The Bay Fucking Bridge and CalFuckingTrans

The Bay Bridge is a fucking disaster. You know what really gets me? The fact that Caltrans worked all hours of the night over Labor Day weekend to get the bridge up and running. Consultants, engineers were brought in from God knows where. Gave it the sign of approval and all was good. Well, you know what fuckers? All is not good. How many months later and the thing is still falling apart. Thank God no one died! All those cars that took a beating (however small)--I hope they get a huge payout. That Ryder truck driver. I hope he never has to work another day for the rest of his life. The poor guy got glass in his eyes! Again, THANK GOD NO ONE DIED! My mom personally knows the driver of one of the other cars that got struck. She's a consultant working for my mom's company and my mom said the woman is traumatized. I would be too if pieces of metal beam came raining onto my car. The Bay Bridge is closed indefinitely. GOOD! Am I only the one who cares about safety? It should be closed until the damn thing is completely rebuilt so another incident like this doesn't happen again. Get it right, people. Get it fucking right.

Queue Fun Factor

I saw pictures of my friend Amy's wedding and made a note in my wedding Excel spreadsheet to contact her. Everyone looked like they were having the time of their lives. I'm talking air guitar, huge smiles. It was happy insanity!

I emailed Amy today and asked her what the secret was. Any advice for me? Here's what she had to say.

"we had a blast at our wedding and i think the contributing factors were: 1) we made sure it was fun, starting with an intimate ceremony where our families sang in a choire, Mark wearing Nikes sneakers w his groomsmen, to the songs we played, then reinforced at the reception with fun fans made with our faces, crazy dance in the beginning by us and the bridal party to set the tone of the wedding, open bar, photo booth which people LOVED, props for the photo booth which made their way onto the actual dance floor even, to the fact that many of our friends knew each other. and last but not least, our attitude that we wanted to make it fun and that we didn't want a stiff wedding. i am sure yours will be fun because YOU ARE FUN.

"have fun with the wedding planning and don't feel like there is a way you have to do certain things!! your family and friends will be so happy to be there for you and the more personalized you can make it (beyond just engravings of your names) the more fun everyone will have!!"

I wish I could post pictures of Amy's wedding. I'm telling you, I wasn't even there and I got giddy looking at the pictures. She did a splendid job and needs to consider moonlighting as a wedding planner.

Overachiever

On top of everything else going on in my life, I've finally decided to move forward with my own web site. It's been in the back of my mind for a while now. With the year coming to a close, then tax filing, I figured this would give credence to the fact that I have my own business. Anyone want to pay for my writing? I told my graphic designer that I was hoping to have it up and running within a month, so stay tuned.

While we're at it, take a look at my Google Profile.

Rule #1: Reciprocity

A few months ago, I heard through the grapevine that someone who had assisted in getting me my current job had been unexpectedly laid off. When I discovered he was in a tough situation, I went balls-out to help him. I reached out to him. I sent him links to job resources I used. I put him in touch with people I knew. I put in a good word for him. Whenever I heard of a job opening, I immediately forwarded it to him. For several weeks, I was focused on making sure this guy found a job. He did find a job…very quickly after he was laid off.

I'm reading a book called Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion by Robert Cialdini. This book is a national bestselling classic that I heard about when doing some business reading. It's fascinating. I learned that one of the fundamental tenets of persuasion is reciprocity. When you receive a gift, you feel compelled to return the favor. The situation above is a personal example of how I felt compelled to aid someone who I believe assisted in getting me the job I have today. The book gives other examples like free food samples at grocery stores, the return labels you receive in the mail from non-profit organizations, the flower-giving Hare Krishnas. Why do people try to stay clear of "gift givers?" Because if we receive the gift---even if it's unwanted, we feel compelled to donate money or return the favor.

In the past three days alone, four people have emailed me or sent me messages through Linked In or Facebook, asking me to help them get a job at my company. Two of these people, I DID NOT EVEN KNOW. Out of the blue, they contacted me, knowing where I work. I honestly could care less about these people. What have they done for me lately or ever?

