My Truth About Burning Man

I never wanted to go to Burning Man, at first. The idea of attending a festival in the desert didn't appeal to me.

But in 2002, I was a jealous girlfriend who feared my hot boyfriend would return from the burn with a new girlfriend. I asked to accompany him and he agreed. In fact, he wanted me there. We were madly in love.

I had the same thoughts that the people who mock Burning Man had. I figured it was a desert carnival amok with sex, drugs, and rock & roll. By the time I packed up my dust-filled sleeping bag one week later, I had completely changed my mind. It wasn't a bunch of free-loving, doped-up hippies. The people were creative and smart--scary genius smart. They were the kind of people who went to Ivy Leagues and went on to start their own consulting firms, but came to Burning Man year after year. It was their creative outlet.

They were also the kind of people who never went to school, but were street artists who dreamed the dreams the rest of us aren't courageous enough to dream. They dream what we think can't be done and they build it: a zoetrope of swimmers, a fun-house, a treehouse, a rocketship. I specifically remember the first time I rode a roller coaster--a functioning, swirling attraction...in the middle of nowhere.

I especially like wandering around, meeting people, and hanging out. Because what else do you do in the desert? You find yourself in a camp, someone offers you a salty snack or an alcoholic beverage, and you talk. "Where are you from? How many years have you been burning? Did you see that totally cool art piece? Yeah, it made me think back to when I was a kid and my parents use to take us to the theater..." You continue talking. You're not necessarily best friends, but there's always some kind of connection with people at Burning Man. Everyone's open and welcoming. No defenses. Here in the default world, I don't talk to strangers. I don't have time to make new friends. I don't want the bums to ask me for money. So I avoid. At Burning Man, everyone's smiling. Everyone's waving. It's like living on Sesame Street without Oscar the Grouch.

There's no poverty on the playa. There's no 'weirdness.' People aren't out of place because they wear costumes and bright colors. The more awkward, the better. Bring it! There's no vending or exchange of money on the playa (with the exception of coffee at the cafe and ice). It's a gift economy. Give and ye shall receive. Giving doesn't necessarily mean a material good. People set up advice kiosks. Others help build by giving their time to help build a camp or setup some struggling newbie's tent.

In 2003, I was single and went to the burn with random girls I met through Craigslist. We fast became friends. During one of our many bike rides around the playa, we stumbled upon a group of guys playing really good music. Day after day, night after day, we returned to the camp to hang out and listen to music. Many years later, I'm still friends with these people. I'll forever remember my friend Joanna's description of the playa one night, "This is like the Disneyland electric parade in Afghanistan on Halloween." Neon bright art cars were puttering along. Fireworks were booming in the horizon.

But Burning Man is not utopia. It can get sweltering hot during the day and frigid cold at night. Get sweaty naked before noon, then bundle up in your warmest, down-filled, puffy North Face jacket by midnight. Your tent gets layered with dust. You eat food coated with dust. Dust infiltrates your lungs. After painstakingly cleaning yourself with wet wipes, you get struck by a dust storm. It is fucking hell waking up in the middle of the night, needing to tinkle so badly, futzing around for your shoes, saddling up into your fur-covered bike, and charging for the nearest bank of porta-potties which are several streets away.  There's theft. People will steal your bikes either intentionally or unintentionally. Undercover cops ask you please for an extra tab of E. People get carted off to jail. People get rushed to the nearest hospital. And a man burns to death...ok...he's really just an effigy.

Year after year, I progressively became more involved. This 2009 was my 8th Burn. I spend hours before the Burn pouring over spreadsheets, scheduling volunteers for shifts. I love my ARTery group. I love what we do to help artists get their pieces on the playa. I absolutely love the family that we've become. I like the long hours pre-playa and most especially on the playa, talking to the artists, problem-solving, and then having them gift you with a necklace or bracelet or some shwag that is really heartfelt.

2010 is the 25th anniversary and most likely my last. An ex-Republican who believes in God and has a corporate job that I love, I am not a typical burner. Shit, I'm the anti-burner. But I love Burning Man because it's the strongest sense of community I've ever experienced. I don't believe there's anything else like it in the default world.

The Man burns in 338 days!

I Am So Hungry!

Food Today

Chocolate Milk

Salad from the Salad Bar with a Smothering of Croutons

Cheese, Turkey & Crackers

Reese's Peanut Butter Klondike Bar

Deviled Eggs

Crab Salad

I tried to eat as much as possible before getting my teeth whitened this afternoon at Brite Smile at 3:00 today. I was instructed not to eat anything that would stain a white t-shirt. Hmmm, isn't that everything? Besides, I don't want to fuck this up.  I've never had my teeth professionally whitened before.  My teeth hurt. Every so often, I feel a very sharp pain in my gums...like rubbing alcohol seeping into an open wound.  I can't even have a sip of tea which is probably what got me into this yellow-teethy mess to begin with.

As usual, I went for my daily run.  This time, I ran while watching Larry King's interview of Mackenzie Phillips.  She's fascinating.  I found her to be articulate and thoughtful--like she has really thought her life through, intent on staying drug-free and helping others who are affected by the same struggles she faced.  When you're engrossed in something that interesting, the time passes quickly. 500+ calories burned and one hour later, I could already hear my stomach gurgling.

Now, another three hours later and the Glee show finished, I'm considering taking an Ambien to forget about my hunger.

Wedding Workout

Dean frowns when he sees me getting ready. "You're too skinny."

I grin from ear-to-ear. "Suhweet!"

