blue kitten that needs a new home.

[1] Trip has been rescheduled for either next week or the week thereafter. Which is just as well, as I didn’t sleep at all last night (returned from the airport around 8, napped from 9 to 12).

[2] She broke the hardware for the curtains on the right. In the span of three hours. The only reason I’m not following through with the re-homing plan is because they were part of the v.1 installation (which was slapdash). All four brackets are now properly installed, however, so any more breakage and she’s definitely out the door.


The beta version of ::af:: community is *finally* up and running.

Feel free to submit quotes for the "Testimonials" page. The cheesier (think infomericals), the better. They don’t even have to be that true. In fact, the more outrageously ridiculous, the better. Tell me how I’ve drastically changed and improved your life!

Be sure to include the name you wish attributed to the quote. Real names are fine; pseudonyms are fine, too. Whatever floats your boat.

I’m going to bed now.

I adore men in berets and bowlers

Stilettos (a band) @ Henry’s (a pub) in the Gaslamp (a district of downtown San Diego) on Tuesdays (a day of the week).

It is fabulous. The band doesn’t get on stage until about 11 p.m., but I guess around 9 p.m. the staff clears the floor for dancing and music is pumped out through the house speakers, so it’s about a 5-hour window of dancing– and there’s no cover charge to get into the pub.

The sounds. The movement. The room spinning while laughter and deep bass riffs fill your ears. There’s nothing like it, and it’s so. damn. addicting.

I have got to learn me some Balboa.

Did I not TELL you??

Around 5:45 a.m., guess what I saw crawling up the wall next to my bed?

No, really. Guess!

A spider! And not just *any* spider, OH NO, but a spider that looked a whole motherloving lot like The Spider From Hell. Just, um smaller. Not so much saucer-sized as, maybe, bottle-cap-sized. But still.

It’s alive. It’s breeding. I’m totally going to die.


Every time I’ve gone to IKEA, I’ve ended up buying napkins. I never needed them, having had the standard white textured napkins (200 ct., generic brand) already in possession, but these! These were colorful napkins! Thick napkins! Napkins with pretty designs and pictures! For $0.99!

It got to the point of turning them into a collector’s series: "Oh, I don’t have *that* pattern yet!"

I now have a shelf crammed full of unopened IKEA napkins. And I’m willing to bet that I will never use them. Why? Because:

  • FACT: Two of those packages? I bought them in January 2005.

Instead of being that Crazy Cat Lady, I’m going to be known as that Crazy Napkin Lady. It’s going to be awesome.

Speaking of cats: Part II was home less than an hour before she starting messing around with my curtains and pulled the left set’s brackets halfway out of the wall. I’m ready to send her back to Vegas.

Top 2 Reasons Why I Need A Boyfriend

…as of today.

  1. There is a fricking behemoth of a spider, like, saucer-plate-sized HUGE, somewhere underneath my nightstand, either curled up into a grapefruit-sized ball and dead or lurking and pissed and breeding and alive. Or there isn’t. I don’t know, because I HAVEN’T LOOKED, because dealing with big-ass bugs and arachnids is totally what boyfriends are supposed to do.
  2. I have books that are near and dear to my heart in this box that’s, incidentally, been outside my parents’ house for almost a year now. Which means there are all kinds of bugs, mostly dead but probably still a few alive, in there. I want my books. So someone needs to open that box and de-bug it. ::ahem::

I’m all for women’s lib and feminism and stepping up and showing initiative and being a leader, but I draw the line at bugs. I’ll change a flat tire and repair electrical outlets and work the offense in a co-ed soccer game (even when I’m the sole reason it can even be called "co-ed"), sure thing boss, but I. Don’t. Deal. With. Bugs.

Boys. Do.

And so I find myself in the unfortunate predicament of needing a goddamn boyfriend. For completely rational purposes, of course. Any takers?

Pass on the apocalypse; bring on the calypso!

Hey, wow, that last post definitely didn’t come out the way I meant it to. Bitter? Grouchy? Jaded? Perturbed? Definitely not where I was trying to go.

Uh. Anyway.

I *finally* got to go dancing tonight and I’m totally hoping to make this a regular weekly thing. For the SanD. locals, FYI: Cafe Sevilla (in the Gaslamp Quarter) offers free salsa lessons Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday[1] around 8:30 p.m. I’m pretty sure Ole Madrid does free lessons on Wednesdays at 8:30 p.m., too, but no guarantee there. And of course, following the lessons, there’s plenty of music and opportunity to work them hips, baby.

According to one of the regulars I danced with tonight (my partner chose to stand guard over my purse after the lessons were over, but let it be known that he was an otherwise highly willing and participating student), the crowd size is "hit and miss"– tonight it was pretty packed, but then, it’s Thursday. I have a feeling the other two nights aren’t quite so elbow-to-elbow.

I still suck at spotting my turns, and when you’re in heels, dude, that is one of the hardest things to work around. It also didn’t help that they had the music volume pretty low, so it was difficult to keep track of the beat.

Also in the Gaslamp: rockabilly swing (East Coast style) at Henry’s Pub every Tuesday @ 9:30 p.m. There’s no cover charge, and I’ve heard that there’s a reliably moderate turnout. No lessons, but East Coast swing is one of the easiest dances to start learning.

San Diego actually has a really decent swing scene spread all over the county, and SwingOrama has a calendar and regular event postings that track it all. While I’m all for eventually learning Lindy, I’m trying to keep the focus on downtown, particularly the Gaslamp. I *know* this place has real charm and appeal buried underneath all the touristy mainstream consumerism… it’s just a matter of digging.

::sigh:: I’ve missed dancing, *real* dancing (though I haven’t been out clubbing in a while, too). There’s too much that I "used to do" and don’t do anymore, and darned if it isn’t about time I started fixing that. Dancing, soccer, racquetball, tennis, theatre, cooking– I’m sure the list runs a couple miles long. That. Has Got. To Change.

Last item: every Thursday, starting around 11 a.m., Horton Plaza (the circle off Broadway, near the entrance to the Lyceum) hosts a small, but nonetheless endearing, Farmers Market. There’s an equal balance of produce and flowers, and one woman has a stand with exotic plants– orchids, plumeria trees, etc. Gorgeous!

[1] On Thursday, there’s a $10 cover charge to get into the tapas room, but still, the lesson itself is free. And if you think about, if you go all three nights, that’s three lessons for ten bucks! Amazing!

A Picasso-esque apocalypse

Something’s going on with the roof of this building, and as a result, all the skylights in the entryway (a.k.a. the common area), which would pretty much be the entire ceiling, have been covered with protective tarps.

This translates to: I left my place this morning and everything was eerily cast in dark blue light. The split second before I instinctively looked up, I thought the world was ending.

It’s hard to say whether I felt relieved or disappointed when I realized what was actually going on. After all, there’s nothing quite like some end-of-the-world doom to celebrate the closing of another business week.