So here's my job tip for the day. It doesn't even have to be for a job. But if you're in a situation where you need someone's help, you need a favor, reel through your neural memory bank and ask yourself who you have helped in the past. Turn to those people, not random people like me who you happen to search on Linked In. If the tenet stands, they'll feel compelled to reciprocate. Karma, baby. Karma!

Short Post Today, Sorry, This One is Sick

I'm sick, but trying to keep the full-blown influenza at bay. Dean likes to serenade me with pictures in his emails to me. So thought you would get a kick out of our meerkat love. Enjoy the pictures. I'm going to bed!

Less is More

If you're too dumb to figure it out, you're too dumb to come to my wedding.  

My biggest complaint about planning a wedding (besides the exorbitant amounts of money people blindly spend) are the whiners. Last time I talked about the outdoor ceremony, a friend of mine soured, "My wife is allergic to the sun."  Ummm, and that's my fucking problem?  So now I need to have an indoor ceremony because your finicky wife is allergic to the sun?  Isn't she from LA?

Here's another one.  "The wedding's that late?  What about the kids?" If the few kids in our wedding party are asleep, it ain't my problem. Queue music!

Another complaint is what to do with kids when they're not invited to the wedding.  I don't know, people.  What do you do with your kids when they're not supposed to be in an R-rated movie or they don't belong in the porn shop you want to go to.  You figure it out.  You get a babysitter.  I have no idea.  I'm not a mom.  But if I were, I sure as hell wouldn't go asking my stressed out friend who's got a busy career, a multitude of extracurricular responsibilities who's trying to plan a memorable weekend for 100+ guests what to do with MY kids. They're not MY kids.  They're yours.  And they're YOUR problem.  You figure it out.  Geez!

"Palm Springs in June!  Do you know how hot that will be?"  If you're concerned, please don't come.  Please don't bother me with your whiny voice.  You're bad karma.

I'm the one who's wearing a poofy dress.  Dean's wearing a suit. We are spending a lot of money to ensure that you're having a good time. If you're going to complain, don't come.  Skip ours and go to one that's in a good season with perfect weather that's perfectly aligned with your life schedule where there are two babysitters for each child.  Man up or shut up.

Wedding Update

Even though wedding planning was on a standstill the past couple weeks, things seem to have progressed rather nicely. Our budget chic venue continues to garner more press as does our bad ass photographer. Our DJ was named the best by LA Weekly. The studio we've hired for our wedding dance was founded by Dancing with the Stars choreographers--as in those very same Eastern European dancers you see dancing alongside the celebrities. Our first class is on Tuesday with 25-year-old, Ukrainian beauty Irina. I told Dean that most women would be jealous, but I'm confident she would never go for him. Especially when she sees how he dances. I'm not even sure you can call his moves 'dancing.' He needs help...a lot of it. I'm hoping one of these days I will magically try on a dress and deem that it's the one, but mainly I've just had cold feet. So far, the icing on the cake (By the way, we're not getting a cake so don't get excited about some 3-tier sugary delight.) is the wedding web site that Dean put together all by himself. When he showed it to me, I couldn't believe how professional it looked. He done good. We're continuing to refine it, but hoping it will be ready for launch very soon.

Divided

There isn't anything San Francisco loves more than to hate on Los Angeles.  We hate LA for its year-round sunny weather and happy fucking shiny people.  And isn't it true?  Every time I go down there, all the beautifully-tanned are so relaxed and chill.  Up here, despite the yoga, Zen lifestyle, we're all suffering from a case of the winter blues.  Even our therapists can't cure the depression.  No wonder all the superstars descend on SoCal.  While they have Jennifer Aniston, the Beckhams, Lindsay Lohan and every other celebrity under the sun, we've got, "OMIGOD, look!  It's Po Bronson (or Michael Tilson Thomas or Dede Wilsey or insert famous name recognized only in the city of San Francisco proper)."  San Franciscans pride themselves on having some of the best cuisine in the country: fresh, organic, locally-sourced.  You can't find our shit anywhere else.  I beg to differ, however, because the best sushi I've ever had in my life was down south.  I also think the diversity of food in LA is far greater than what we offer in San Francisco.  SoCal's Disneyland is the undeniable winner in the kids-love-it category, beating by a landslide our Great America and Marine World.  Although, no one beats our famed tourist-attracting wine country or Tahoe.  Call me biased, but I don't think academic wunderkinds are vying for school time in LA when you can study at distinguished universities like Berkeley or Stanford.  UC Rejects, University of Spoiled Children are great cases in point. UCLA...you'll always be second-class.  Sports, well Trojans, you're the best team money can buy.  Sorry, LA, we can't stand your gas-guzzling SUVs, your primped up scenesters waiting to get into clubs, but we'll gladly buy a sub $100 Southwest fare for some fun in the sun.