I started running again, logging several miles a day. I'm searching for a race to run. I found the perfect one--a half marathon that crosses the Golden Gate Bridge, but it's at 7am on November 1st. Who wants to sleep early on Halloween night. That's a total downer. I didn't intend to start racing again. It just happened. I got a gym membership so I could get away from the studio if I needed personal space. Then I got bored marinating in the steam room day after day. So back on the treadmill I went...huff, huff, huff. I liked that after a bad day at work, I could run speedily and chase the worry away. I used to run a lot when I dated rampantly. Whenever I got dumped (which was often), my pace improved. I had visions of the Boston Marathon.

Now that I started running again, the weight is dropping steadily. That's not good. As a former anorexic, I got to a place in my life where I was finally comfortable with how I looked, with how much I weighed. But I like losing the weight. It makes me feel empowered, all 80 pounds of me.

'I may not sport a thousand dollar dress on my wedding day, but at least I'll be skinny.' It's sadistic thinking.

I try to counter the weight loss with 'healthy' eating. Today, for example, I had:
Chocolate Milk
Turkey Sandwich
M&M and Chocolate Chip Cookie
Fritos
then pizza tonight for Marc's birthday, but I'm so hungry I'll probably eat beforehand.

I wish there wasn't all this pressure around a wedding. Sure, it doesn't have to be this way. But how may brides out there really funded their own wedding without parental support, without their husbands footing the majority of the bills? I doubt very many.

Never Pay Full Price

Dean and I are biding our time, hoping for a 1-bedroom to open up in his apartment complex. For now, we live in a spacious, high-ceiling studio with parking in Lower Nob Hill for $1,200. It's a good deal, but I'm suffering to pay for our wedding!

Not only does Dean's landlord like him, but Dean also helps out by posting vacancies on Craigslist, showing apartments, and assisting when shit hits the fan.  Usually, he's the one to tell bums to please not setup their temporary homes on the property.  Dean thinks that when one of the big 1-bedrooms opens up, we can score one for $1,500.  That would be divine.  We are keeping our fingers crossed.

In the mean time, we've been doing some home improvements with our studio.  Last night, I told Dean that his dried out plant better perk itself up or else it would be replaced.  "You have two weeks to look alive or else," I huffed to the plant as poor Dean looked on.

"Wait!  We need more time.  Please try to be nice.  The plant can hear you."  

"I don't care.  You have until Halloween to look alive or you're outta here."

Dean's agreed with most of the improvements I've suggested.  He offered one suggestion to buy the above furniture piece which can be found on the Design Within Reach site for $400. "Maybe we can find it on sale or go to Craigslist."

Bargain shopping is my forte.  I google shopped for 'acrylic magazine rack stool,' sorted by lowest price, and found the exact product for $150 with no sales tax and free shipping.  Very simple.  I never pay full price anymore.  No one should.  Implement the google shopping search for all of your purchases: cosmetics, furniture, electronics, anything.

City Life Spells Boredom

The other day I said to Dean, "How bout we find jobs in New York City and live there for a couple years before starting our family?"

He said, "That would be so fun, but New York is so expensive."

"So what? We already live in a studio apartment now. It wouldn't be much different. It's not like we'd live in a space that's smaller than we are right now. We'd fit right in!"

After living in the city of San Francisco for ten years, I'm quite bored. Yes, that's right. It's B-O-R-I-N-G. Dean and I have been together since February and I swear to God I think we've eaten out at almost every single brunch spot, deli, high-end restaurant that this place has to offer. Plus, in this economy, not much more is opening up. The place is dead. You can only go to Beach, Blanket, Babylon so many times a year.

For fun, we've been crossing the bridges for action. Last weekend, we headed north for sleepy, but new to us Mill Valley. We had a great time eating at Bungalow 44, then ice-cream at Cici Gelateria across the street. It was just different and nice to stroll around in a peaceful neighborhood. Strolling around our neighborhood with the bums and the piss and the defecation gets a bit old after a while. I'm going stirring crazy here in the city. Not that we wouldn't get bored in the burbs, too, but at least it's something different. I think after ten years, I'm allowed to be bored.

On the Hunt

Last week, the Cal Alumni House sponsored a networking event.  I went because I thought it'd be fun to see the Berkeley campus and see what the featured speaker had to say about career success.  

My first thought back in Berkeley was that a lot has stayed the same. Starbucks, Ben & Jerry's..the corporate stalwarts were still there as I walked up to campus from BART.  I was astounded that the Musical Offering cafe was still around.  Groups of dancers were practicing in front of Zellerbach.

The event started at 6:30pm, but I got there at 7:00pm.  I'm not much of a schmoozer as I hoarded my plate with crackers, cheese, and egg rolls, and took it to the back patio. I was the only one outside, sitting by myself even though several tables were setup with floral arrangements of blue irises and gold daisies.  The place was packed and everyone else was mingling intensely inside.  California's 12% unemployment rate is making itself known.

The featured speaker, an alum Robin Holt who is a principal at the Bay Area Career Center, asked for a show of hands of those who were looking for a job.  I think I was the only one who didn't raise my hand.  She gave some obvious advice that needs to be repeated.

- Networking is critical to your job search.

- Your next job will likely come from a personal contact.

- Focus your energy on face-to-face and voice-to-voice interactions.

- Relationships need to be mutually beneficial so focus on the needs of others, not just on your own.

- Prepare and practice your 30 second networking introduction: "I am, I can, I want."

