Category Archives: Life in ‘Frisco
My trials and tribulations of my new life in the big city of San Francisco.
#bestdayever
I normally have a 2.5 hour RT commute a day (bike to the train, take the train to the valley, bike to work; repeat backwards), but today I get to work from home! So, I spent the first extra hour getting 9 hours of solid sleep. As in I didn’t even hear my KISA come home last night, or hear him wake up this morning; I was unconscious. And, I woke up feeling great! This afternoon I’m going to get a manicure for a friend’s wedding this weekend and then a 60 minute foot and full body Chinese massage (that is only $30 here in the city!). Wahoo!!
Gotta run…literally!
Insane?
Monday was a big day for me, health-wise. I have a friend in Boulder that is a personal trainer and nutritionist. She reached out to me to see if I’d be willing to join her 25 day challenge for June.
The 25 day challenge consists of having Shakeology replacement for one of my meals, and then doing a circuit training workout. For some reason she thought Insanity would fit me well. Also on this plan, you are to eat clean, unprocessed foods. Sounds easy enough, right?
Oh, did I mention that I also decided to sign up for the San Francisco Nike Marathon? And, that training also started on Monday. (At first I thought I was crazy to do a full marathon here in SF with the hills, but then I heard you get a Tiffany necklace if you complete it. No. Brainer.)
Needless to say, I’m sleeping really well.
Post workout on Day 2. I’m not gonna lie – I was in just a sports bra and shorts and had all the windows open. And, I still sweat everywhere.
My lunch and snacks for today. Eating clean.
The Proposal
Last Thursday my Knight in Shining Armor told me that he had a work meeting Thursday night and that he and his coworkers would probably be going out for drinks afterwards. Being the saint he is, he invited me along and told me his boss, whom I’ve been dying to meet, would probably be there was well. He also promised me dinner, knowing it would be later in the evening that we were meeting up. On Thursday afternoon I checked in with him to see if happy hour was still a go and he confirmed and sent me the name of the bar. I had to run some errands before our trip back to Wisconsin, so I ran around and then quickly grabbed my things at 7:30 to go meet him, starving.
As I was leaving I was talking on the phone to my friend Dubs about our potential house share in Tahoe for ski season. I hopped on the bus to downtown and texted him to let him know I was en route. After I hung up with her I looked up the address and only found one by Golden Gate Park, waaaay on the other side of San Francisco. I texted my KISA to tell him I couldn’t find the proper address, only one by the park. He confirmed it was correct. I immediately called him. Mind you, this entire time I’m on a bus heading in the wrong direction. I hopped off the bus at the next stop, while reminding my KISA of how hungry I was, although I’m sure he could hear it in my voice. Frustrated, I told him I was just going to grab something to eat and head home. He calmly tried talking me off the ledge, and told me to hail a cab. I refused, saying that I’ve spent way too much money on cabs. He offered to pay for it, to which I told him that it was merely the principle of it. (Yes, I can be very stubborn.) Now, I’m not sure if it was the concerned tone in his voice or quite simply the fact that he wanted so badly for me to be there that I finally agreed to eat the string cheese in my purse and grab a cab, to the promise of real food when I arrived. (And yes, he makes me carry snacks in my purse at all times for these moments of hanger. Not a typo.)
So, I’m in the cab, on the way to Trad’r Sam’s when he calls me again. This time, he’s calling to tell me that they actually decided to go to Baker Beach for a few drinks before heading to the bar. Since I was in a moving vehicle and had no other choice, I agreed. He asked me to let him know as I was getting close and he’d meet me in the parking lot so that we could meet up with the crew. As we were pulling up in the cab I noticed the full moon on one side of the road and the incredible, hazy sunset on the other.
As promised, my KISA was waiting for me in the parking lot. I paid the taxi driver and started walking down the beach with him. We went through the usual after work chat, talking about my day, telling him about how I was going to murder our mailman, etc. We came upon a photographer taking pictures of a woman, to which my KISA almost walked in their picture. Lucky for him, I saved him from almost doing that. As we walked around the upper side of them, my KISA pulled me in front of the picture and proceeded to get down on his knee.
Now, when you daydream about the moment your knight in shining armor proposes to you, you assume you’d cry, right? Most people cry when they’re overwhelmed with emotion. So, he asked me if I’d marry him and maybe said something else, I’m not sure. I looked at the ring in this black box and stood there in shock, as the photographer was paparazzing it up. Time seemed to have frozen for a second as I was processing everything. I realized the ring was real. And, that the photographer was really there to take our picture. And, his friends probably weren’t there. I was duped.