The Aftermath

The worst thing about getting into a fight is the festering.  Dean and I have these grievances about one another, our living situation, our schedule that come out as extra ammunition when an argument ensues.  Our voices get louder.  Soon enough, we're screaming at each other, then all the pent up irritation escapes into one big bang! We got into a huge fight Wednesday night.

On Friday, a dozen red roses were sent to my office.  Dean picked me up from work and we sat down at home and really talked.  We talked about what was working, what wasn't working, and how to resolve our issues.  We went through each one.  

I'm not bothered that we're a middle-aged soon-to-be married couple living in a studio apartment, but I am really aggravated when I work a 15+ hour day and his friends who live in the building are at our place eating, drinking, pumping the MTV videos so loudly I'm surprised no one's complained, and they refuse to leave.  That's the night our fight erupted.  We jointly decided it's finally time to move out, ideally into a new neighborhood close to a park so we can get the puppy I've always wanted.

After talking our issues over, we had an incredible date night to make up for the past couple days of misery.  We went to the newly-opened Plant Cafe on the Embarcadero, blissfully starting off with champagne and oysters.  The food was incredible: fresh, organic, tasty.  We ended the night at the Embarcadero cinema to watch The Damned United movie about a soccer manager seeking revenge on his nemesis.  I picked a jackpot of a movie.  It was a well-paced, heartfelt movie that Dean can't stop talking about.

At my age, romances tend to be on the fast-track.  You're older, you both know what you want, you both love each other, and it just clicks. But because of the shortened timeframe, you're still getting to know each other, questioning the future.  Of course, I will always wonder, is this the person I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with?  I assume even married couples wonder that every once in a while.  My answer is...All I know is that I wouldn't want to spend my life with anyone else.

Kramer vs. Kramer

One of my favorite movies is Kramer vs. Kramer. The acting, the music. The clueless husband and the neglected wife. The only thing I want to do right now is watch that movie. Watch it closely to escape my world. I was a shell of a person today, staring aloof at my computer screen. Emails and voicemails from the dance instructor, the photographer, the bridal shop went unanswered. How do I tell them my relationship is on the rocks? No breakfast. At quarter to two, I forced myself into the company cafe before it closed. A couple slices of turkey, a slice of pepper jack cheese, and a dill pickle. $2.08. I wasn't even hungry. Of course the money in the wedding account could be split evenly. But more importantly, where will I live? How will I get through tonight when I don't even want to go home. As much as I love Dustin Hoffman and Meryl Streep, I loved that little boy in the movie. Defying his dad when digging into the ice-cream, falling from the play structure, getting stitches in the E.R., the picture of his mom in his dresser drawer, learning to ride his bike, and growing into a routine with his dad, making breakfast, drying the dishes. A child is the furthest thing from my mind. We're not even married, on our way to divorce.

Sucks to Be Me

I am so fucking tired and I'm so fucking fat. All those long work days. All those hours on the treadmill. Yet our stock tanked. And I gained five fucking pounds from Starbucks runs, Specialty's cookies, chips, burgers, onion rings, pizza, dim sum. I'm bloated, annoyed, and feeling like I'm going to bust out of my pants during our work dinner tonight. I swear, I'm spending the weekend in the gym.