I never considered that last point before so I prepared something in my head after she gave a few examples.  "Hi, I'm Catherine Gacad. I'm a Cal alum with an MBA from Chicago.  I have ten years of experience in consulting, product management, and investor relations, but I'm looking for a media opportunity where I can utilize my passion for writing.  Here's a business card. Take a look at my blog or follow me on Twitter."

After the featured speaker finished, we had an opportunity to network, but it wasn't a free for all.  Our name tags were color-coded by major.  I think it's really funny that I double-majored in Biology and English, but I was grouped with the Reds: journalism, history, political science, communications.  They made us mingle within our color-code, then they had the blues come over and mingle with the reds, or the oranges come over and mingle with the greens.  It was really well-structured.

I met some very interesting people.  Hopefully I helped some people, too.  I energized one woman to get on Yelp to give her business more traction.

I came away with several other tips and gold nuggets of information so if you're interested, give me a shout.  But mainly, jobs go to familiar people.  So go connect!  I think going to the event was rather well-timed since now I'm sniffing around for other job opportunities.

Money, Money, Money

Aren't we all curious about how much others make?  I am.  I assume we all are.

Me and a close co-worker agreed to disclose our salaries to each other.  We were both Cal grads, both starting our first full-time jobs. Yet he had a degree in Engineering and mine was...in English. He almost hit the roof when he realized our salaries were so closely aligned.

"CAL...ENGINEERING!  Do you know how many nights I spent studying just to get my degree?"

"Look, don't be so upset.  I double-majored and I'm sure I spent just as much time studying as you did."

"You were a liberal arts major.  CAL ENGINEERING VERSUS ENGLISH!  I don't get it.  I have an engineering degree from Cal. What did I do to deserve this pittance?"

I felt bad for him and better about myself.  At least I wasn't as screwed as I thought I was when I first signed my offer letter.

It's very easy when you start out together, are at the same career level, and you're all a bit tipsy from happy hour.  They're more friends than co-workers so you blatantly ask. "Ok, let's just say what we make.  On the count of three.  1...2...3..."  My next job was with a startup and we all went out for drinks and fessed up.  Luckily we all made about the same amount of money.

Post-business school, I'm pretty sure start groups come in making the same amount.  Maybe managers have some leverage when it comes to the sign-on bonus or moving expenses.  One of my managers grossed up my bonus so even after-taxes, it would come out to a nice big round number.

But I wasn't expecting what happened the other day.  I discovered how much every single person in my group makes.  It was inadvertently shown to me from the low five figures to the high six figures.  I know every single salary down to every single digit.  The person who lifted up the piece of paper didn't even realize it.  The piece of paper holding the wage, the financial backbone for each employee was lifted up accidentally over and over.  I have a mind for numbers and in that timeframe I memorized every single one.  This information is extremely private for very very few people to know. But now I know.

And I'm pissed.

Better Homes & Gardens

I don't feel like writing. Dean and I got into a fight last night. So I'll post his email to me today.

Better Homes & Gardens

Hi Baby,

I appreciate the note; and feel the same. Issues will come and go; shrink and grow. Our differences are the common denominator of all couples: Adam & Eve; Romeo & Juliette and Scarlett Hara and Rhett Butler… and you know how those Romantic Comedies ended, eh?

I’m confident that we can do better, because “Frankly, I give a Damn!” I’m starting to see what’s important isn’t how much we’re alike; rather, it’s how well we work together. In other words, we’ll never reach our lofty rooftop goals of a lifetime marriage, kids, etc., if we don’t better manage fundamental, day-to-day problems along the common clay.

A happy home is shelter and comfort for better or for worse, in sickness and in health begins. It begins with love, the mortar that holds the bricks together. It last, because we break soil with a strong foundation.

Recognize the “Me” in “We.”

They say there’s no “I” in “Team,” but the better “You” communicate any essential needs, the better “We” can adopt them into “Us.” Without “You,” there is no “Us” aka “Emotional Transfer.” So, whether it’s driving or sleeping or artery camp let’s keep an open mind and dialog and try to find “Our” way – the Dao of Catherine & Dean. Our union will be as unique as we are individually.

Apple doesn’t fall so far from the Tree.

Neither one of us wants to be like their parents; yet, if we look into the mirror, you’ll see our respective mom or dad looking back in the reflection. Moving forward, we need to better recognize and exorcise these primordial parental demons, so our kids don’t grow up to repeat the cycle.

Expectations vs Love.

“We” need “You” to love “Me.” I’m not saying that you are operating from a generic checklist, but I’m never going to be the most popular item at “Build-a-Bear.” Perfect, I’m not. Let’s just say, I’m a Fixer Upper with a great Location, Location, Location. It’s gonna take a lot of Love and Perspiration to Build This Home. Hopefully, you’re down for the toils, spoils and labor of love.

I’m just saying that even if I could read your mind, chances are that I wouldn’t be able to measure up. There’s always someone is taller, smarter, richer, newer. Only, he’ll never be me, and hopefully that enough.

I know I’m not a big burner, big earner, but I am a quick learner and willing to work harder, smarter as well as compromise. Already, I feel that I’ve begun to reconcile my selfish single days of friends, shopping and boozing and embrace our shared blueprint for family, saving and date nights with you!

I’m confident that we’ve kissed enough frogs to know our fairy tale doesn’t have to be a perfect fit. It takes love and dedication. Two things I’ll never run in short supply. I believe you’re my princess. I believe we’re meant to be. I’ll move heaven and earth to see us through. It would be a careless shame, not to do our level best.