Evidently time didn’t actually stand still like I’d thought. Instead, I was standing there laughing hysterically and wasn’t giving an answer. My KISA just continued kneeling there, waiting for an answer from me. I’m not sure how he prompted me back to reality – if he asked me again or what was said, but I finally said yes. Most ladies would then wait for the man to put the ring on her finger. Not me. Apparently I lunged forward, grabbed the ring, and looked at it. (I say “apparently” because I recall none of this.) He helped me put the ring on because by this point in time I was shaking uncontrollably, while still laughing hysterically.
The photographer continued snapping pictures as I awkwardly stood there, forcing my KISA to hold me up in fear I’d fall if having to use my own legs for support. We had a mini-photo session as we watched the gorgeous sunset that was going on behind us.
We finished up with the pictures when my KISA told me he was starving and hadn’t actually made any plans for us for dinner yet. Lucky for him I was in such a state of bliss I could no longer feel my presumably growling stomach.
Red Eye Flights
I’ve never let a stranger in my bed, yet I’m ok with breathing my morning dragon breath (and quite probably drooling all over myself) on a stranger just because we’re sitting in an uncomfortable, up-right position on a moving plane. Oh, and I’m sure I look great at what would be 3:00 am my time after attempting to sleep with my upper and lower torso in an almost 90 degree angle, my legs bent at a 90 degree angle, and my neck bending however it pleases to support the weight of my flailing head. Oh, and my legs possibly spread wide enough to make my neighbor uncomfortable at the fact that we’re almost touching and just met a few hours ago (and by met, I mean I got up from my seat to let them in, all while avoiding eye contact or possible conversation). In elementary school that basically means we made it to first base.
Every time I take a red eye flight I remind myself that I’m better than that and can fork over an extra $100 for a “normal time” flight (yes, that’s proper airline terminology) and take an extra day off work. Then, when I pay the extra money to take a “normal time” flight, narcolepsy sets in and I sleep the entire time, therefore justifying my frugal theory that I should just save the money and vacation day if I’m going to sleep anyhow.
Ok, I’m going to get back to leaning my face towards my neighbor while he leans his towards mine and we wake up with another uncomfortable feeling.
Bay to Breakers
Since moving to San Francisco, I’ve been continuously hearing about Bay to Breakers. Since most of you have not live in SF, I’ll explain it to you. Bay to Breakers is a big race in the city and it starts at the crack of dawn. Only you don’t run it, you walk it. Ok, so maybe there are crazy people that run it, but for the thousands of other people, you dress up in obnoxious outfits or clothes (or for some, don’t dress up at all and just go naked) and day drink. My KISA and I dressed up with another couple and threw our costume together the afternoon before the “race”. We started out wanting to be the Harlem Globetrotters. People started calling us the Dream Team and we then decided we really didn’t care what people called us.
Dirty Thirty!
I turned 30 and have lived to tell about it. I’m not exactly sure what I expected to happen, but the world didn’t end. My KISA decided to throw me a surprise birthday party. One thing to know about me is that growing up my parents had to hide my Christmas gifts because if they were in the house I would not only find them, but I would remove the tape, unwrap them to see what I got, and then wrap it back up. And this was maybe when I was eight. (I had a calling to be a PI very young in life.) For him to pull off a surprise birthday party is quite a feat. He diligently planned the party, ordered a table and chairs for the rooftop, hung Christmas lights around the railing, got a keg and food, and also some glow sticks, necklaces, and balloons.
My boss had offered for me to work from home on my birthday, so I took it, not knowing we’d be hosting a party that evening (thank goodness I’d done the laundry and put some of my things away). I was working away when around lunchtime a lady buzzed up to the apartment and had such a strong accent that I couldn’t understand what she was saying, just that she kept referencing my KISA’s name. Me, hoping maybe he’d gotten flowers delivered to the apartment, ran downstairs to figure out what she was saying and if she had a beautiful bouquet of flowers for me. Instead she had a piece of paper. I finally understood that she was trying to deliver a table and chairs for my KISA and wanted to know where to put them. Confused, I gave her his cell phone number and ran back upstairs. Of course I texted him right away, fishing to figure out what was going on. I asked if we were expecting company and at first he played dumb. He admitted that he was throwing me a birthday party on the roof and asked if I could let the lady in to set up on the roof. Of course I was giddy about the prospect of having a party, but he was really upset that they decided to deliver things five hours early and ruined the surprise.
The night was really fabulous! It got cold on the roof, so after a couple hours we took the party back down to our apartment. We had a bunch of our friends come over as well as some of his new work friends he’d invited. All in all, I have to say that I’m really impressed that he almost surprised me.