Hot or Not

My fiance thinks Kim Kardashian is hot. Excuse me? Did you say KK? Daughter of OJ Simpson's defense attorney. Stepdaughter of Bruce Jenner. I was shocked. I mean, I think of her as a high-class prostitute. Remember that porn video that made its way into public hands? Maybe it's her big fat ass in tight clothing that annoys me. Don't guys think of her as tarnished? Kinda like dating Hester Prynne or Jenna Jamison. It's disgusting! No matter how much I bad-mouthed her, his lust didn’t waver. "Whatever, she's hot."

My ex used to wax on about Natalie Portman. I totally get that. Pretty and smart. Doesn't get better than that. Megan Fox. Oooweee. I'll get in on that action. But choosing Kim Kardashian as your celebrity of choice is insulting. That's like me picking John Mayer who I think is the ugliest, most revolting loser. He's the worst kind of celebrity: talent-less, but conceited and a player. Ugh.

This is a prime example of how some guys zero in on butt versus brain.

The Chosen Ones

You know how there are those one or two people in the world who you totally despise. Like the long-time Burner who's a total bitch and everyone talks about her behind her back, but she thinks she's the coolest fur-wearing hedonist on the world wide web. Or an Ivy-educated former co-worker of mine who treated me like an adolescent ninny. Exasperated, I muttered "I don't know why she's so mean to me."

Another co-worker responded, "It's fattitude. She's fat. You're skinny and pretty. I wouldn't sweat it. It's F-A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E."

You kinda wish these meansters die, but they don't and your skin crawls when you see their tagged photos on Facebook.

Then there are those people who you don't necessarily despise, but thoughts of them disturb your inner chi. I'll call them the 'Unchosen.' Like the busy health care consultant I dated who jetted between SFO, SLC, MIA, LHR and back to the Marina only for a weekend before going home to visit mom in Brooklyn for her birthday. Or the early-stage entrepreneur who was so leveraged that you had to go dutch on the dinner bill. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what that word 'dutch' means. Please explain." When you've dated as much as I have, it's impossible to get the word out to all the Unchosen that my phone number needs to be removed from men's bathrooms across the continental U.S.

Hello? Didn't you see my Facebook relationship status change to 'Engaged?'

Isn't that good enough notice? Hmmm...

"Had a lot of things change over this crazy year / summer - let me know if you would ever be available for a drink some time…"

"Catherine, how have you been? Miss you. Give me a call, let's see what trouble we can get ourselves into."

Besides the bitches and the Unchosen, you're mostly thinking about the people you care about and love. You couldn't think of a better way to spend a weekend than chuckling with them. And how you wish there was more time in the day and the weekends, so you can bike around Angel Island or eat brunch at Foreign Cinema or watch Entourage or grab a number at Mitchell's. There are the people you're lucky enough to spend time with, but so many more that you wish you could even though they live in Shallow Alto or on vacation or busy at work or engrossed in a boyfriend. So many chosen ones, so little time.

Gay Talk

Dean and I got into a fight Saturday night while we were on the phone. He was out drinking with friends. I was home alone after a night of Litcrawl. I felt so depressed, suffocating in a studio apartment by myself that I drove across the city into the arms of my gay best friend.

I rushed into Marc's place, set the bottle of Yellow Tail Cabernet on his countertop, and tossed myself onto his couch.

"Oh honey! You've been crying. Tell me what's wrong." Marc looked genuinely upset for me.

"I don't know, Marc. I mean, Dean and I fight all the time."

Marc glared at me, smiled, and patted me on the arm. "Honey, you're acerbic." He enunciated each syllable slowly.

It wasn't the answer I was expecting.

He continued. "You say mean things. You're stubborn. You know how to argue. I know you. I can imagine it's hard on Dean to get into an argument with you. That's not to say he didn't do something dumb to warrant you getting upset, but you're acerbic."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm really tough on him, but listen. Here's why we got into a fight. He said he was going to meet up with me at Litcrawl, then dead silence. He never met up with me. So I'm texting him the whole time my whereabouts. Nada. I finally call and scream at him and he starts yelling at me for screaming at him."

"Well, honey, if that's what happened, he is dumb and you need to break it off."