Love, Dean

5 Friends, 5 Years

Last night, at House restaurant in North Beach, we celebrated our 5-year anniversary. Six newly-minted MBA students hailing from University of San Francisco, USC, Michigan, and me as the only Chicago representation who accepted our offers, started together in the same group, and have stayed with the company for five years. Granted, several of us moved on to different positions and departments, it's unbelievable and quite rare to find six MBA students who are with the same company and same core group of work friends.

We called ourselves the 'newbies' and organized regular dinners to celebrate birthdays. The Senior VP I worked for when I first started pulled me aside one day, "I hear you're part of this MBA clique. They keep bringing it up in management meetings. You guys do everything together. Eat together, go out together. It's weird. We're not used to that type of camraderie here."

I doubt any of the newbies will see this post, although some of them have read my blog off and on, but I want to say to my five, five-year friends…thanks for the memories. We're still going strong five years later.

xoxo,
midgie

Dress for Less

I've gone wedding dress shopping twice. Wedding dress shopping is quite the spectacle. Think about it. It's a bunch of bridezillas in search of their perfect ivory dress. And the expense…are you fucking kidding me? The typical price of a wedding dress can pay for your DJ, photographer, or a combo of the two if you are dumb about finances. I'm not going to hold back…most brides are dumb about wedding dresses.

First stop on my dress shopping tour was Glamour Closet located on the border of North Beach and the Financial District a few blocks away from where I work. I'd passed it a few times and always dreamed of going there one day if ever I got engaged. Well I finally found a brave enough guy to deal with my mood swings and put a rock on my finger, then off to the races I went to find a pretty gown. It was early on in the planning stages so I was pretty flippant about it. I figured I would just go and take a look. Glamour Closet sells dresses at a discount. Discount = expect a line. I got there on a Saturday at 10:45am, 15 minutes prior to open, and was irritated to see a line of women outside. Once they opened, they handed the first five women who came a basket of five clips. When you find a dress that interests you, you put your clip on it. The women who work there will take it down and bring it to the dressing room for you to try on when it's your turn.

Women were screaming and running around. They were consulting their friends and mothers who came along. I moved quickly, clipped three dresses I liked, and hurried to an attendant.

"I'm all done. The dresses I liked are clipped. Can I try them on now, please?"

She frowned. "Well, you were fifth in line and other people came earlier than you. Some women have been here since 10am."

I pouted. "Well, I'm all done clipping. There's no one in the dressing room yet. I swear I'll be quick. In and out. I promise."

I convinced her and she ushered me to the dressing room. "I'll get your dresses. Go ahead and get ready to try them on."

I have to admit, once I got into the dressing room, the chaos of the bridezillas outside faded. My attendant was very helpful. She told me two dresses were flattering and one was not. The one I liked best had a price tag of $1,300. Remember that these couture dresses are discounted. A discounted dress that's still $1,300? I almost ran out. Gowns come from manufacturers, sample sales, all over the place. I was wrong to assume that the dresses would be well-priced. They were staggeringly expensive, especially considering the dresses weren't well maintained. Some had rips on them. Others were dirty at the bottom. Besides, they are mostly size 6 and higher which means several hundred dollars of alterations.

My second and last (so far) dress shopping experience was at the Bridal Galleria in the Embarcadero Center. Someone recommended that I go there and said the dresses would be in my price range. Luckily, I don't remember who recommended that I go there because I will never talk to that person again. All the dresses were over $1,000! My attendant was fantastic. The experience was unhurried, calm, relaxing, with no pressure. The attendant really did a great job. Dean came with me and he got misty-eyed watching me try the gowns on.

Brides who spent or plan on spending ridiculous sums on a gown, let me ask you a question. Do you think that your dress is being hand-sewn in a NYC boutique? No, it's being made by a little Chinese girl in the province of Guangdong. As it makes it way over to the Bridal Galleria, it gets marked up 1000%.

I'm going straight to the source. That's right. I'm getting my dress made in China and it's going to be delivered to me straight from Guangdong. Come find me at my wedding because the first thing out of my mouth will be, "Don't you love my dress? It was $200."

I'm so tempted to buy this stunning $10,000+ Monique Lhuillier wedding gown. It can be made direct from China for $300. I want to buy it just so I can show people it looks exactly the same as a $10,000 dress. Exactly the same.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

You'll see pictures below of me, Dean, and Daniel at the Giants game last week. I think the last time I went to the ballpark was a work event a couple years ago. I know, I don't go very often.

As much as I dislike sports, it was actually pretty fun. I got to catch up with Daniel. My best friend and my fiance got to bond a little. The game was a good one, even though I can't recall who we played. It was the perfect amount of time. We got there before the game started and left before the 7th inning stretch.

Plus, our ball park is clean with yummy food (sushi and garlic fries). Even if the game sucks, the food makes up for it.

Roshambo: Single, Engaged, Committed

In elementary school--more so junior high (even though our elementary school went from grades 1 - 8), I had two really good friends. I'll call them Cain and Abel since together the three of us went to St. Joseph's Catholic school. A biblical reference for the Catholic crew. We went to school in Alameda. We lived in Alameda--all within biking distance of each other. I don't know how we grouped together. I'd been friends with Cain since the 2nd grade. Somehow he befriended Abel who was a late comer to our school. Then we were hanging out after school, walking home together, eating ice-cream, listening to Depeche Mode.