10 Things I Want to Do in the Next 10 Years
Tomorrow is the big 3-0. What are my big plans for the day, you ask. My boss told me to work from home since no one in our department will be in the office. That kind of excited me because now I can get a jump start on the laundry. I may treat myself to a pedicure. I was going to make chicken and dumplings, but my KISA tonight generously offered to take me out for dinner (what a gentleman). I guess this is what life becomes when you get old.
Bill Gates has a famous quote, “Most people overestimate what they can do in one year and underestimate what they can do in ten years.” I’m the type of girl that sets goals and has New Year’s resolutions, so I used this as inspiration in deciding what I want to do with my life in the next 10 years.
- Learn how to worry less about things that don’t matter.
- Have a better relationship with my father.
- Settle down (not settle).
- Run a full marathon.
- Travel to Antarctica.
- Be in the best shape of my life.
- Meet my children.
- Stop trying to make others happy.
- Learn self-control with food, especially sweets.
- Finally do a damn pull-up.
The Red Monster
Mint Jeans #1
I don’t think I’m destined to own mint jeans. I’d give my first born to own a fantastic pair, but apparently the universe doesn’t want my children.
Last spring I fell in love with the idea of owning a pair of mint jeans. Unfortunately the Midwest gets styles three years after the rest of the world, so no such thing existed yet. Since I’m incredibly impatient, I decided to make my own pair. I bought a pair of white jeans from Express and then proceeded to dye them green and aqua blue. They turned out to be a color close enough to mint to satisfy me. I wore them about a half a dozen times before something in the wash decided to turn them a blackish purple. I tried in vain to remove the stains, but instead lightened the color around the stains and did nothing to the stain.
After going without mint jeans in my life again I decided it was time for a rebirth. Gap had skimmers in mint green that I feel in love with. I opted to buy them in extra-long so that I could wear them as pants and roll them if I wanted skimmers. I loved these jeans and daydreamed about what I could wear them with. My life was complete again. But only for a little while.
Mint Jeans #2
My second favorite child is a pair of red capris I own. (Actually I’m no longer sure that “capris” exist. Now they’re skimmers, cropped pants, or ankle-length pants. Capri’s are so 2000.) My red capris became jealous of my love for my mint jeans and decided to retaliate. First, my KISA decided to wash my red jeans with a load of miscellaneous other clothes…on warm. I’m sure you can imagine what happened. Among the things ruined was a navy and white gingham shirt that I recently replaced. I was not happy. My red capris were on probation for a while and behaving nicely. That is until the moment they’d be waiting for happened – they were washed in the same load as my mint jeans. My KISA washed the load on cold, but my red capris didn’t give a shit – they were out for revenge. When we pulled the violated and emotionally damaged mint jeans out of the wash we realized the extent to what the red capris did. Thankfully, they targeted their anger only towards my poor, precious mint jeans. There were pinkish red scars all over my mint jeans. I first tried washing them in a new load with some color optimizing detergent. Nothing. Next I tried a baking soda, Dawn, and peroxide mixture. Still nothing.
I went on Gap’s website to order a new pair in extra-long…only to find out they no longer had them available in my size. WHAT??? My KISA, not understanding the depth of this tragedy, suggested that I buy another color and start a new trend since everyone he sees are now wearing mint jeans. After piercing him with my glare I looked into other colors. But, it’s like shopping for a new puppy after you dog dies; you can’t just replace it with another one and hope it fills that hole in your heart.
I’ve presently settled on a pair of muted highlighter orange pants. But, they’re no replacement.
Indian Kaleidoscope
Green sweater, yellow top, burgundy pants, green shoes: Mansi’s fashion sense.
This is my work friend, Mansi. Mansi’s from India and inherently knows how to dress herself in the most colorful of outfits. Me, not so much; I’ve mastered the art of neutrals. I think it’s time to step it up a bit. Granted, I don’t care to look like a kaleidoscope, but my challenge to myself is to wear color on color. I think I may start with a scarf that’s a different color than my pants or shirt. Whoa…! I know.
I hope to get more inspiration when I got to India this fall. “What?!” you say. Yep, that’s right. Mansi and her husband have a 3 day, Hindu family wedding that they’re returning to India for and have invited my Knight In Shining Armor and I to attend. It took way more begging of my KISA than I’d anticipated, but I somehow convinced him of why this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and he should just give in. I suppose this means we won’t be going on a safari this summer like I wanted, but I guess I have the leopard print down already.
FarmGirlHipster 