I laughed. "We get into these shouting matches. We're arguing back and forth, and he thinks he's being cuckolded."

"Ummm, does Dean even know what 'cuckolded' means?" I laughed again.

"I told him we really need to figure out how to communicate together. We just don't communicate very well. When we argue, we REALLY argue. I told him we need to get therapy, but he thinks of therapy as hippy, patchouli bullshit."

"Honey, I think of therapy as hippy, patchouli bullshit, too. He's from the east coast right? Look, we're from California. We're used to therapy here. It's a right of passage. You can't go throwing that therapy stuff on someone who's not used to it. It's weird!"

Mid-conversation, Marc's iPhone rang. Marc said something in Chinese, mocking his friend. "Hey, guess who's here. She's about to call off the wedding to Dean. Come over, I have munchies."

When Keith strolled in with more wine, Marc yelled, "I find it very offensive that you two both called on a Saturday night expecting me to be home alone doing nothing at all."

I repeated my story for Keith who perked up, "Does this mean you're going to join us as another singleton? We have so much fun together."

"No, I am not going back to being single. I'm going home to patch things up with my fiance, thank you very much."

As I got ready to leave, Marc said, "You know where to find us if he threw your clothes out!"

I Write, Therefore I Am

My mom taught me arithmetic and multiplication, but my dad took me to the library almost every afternoon after his night shift as a postal clerk.  He would sit in a big dark wooden table surrounded by newspapers and magazines.  I was on the other side of the building--in the children's area--sitting in a teeny tiny bright yellow chair, devouring picture books.  Years later, it didn't matter that I studied hours into the night if I was in a library surrounded by others who were head-down, scribbling, memorizing.  

Ever since I was a little kid, my life's passion has been reading and writing.  I turned bright red one morning over breakfast when my mom told me she found a story I'd been working on.  It was a love story about a girl named Elizabeth who nicknamed herself Zoey.  She said she really liked it.  I was relieved.  My mom was really strict and I thought she'd frown at the story's romance.  I love everything about the written word on the page whether I wrote it or someone else did.

When I'm asked what my biggest regret is, I always tell people it's that I never lived in New York.  But that's wrong.  My biggest regret is that I didn't believe in myself enough to do exactly what I wanted to do: write.  

I took great pride in the fact that I wasn't 'just' an English major.  It made me feel like I was smarter than the other liberal arts majors.  I mean, really, what do you do with an English degree?  Now, I feel like the dumb one.  While I was muddying up my education with the sciences, those other liberal arts majors were focused, honing their craft.  Who's the dumb one now, eh?

Now as I attend Litquake events, listening to Jane Smiley, Terry McMillan, Phil Bronstein, I wish I could go back in time.  Writing was what I really wanted to do, but I didn't listen to my heart.  I wanted to make a living.  I wanted to make a lot of money.  

One of the events I attended tonight was a competition with the winner awarded one-on-one time with a publishing agent.  Five people read their pieces ranging from fiction to poetry.  I thought a couple of them were good.  I thought the rest were mediocre.  In fact, I was surprised some of them had been selected to read.  "I can write better than that," I thought.

But more surprising was the person who won.  I didn't think he would.  He wrote a fairy-tale from the perspective of a child.  The judges unanimously agreed.  The publishing agent who was also one of the judges commented at the end that he had such a unique, different voice.  He read something that was completely different from all the rest.

My writing isn't unique.  My voice is not unique.  But the lessons I learned from Litquake are food for thought as I think of ways to branch out.

It's Not My Fault You're Incompetent

I refinanced my mortgage for the third time this summer. I got a great rate and a mortgage payment that's less than most of my friends' rent. Come to think of it, at my age, most of my friends own homes--and my mortgage is certainly much less than theirs.

One of my closing documents was automatic withdrawal from my checking account. My mortgage consultant said it would all be taken care of and not to worry. The first payment would be deducted on September 5th. The day came and went, but no deduction. A few days later I called to make sure something didn't go awry. One of the bankers went through my accounts and said he would make sure to set it up. It did not happen. October 5th came and went and I called my mortgage servicer. The customer service rep immediately identified the problem (The mortgage was under Maria Gacad versus Catherine Gacad which is how all my banking accounts are setup. My full name is Maria Catherine Gacad which has caused me a lifetime of logistical nightmares.). The rep said she would get this corrected straight away and not to worry.