That all changed in high school when you're feeling your way around various social cliques. Those close relationships you had with your friends from elementary school dissolve. The pretty, popular girls who used to be your friends start hanging out with the sophomores. I was stereotyped a nerd. Abel got kicked out for being in a fight. Even though Abel and I both went to the same college, it's hard to befriend someone in a school of 30,000 students. With one exception (we randomly bumped into each other), I never saw Abel after he left St. Joseph Notre Dame high school.

Cain and I remained close friends. Of my wedding party, he is the one I've known the longest. 27 years of friendship. From elementary school to high school to the University of California system to Spain and Italy to San Francisco, that is true loyalty.

Then Facebook resumed the connection.
I live in San Francisco. I'm engaged.
Cain is in Seattle. He's newly single.
Abel is in NYC. He's committed.
We all grew up in Alameda. We're all Asian, born in 1975.

Abel was visiting the Bay Area with his partner. I made him promise to let me know when he had some free time to meetup. Cain, serendipitously, was with me when Abel texted to say he was free. Hooray. Cain and I set off from San Francisco for our hometown Alameda. We met up with Abel and his partner. Very odd for a bunch of city dwellers, we walked (gasp!) to a nearby park, sat down, and gabbed easily for an hour, catching up on our lives. Abel is the most settled in life. He has a perfect-match partner. They own a place in NYC. Despite their insistence that they lead very boring lives as homebodies, they're planning for a child. I'm in transition with a fiance, birthing my wedding. Cain is on a new career and relationship path.

It's funny how you grow up together and lead quite similar lives, then end up in coastal cities across the U.S., work your way through the stages of life (education, career, relationships), but always make your way back home. I love the path I've taken to get exactly here: at a picnic table in Franklin Park in my hometown with my close friends from two decades ago.

Relapse

You know how DJ AM Adam Goldstein died of a drug overdose and everyone was shocked because he was supposed to be drug-free. He had this clean image and now the networks have scrapped his after-school special--a documentary on "That was my horrific life on drugs, but now life is good." Ironically, he fucking overdosed and died on us. Yet we were all surprised.

DJ AM, this is an homage to you because I relapsed on Saturday night. Although I don't think my relapse will come as a surprise to people. I didn't go ape shit, but I did something I said I wasn't going to do. 13 days of detox and I pissed it down the drain with a glass of champagne and two or three…maybe four glasses of pinot noir.

It was late night, Saturday night at Marc's loft in the Mission.

Marc: "Let's do champagne."

Me: "No, I'm detoxing."

Marc: "Don’t be dumb."

Me: Guzzle, guzzle, guzzle.

Marc has a pull that most others don't. He gives me a look that says, "You're full of shit. You know you're an alcoholic so just fucking take the drink and stop being hoity-toity about it." Marc sees through me and suddenly, I caved in. He was right. What was I doing anyway? What was I trying to prove? So I relapsed and went for it.

I'm glad I did. I realized I didn't even like it that much. I'd rather have chocolate milk. And the next day, I was hungover and felt like crap.

So I'm back detoxing--not because I'm "supposed to be," but because I like being sober. I like how I feel. I can do this for another 13 days. Not a fucking problem.

California, Quit Your Crying

Unemployment has creeped past 12% in California. Headlines like this scare me because I know it's just an excuse for the lazy, unskilled, unemployed to say, "Woe is me!"

You know what, people? Get off of Facebook and get a fucking job.

Yeah, yeah. Don't tell me to get off of my high MBA-trotting horse, because I won't even go there. Let's dumb me down to the lowest common denominator. No graduate degree, no college degree, but waitressing and babysitting experience. Minimum wage in San Francisco is $9.79. Let's get out the abacus. $9.79 x 8 hours a day x 5 days a week x 52 weeks in a year = $20,363 Taxed at 40%, net pay would be $1,018 / month. I'll admit that that's tough to live on. Even in a roommate situation, you'll pay about $500 in rent. But why rent when you're making minimum wage? Go back home to mom and dad. They have a couch, yes? No parents? You've got siblings right? No sibs? You've got friends, right? Ever heard of couch-surfing?

Here's a financial tip. Run around the north side of the Berkeley campus and checkout all the psych experiments that pay for your time. I made a fortune when I was in undergrad, taking surveys and participating in experiments.

Let's say I babysit. I can command an hourly rate of $15 / hour. I know that for a fact. $15 x 8 hours a day x 5 days a week x 52 weeks in a year = $31,200 Woooohooo! We're in the money now! That nets $1,560 / month, I pay $500 for a roommate situation, and I've got more than a thousand dollars left for Top Ramen and my favorite beer. Life doesn't get any better than that. That doesn't even account for extra waitressing gigs I'll pickup on the weekends.

How about a stroll through Craigslist lane? Check it out. Zazie restaurant is hiring a host. Habla ingles, si? The position includes full benefits (health and dental insurance, 401k with 4% company match, and a nightly meal). Hello? Is that generous or what? And the wage…shit...$28 x 8 hours a day x 5 days a week x 52 weeks in a year = $58,240 Damn, people, Zazie operators are standing by.

I'm tired of the excuses. I don't know how long this recession is going to last. I don't know when the economy is going to pickup. But I do know it's time to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Have some self respect. Go out there and make a living. It's really not that hard.

RIP Annie Le

"She did not press charges."

Raymond Clark, Annie Le's murderer, allegedly forced his high school girlfriend to have sex with him. She declined to press charges.

