wishbone clover

Confirmation

One year ago today I celebrated my last day of corporate slavery.

So far, so good.

I adore the freedom of working freelance, and the satisfaction of a creative career. No surprise, it's much better than what I was doing before!

In the past twelve months, there have been one or two freak out moments -- "The economy sucks! I'm a FOOL to leave a safe corporate job!" -- but I always remembered immediately that I hated my "safe corporate job". End of freak out.

Sure, I'm enough of a pragmatist that I always keep my eyes open for some amazing job, but in a year of (admittedly desultorily) perusing job postings, I haven't been tempted to send in a single resume.

I finally have the best job in the world, the one I've wanted my entire life. Why would I give that up?

Cheap Dates - Five Favs for San Francisco

Yes folks, it's that time - Valentine's. And just to warn you, the weather may put a damper on the evening!

Since it may be the only time EVER that it's cool to be a little bit cheap on the big day, despite it being Saturday - here are five things you can do for small bucks but get big bang:

1. Living Room Picnic - order takeaway from your favorite place and transform the living room into a romantic den. Guys - this requires planning - and the best way to get a gal out of the house is to send her for a pedicure. For tips, watch No Reservations. Extra points for strawberries and chocolate!

2. Get Mortified - for those done with mushy love and stuff, get Mortified this Friday and Saturday.

3. Valentine's Brunch - need I say more? Zazie is my personal favorite, but only on sunny days. When in doubt, yelp.

4. Slum Dog Millionaire and Indian Food. Hit the Tenderloin for yummy Indian (Shalimar, Chutney) and then head over to Van Ness AMC to catch a sure fire movie.

5. North Beach Stroll - nothing is more fun than people watching and spotting other couples on expensive, miserable dates! Glam it up with big umbrella, rain slicker and boots. Walk on Columbus between Broadway and Union. If you have a chance to visit "The most Romantic Restaurant" downtown. It's worth the...awkwardness.  Romantic spots - the booth at Vesuvio, grabbing a slice at Cable Car Pizza and topping off the night at Tony Nics. For the hipster variation, stroll 18th street and go to Elbo Room or Dalva. Add a Burrito - Yum! - however, not for everyone.

And keep those someecards coming!

Sarah Palin's Debate Decision Matirx

Thanks to our brilliant friend Suzie for forwarding Aden Nak's BRILLIANT illustration of the decision tree Sarah Palin used during the debate last night.

Did you feel like she avoided questions? Resorted to winking and false folksisms? You were not imagining things! It was all too true, and in fact, planned:

Thank you Aden, for illustrating it so much more clearly than the candidate was able to do herself. Wink!

The New Humor Paradigm: Tina Fey as Sarah Palin is Funny Despite Being True

Ugh and at the same time, Bono, King of Ireland? Fucking hilarious because it's true!

What's Louder Than 10? 11. Exactly. One Louder.

My sense of humor veers from the absurd to the nonsensical. The mini-Stonehenge scene from Spinal Tap makes me convulse with laughter.

But when I'm with someone who is less ridiculous--normal, shall we say?--I raise the bar on my own performance, as if to compensate.

Scrabble Elbow

OK, I know you are wondering, why the picture of hand soap? Well, I have a picture of my elbow in the ace bandage, but it just isn't very aesthetically pleasing, and item number three on my Manifesto is NOT to contribute to the ugliness of the world. I know, HOW Californian does that sound? Anyway, there are dangers to Scrabulous and I fear I developed Scrabble Elbow. As far as I know, this a new term, but it is not a scrabble approved term. Those folks are a little sensitive to this stuff, lately.

Benadryl Coma

Two of these will knock you out faster than a handful of roofies. Good Christ!

Nice weather = pollen = sinus troubles. Yesterday my head felt like it had a big, tender, painful whoopie cushion shoved up my nose. Only it hurt way more than you would imagine.

I finally took a steaming hot shower, drank some piping hot tea and downed two pink pills. Then I crawled into bed, propped up on eight pillows and turned on the live coverage of our Olympic torch run protests.

Fifteen minutes later I was out cold, snoring, and suffering from hallucinations.

Seriously, I woke up this morning exhausted from hours of intricate, harrowing and very, very realistic dreams.

Sure, my nose was better, but it took a few minutes to shake off the feeling that someone in my family had gone to jail, in outer space, because I failed to turn a cat into a bouquet of flowers.

Kids, remember: Drugs are bad.

On No, It's Going To Get Worse Before It Gets Better

Despite what you think, what you may have experienced, how you feel, there is more crappiness waiting for us. Just around the corner.

Researchers in Cardiff, Wales, discovered in 2006 that Monday of the final week of January is officially the Most Depressing Day of the Year. I believe them. Those folk who live in the UK know a thing or five million about gray, dismal depression. Plus they used math to figure it out.

Doing the math for us, that means January 28th will be even worse than the shittiest day you've already had in 2008.

Christ on a stick. How will we bear it? As Colleen so eloquently put it, we're already all under our beds, crying.

Last year volunteers handed out tea in Victoria Station. Short of going to England, where the exchange rate alone is enough to make you suicidal, here's my advice:

• Update your earthquake preparedness kit
• Binge on chocolate (no duh)
• Might as well keep boozing
• Go to expensive dinners with friends, while we're indulging
• Most importantly: invest in bunny slippers

Crossing 35k in the Nanowrimo Race

Last night my imaginary world finally started to make sense. Which was a relief, because I've invested a lot time in this piece of crap. Twenty-something days.

For the fifth year, I'm doing Nanowrimo. Fifty thousand words written in the month of November, that somehow hang together in an approximation of a plot.

A vague approximation.

It's been different for me every year. The first year it was about finding the discipline to simply sit down and write. Okay, that's true for every year. The first year is about proving you can find the discipline to sit there.

Year two was actually fun, because I knew I could do it, so the pressure was almost off. Year three, a little harder to motivate because I knew I had two crappy first draft novels sitting around, untouched, unedited.

Last year was the roughest. It was a tough year at work, my story idea was totally depressing, and I ground out the 50k in just a few marathon writing sessions. The magic never happened.

So why do it again this year? 

Bindi Zit

You know what I'm talking about. The giant, red, dimensional pimple that appears dead center between your eyebrows. Always at an inconvenient time when there is guaranteed photography, like on your wedding day. Or your first day of work, she said, foreshadowing, when you are immortalized in an unflattering badge photo taken with a cheap digital camera under hideous fluorescent lights.