Two months have passed. I have yet to pay for two months worth of mortgage payments and I'm considering not even alerting anyone anymore. It's not my fault. I can only do so much when it comes to telling people to please try and correct the problem. If they don't see fit to correct the problem, then I'll happily collect interest on all the money I'm saving. Sure, I understand that in a few months time that I may have to pay a large lump sum, but so what? That won't be a problem since I'm tucking that money away into a separate account. Besides, I'll argue the hell out of any late fees they plan on charging me.

The Burning Opera

I went to the Burning Opera last night at Teatro Zinzanni.  Sorry, Burners, but it sucked.  And I actually think I'm being pretty nice.  Don't get me wrong.  I wasn't expecting Cirque du Soleil, the actual Teatro Zinanni, or Beach Blanket Babylon, but truth be told...I've been more impressed with high school musicals.

Everyone looked like they needed about 100+ more hours of practice.  It was so bad, I left during intermission.  I'm embarrassed to say that I was actually encouraging friends to come along with me.  What a mistake.

I seriously considered tweeting about it today, but figured, if you don't have something nice to say, don't fucking say it at all.  But I think the Burners who produced the Burning Opera can learn from a little feedback.  PRACTICE, PRACTICE, FUCKING PRACTICE.  The opera sucked and my money would have been spent better any where else.  I would have rather had two good glasses of wine than gone to see that production.  In fact, I thought it was such a waste of time, that I left!

The singing and dancing was inconsistent.  Umm, did you just pick your buddies?  Or did you actually audition people?  Yikes, what a disaster.  Next time, when you're producing a full-scale opera, maybe you should lay off the drugs.  Otherwise, everyone in the audience will wish they were on some enhancer.

Busy

I'm sleep-deprived.  I'm work-whipped.  I'm blogging-delinquent.  Yeah, that's right folks.  It's a busy time at work for me.  Which is why this post will be short.

Although I don't disclose the company I work for (I've gotten in trouble in the past.), I have to say that I work with really great people.  We have not only some of the smartest people on our management team, but they have a lot of integrity.  You know how you deal with really smart people, but they have the worst tempers and lose their patience whenever they don't get their way?  That doesn't happen at my company.  It is totally frowned upon.  Our management is smart, even-tempered, and fair.

The Bibliophiles

3 years, 17 some-odd books, 6 friends, 3 engagements, 3 marriages, 17 some-odd meals, and a gazillion glasses of wine later, I'm proud to say that our book club is still going strong. Don't quote me on those rough stats.

Book club is just another good reason to hang out with your girlfriends, but what I like most about book club is that it actually forces me to read. 'Forces' is a strong verb with negative connotations, but when we lead such busy lives--baby Charlie, pets, moving, planning weddings all while having professional careers, it's hard to be consistent with your extracurricular activities like reading novels. Our dinners usually amount to more gossip (Do you really think Mackenzie Phillips had sex with her dad?) than literary analysis, but still, I'm burning the midnight oil trying to finish our books on time. So forcing is a good thing. Otherwise, I'd be staring at wedding blogs all night long.

We have a round-robin club whereby each person gets their chance to pick the next book. Our books are mainly general interest fiction with stand-out favorites like Middlesex and Shadow of the Wind. Last night, we discussed Emile Zola's L'Assommoir complemented by a flavorful home-cooked cassoulet. I admit I didn't finish the book in time, but I'm determined to since it's so good.

Next up is my choice. I'm introducing a new genre to the club with mystery writer Agatha Christie's famous 'And Then There Were None' also known as 'Ten Little Indians.'

Credit: Paul Costello, Travel + Leisure

I Discovered It!

Kudos to me for discovering our wedding venue which has been hailed by Travel + Leisure as the budget, chic place to be in Palm Springs. Yes, I rock. Thank you very much. I know, Dear Readers, you are all dying for an invitation...only if you are nice to me.