I'm seeing some bad press about the girlfriend, faulting her for not officially pressing charges which could have prevented the murder. Coulda, shoulda, woulda. It is not anyone but Raymond Clark's fault for what has transpired. No one but his. And no one should be blaming anyone but him.

It's very easy to blame. I think many of us are affected by Annie's murder.

---

I must have been a senior in high school because I was driving then. I went to Carls Jr. for a cheeseburger and had finished almost half of it back at home. I enjoyed being home alone. Just me and my yummy cheeseburger. When the doorbell rang, I looked through the peephole and quickly opened the door when I realized it was a family friend. I gave him a hug and asked where his wife was. He said she was in the car. He asked where my parents were and I said they weren't around.

"No one's here?" I shook my head no.

He closed the front door, then wrapped his arms around me and kissed me long and hard on the lips. I pulled away, stunned.

"We should go out some time." He wrote down his number and handed it to me. "You're a really pretty girl," he said, then left.

I ran into the bathroom and threw up after that. With the exception of my sister, I never ever told anyone that story. It would have severed the friendship between my parents and their friends. Were my parents even going to believe me? What good would it have done? Why say anything at all? Lots of things were going through my head. I just resolved to stay away from him.

It's pretty sad how guys can get away with this stuff, but faulting others for their bad behavior or future actions accomplishes nothing.

Wedding Inspiration

Pictures that inspire our wedding.

It all started with a ring that looks sorta like this.

Credit: Tacori

Then we fell in love with this.

Credit: Ace Hotel

Wear your sunscreen

Credit: Jonathan Canlas Photography

On the menu: biscuits and cornbread

Credit: MaryBakes

Another great picture from our photographer

Credit: 39 East Photography

Party favors for our guests? Photobooth pics.

Credit: The Dog Photo Booth by Sharon Montrose

Saving $$$ so you all can enjoy the open bar.

Credit: Talk to FRANK

Posting Photos

With my ugly face haunting your screens, I felt like posting pretty pictures instead of writing.

Here's inspiration for our wedding.

The Things We Do for Beauty

My face is simmering. It looks like I have deep purple zits all over my face. They're encircled in reddish-pink. I'm uncomfortable and counting the minutes I can go to the gym, hop on the treadmill, and take my mind off of this itchy-hot facial sensation.

I've had hyper-pigmentation for as long as I can remember. It's genetic. I remember sitting on the couch watching TV as a kid and looking at my mom's face and neck covered with skin tags. "Ewww, can't you cut those things off?"

Luckily, I don't have skin tags. If I had gotten a single one, I would have taken care of it as soon as it appeared. But I have what I considered mild hyper-pigmentation--small dots of dark discoloration on my face. Not a big deal. Even when I told people I wanted to do something about my face, most everyone said my skin looked fine. I didn't even think it was much of a problem until I went to Kaiser this morning. I thought I was going in for a simple consultation with a bag of clinical goodies to take home and use before bed. The two nurses both agreed that heat was the solution. Cauterizing the spots breaks them up, they scab, and eventually the brown spots fall off with the scab.

So my poor face was cauterized to death. I consider myself to have a high pain tolerance, but the burning sensation was so agonizing that my eyes watered and my whole body was sweating. During the procedure, the nurse asked me to turn towards her. I physically could not do it. "Oh you poor thing. I can see you're in pain. Well, we've got one side of the face done. You're half-way done, except...the other side of your face is worse."

I didn't even think my face looked that bad! But when we were through and she handed me the mirror, I felt like I'd returned to my teen days of acne. I'm counting at least 50 purple zits. Ouchie!

Ponderings

Kanye West needs to be leashed.

There's a Cal young alumni event for the Classes of 1999-2009.  OMIGOD, I'm no longer young.

I'm on the hunt for new face products (cleansers, moisturizers, exfoliants, etc.).  I'm not loyal to any brand so I bounce around from one to another.  Let me know if you have any favorites.  Extra points for products that alleviate hyper-pigmentation.

Costco carries this pulled pork tray.  I tossed the packaging so I can't tell you the exact name.  Whatever it is has totally changed my life.  I might completely ditch my Lean Cuisines.

I get all my shoes from Zappos.com.

My wedding photographer is getting more and more press.  I feel like I hit the jackpot.  Buy low, sell high.  He is unbelievable.

Facebook needs to have a feature where you can accept people as friends, but filter out all their stupid shit--like those lame surveys.

My heart goes out to Annie Le's fiance, family, and friends.  I can't believe it's taking this long to find the murderer. There are a finite number of people who came in and out of the lab, right?  Get to it!  Campus students are scared to death.

Dean and I will be road-tripping all throughout Southern California the week of Thanksgiving so give a shout if you're around.

Sobriety Check

It's detox day 7 and my first conclusion is that I'm so much more productive sober than when I'm drinking. Not necessarily a key revelation, but true nonetheless.

I run faster, I eat more, and I'm losing weight. Early to rise, but earlier to bed. My sleep is uninterrupted, whereas before I tossed and turned throughout the night. I really think alcohol fucks with your ability to have a good night's sleep.

The hardest thing for me is watching people drink. During a housewarming this weekend, I watched as everyone helped themselves to wine. I winced while gulping down water. Later on that night while kissing Dean, I sucked any remnants of wine I could find in his mouth. "Baby, are you only kissing me like that because of the wine?"

"Of course not!"

The other big perk is the savings. I'm saving so much money not drinking, I can go on a shopping spree every weekend. Alternatively, I can save for the wedding open bar. I'll consider it. The wedding is really shaping up and we're getting so excited.

Mismatch: Dating Shrek

Many years ago, at a low point in life, I dated an ugly guy.  I was depressed.  He was persistent. And after re-reading my favorite classics like Wuthering Heights, I figured it was time to pick myself off the ground.  I winced every time he came toward me, but couldn't stomach sitting on the couch only to again read depressing passages of Catherine and Heathcliff's forsaken love.  I thought going out would help my mood.  He was a good guy, albeit banal, broke, and bad on the eyes.

My cousin gawked that Thanksgiving, "So....who are you dating now?"

"Some loser."  I motioned for another piece of lumpia on the dining room table to avoid further conversation.

She continued, "Well, what does he look like?  What actor does he look like?"

Without a second hesitation, I replied, "He looks like Shrek.  He fucking looks like Shrek."

Depressed, I needed someone to take my mind off of me and everything I hated about myself. Shrek kept me company and very slightly made me feel better when he kept calling, trying to make me laugh and asking me on dates.

I thought of Shrek when I saw a profile picture of an ex-flame on Facebook with an ugly, acne-scarred Asian girl.  What's this?  I mused.  Did my engaged status force him to search for my doppelganger only to find a flawed replacement?  Is he still depressed from our breakup?  He's hot and she's so not.

We used to play this game--me and my friends--called "Who lucked out?"  Think of couples you know.  Who in the relationship lucked out? Let's take me and Dean.  Who lucked out?  Well Dean, of course!  I'm six years younger.  I bring a lot of my own hard-earned money into the marriage.  I own a home in the city of San Francisco.  I have an interesting background.  I have fun-loving family and friends.  And I'm forever hot.  In Dean's words, "I took one look at your mom and breathed a sigh of relief."

Let's take another couple: Brangelina.  Who lucked out?  Angelina! Brad Pitt is hot with a good family, stable, caring.  Angelina came with a lot of baggage...enough to charter a commercial flight.  That doesn't even cover her emotional baggage growing up the child of celebrities.  I mean, she's estranged from her father.  Danger, Brad Pitt.  RED FLAG!!!

Remember Sex and the City when Charlotte makes note of how she's a much better catch than bald, unrefined Harry?  Then we realize it's not all about looks and appearances which is what she had with sexually-deficient Trey.

Dating Shrek was an extreme mismatch and never should have happened to begin with.  That's not to say that physical mismatches don't work (queue ex-flame and Sandra Oh lookalike).  Just know that whether your friends say so or not, they're asking, 'Who lucked out?'

September 11, 2001

My roommate knocked quickly on the bedroom door. Why was she up so early in the morning? I was asleep in bed with my boyfriend.

She didn't wait for a response and rushed in. "Omigod, it's armageddon. It's armageddon!"

I was too embarrassed that we were naked to really hear what she was saying. I held the sheets underneath my armpits and picked my head up. "What? What do you mean?" I asked through cobweb eyes.

"You have to watch the TV."

I got dressed and rushed downstairs. I sat on the carpet floor and watched in shock. The planes, the Twin Towers, the smoke.

I experienced an intense desire to get to work. "I have to go to work. Maybe they'll know something more over there. We're just watching the same footage on TV. I'm going to work." By then, my boyfriend Douglas had joined me downstairs. We were co-workers and he agreed to meet me at the office after he got ready at home.

There was a bit of a MUNI backup, but not too much more than usual. I got into the office and saw our controller Greg, a New Yorker, sitting on top of his desk stunned. He got teary-eyed as I gave him a big hug. "I feel helpless," he said.

We refreshed the headlines online for additional information. We wandered around the office not knowing what to do, what to say, how to help, consoling one another. Not much could be done so we went home. The same sentiment in the office surrounded the external environment. Where's the safest place to go? They'll go after the Transamerica Building. What do we do? Downtown San Francisco was chaotic, but still. I got on a bus and was in it for several hours, stuck. Some got off and walked. I lived in the Richmond--too far to walk--so I sat on the bus and stared outside. Motionless.

Celebration of Life in Death

A co-worker died unexpectedly a month ago from a choking accident that caused irreversible brain damage. Daren was my age, athletic, and full of life. I was so pained to hear of his passing. We had worked closely on a conversion project together and in the little time that I knew him, he struck me as such a warm, genuine, fun-loving person.

I wanted to share the details of the event his two close brothers have organized to celebrate his life.

Dear Friends & Family,

As Daren’s Celebration of Life approaches, we wanted to reach out to everyone and supply additional details related to the events on Saturday, Sept 19th. Daren's passing serves to remind us of how precious life is - our family, friends, and the times we have together are truly what matters most. With that said, let’s allow ourselves to have some fun on the 19th! There’s no doubt that Daren would want it that way.

The details of the day’s events are as follows:

Celebration of Life:
Location & Time: Aids Memorial Grove in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park (3:00PM – 6:00PM)
This portion of the day will include some speeches about Daren, an "open mic" segment for anyone who would like to share a story or special memory, as well as some musical performances. Beverages will be served. http://www.aidsmemorial.org/

Reception:
Location & Time: The Thirsty Bear Brewing Company (8:00PM – Midnight)
The Thirsty Bear is located 661 Howard Street near the corner of 3rd Street in San Francisco – a short distance from the hotels in Union Square and Fisherman’s Wharf. Light appetizers will be served and the kitchen will be open for dinner. http://www.thirstybear.com

Late Night Option:
Location & Time: XXXXXX (Midnight – 4AM)
Daren loved to dance and have a good time. In his honor, we will dance the night away at a good friend’s loft - a short walk from the Thirsty Bear. There will be DJs, an open bar, a pool table, and plenty of lounge space.

If you have any questions, please contact us. We look forward to seeing you all on the 19th!

Marc and Brian

If I died unexpectedly, I hope there are no tears, no churches, no cemeteries. They can be so depressing. We'll rent out CELLspace. Eat, drink, dance, and be merry. Please lots of lumpia and spinach dip from my family. Patsy, can you bring a vat of your tasty pulled pork? My wifie will make her signature Scrabble cupcakes. Let's also special order ice-cream cake and a very large pinata filled with the good stuff (Twix, Reese's, Ghiradelli, Godiva, and quarters for laundry). Don el wire and colorful costumes. Drink extra spicy bloody mary's. Take lots of pictures in the rented photo booth. My ashes must go to Bettie June for the temple burn. Because really, is there any better way to go?

O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Back to Basics

I started drinking when I was 13-years-old. In a nuclear family composed mainly of women, I think my dad enjoyed having a drinking buddy. I was sorta the boy he never had. At least he was upfront about drinking. He'd hand me a beer while my mom silently washed her hands of the matter. I could either drink unfiltered in front of them, or they could pretend that they'd raised a benign straight A parochial student who never drank wine coolers or played spin the bottle in the basement with friends.

By the time I landed in bear territory, I thought I was indestructible. I could out-run, out-drink, yet under-weigh everyone I knew in college. I bounced from the dorms to the co-ops to the fraternities, boozing up like Betty Ford on New Year's Eve. I ended the night at Phi Tau's Goldschlager party and began the morning schlumped against a toilet on the bathroom floor of my sorority. I oozed in and out of consciousness. I remember slurring all night, "Ooooh, pretty gold flakes. Is that real gold?" By the time I wizened up, it was too late.

I felt so spinningly nauseous, I considered a 911 preventative death dial. Maybe they could pump my tummy like they do with people who overdose on sleeping pills? Wait. If I survive, they'll send me to rehab for drinking underage and everyone will graduate and I'll be the old loser who couldn't handle her alcohol and couldn't figure out how to nurse her hangover. Mommy! Should I call my mom? She'll be mad, but at least she'll make sure I don't die!

Oh please God please. I promise if I come out of this thing alive, I will never ever drink again.

You know how that goes. I survived, obviously.

Drinking has been a part of my life for over two decades. Twenty years of vodka shots, keg stands, binge drinking, vomit, blackouts, alcoholics anonymous, wine tasting. Every so often, I try to take a break. I like to detox before Burning Man and after. Unfortunately, I didn't stick with my pre-Burn promise. A lot of Burners do some kind of cleanse. A friend of mine said that not until after five weeks did he realize true clarity. His comment really stood out to me. As much as I like a glass of wine or two or three after work, I want to know what it's like to be productive after hours. I want to be a better writer since my writing is still at the same shitty level it was a few months ago.

September 7th marked the first day of my detox. I'm very much looking forward to a month of sobriety, productivity, and truth.

Do You Know the Way to Santa Fe?

The worst thing about Joy's wedding was that it was so good, I fear the comparison when our college friends attend mine. Muchas gracias to Hennifer for deciding to get married the month before my summer wedding!

The matching necklaces for the bridal party…I swear I was going to do that. The tables named for geographic locations…ask Dean about the maps I have on special order. No matter how much I huff about having certain ideas in my head, Joy's execution was spot on. Besides, I don't have enough creative juices in my pinky to pull off what she delivered. Joy made gift bags for the out-of-town guests. I'd count the Loretto Chapel as the best wedding ceremony location I've ever witnessed. The programs, escort cards, and typewritten letters for each guest? The best artistic designer or professional wedding coordinator couldn't have done a better job. Joy's dress? It sparkled more than my engagement ring.

Pictures coming as soon as I clear out my emails, clean the RV tonight, catch up on voicemails, watch missed episodes of Entourage...

A Place I've Never Been

The 40 minute pedal jumper flight carrying a pilot and three passengers from Burning Man to Reno Airport made me ill. With the exception of a handful of bumps, it was very smooth--even the landing, but I must've looked green the whole way as I leaned my head against my right fist. I kept looking at the ETA on the Garmin dash as a front seat passenger. Second by second. If the flight was any longer I would have vomited.

"There's a bathroom inside the lounge as soon as we land."

I smiled. I feared opening my mouth would induce yakking.

"Everyone has to go to the bathroom after they land."

He was right. I headed straight to the JetWest lounge, settled into the toilet, and dumped out a pretzel-like pile of pooh. I ate crap in the desert: salty pita chips, oreo cookies, spicy bloodies, pecan sandies, mango margaritas, homemade cinnamon graham crackers from Canada, pepperoni, otter pops, salted almonds, spinach dip, pringles, chocolate chip cookies, pasta salad, many iced chais. I worked a lot, I drank a lot, I did a lot. And with all the crapping--a metabolism that kicked into ultra-high gear--I have a feeling I'm 75 pounds.

But the worst of it was the nauseating pedal jumper flight. I never recovered.

I continued on to Phoenix then Albuquerque, buying a total of six magazines along the way. Hyatt Place was booked so I found myself next door at a quaint Staybridge. The breakfast buffet was a treat with everything you would want for breakfast: eggs, omelettes, hot chocolate, oatmeal, yogurt, fruit, make-your-own waffles, lots of accoutrements for everything.

But I still feel ill and I have to make my way to Santa Fe.