"Like Target and Mini Cooper, JetBlue and H&M, Ikea and Ralph Lauren’s Rugby line, Ace has verve, a kind of youthful can-do exuberance that is particularly appealing when so many enterprises are anxiously battening down the hatches. “In times of economic stress, people crave emotion and substance, a sense of honesty and authenticity,” says Alex Calderwood, one of Ace’s three founders. “The brands that have a perspective and a point of view, that are creating something of substance, will be okay,” he continues, noting, apropos of Palm Springs, that “this is the time to be more aggressive, more creative, and more innovative…to create reasons for people to be here at the hotel.”

"Not least among those reasons, obvious but true, is Ace’s decade-long commitment to offering a category of rooms for under $100.

"Though the idea of a high-design $100 hotel room is not new—in 1990, Ian Schrager opened the super-affordable Paramount on West 46th Street off Times Square—it is especially timely now. Indeed, the budget hotel is in the process of being reinvented (including by Schrager himself), and Ace epitomizes what might be called a New Bohemian attitude and style: hotels that are not stripped-down and minimalist but rather idiosyncratic, cool, and casual."

Dream Dress or Not

The problem with finding a wedding dress is that you have an idea of what you want, you set aside magazine clippings, but there is no single shop that carries all the styles that you want to try on. So I'm floundering from one hoity-toity boutique to another, making phone calls: "Hi, do you carry the Casablanca Couture line?"

On Saturday, I went to yet another bridal shop to try on dresses. This time it was Bridal Image on 6th Street here in the city. I specifically went there because they carry La Sposa--gorgeous couture dresses designed in Spain. When I got to the store, they had maybe five La Sposa dresses. I was livid.

I felt sorry for my attendant as I went bridezilla on her. "Look, I don't need you to show me a bunch of random dresses. I know what I want. I wanted to try on several La Sposa dresses but of course you don't carry any of them."

I pointed at the posters they had on their walls. "This one? How about this one? I mean, seriously, if you barely carry any of their dresses, then don't disguise yourself as a La Sposa retailer."

I was on the verge of walking out when the owner came to prevent potential business from walking away. "We don't carry the La Sposa dresses you want, but let me see if I can help."

"None of these floofy Quinceañera dresses work for me. Do you understand? I'm getting married in 100 degree weather. I'm four feet tall. I weigh 80 pounds. I want a sweetheart neckline, form-fitting, casual, elegant. Got it?"

She brought one over that met my criteria. Finally, someone was listening. I started to warm up. "Yes, I guess I can try that one on. That one, too. Ok, yes, that works."

Before I went into the dressing room, there was a whole rack of bridesmaid dresses. I eyed a silk chiffon dress in lime green. "Can I try this one on, too? It's pretty."

The dress-fitting experience didn't go too badly. The bridal gowns were fine, but I didn't love any of them. They were all $1,000.

I tried on the green bridesmaid dress for kicks and every woman in the dressing area said how nice I looked. It was exactly the style I wanted and it could be ordered in white or ivory.

"What do you think?" I asked my attendant for her opinion.

"Wow! That's the one."

"I know," I blushed.

"It's only $100."

I made my purchase, but walked out with serious buyer's remorse. What if it's too simple? It's not a wedding gown. It's a fucking bridesmaid dress.

So the search continues.

LQ X

This is the 10th anniversary of Litquake--San Francisco's annual festival celebrating authors, books, and all things literary.  Some of the Litquake events include poetry readings at Grace Cathedral, a literary North Beach walking tour, Kidquake, Teenquake, erotic readings at the Supper Club, Literary Death Match which pits writers against each other and brings publishers together to award the grand prize, and Litcrawl.

When Dean and I went to the kick-off Black, White, and Read Ball, the first person we bumped into was my former writing instructor and founder of the Grotto--a collective workspace for local writers.  He said I should feel free to send him for review any of my pieces which is a kind gesture for someone who's as busy as he is.

Maybe I believe it because I surround myself with this environment, but I truly believe that one of the things that makes the Bay Area special is that it's so literary.  People are book lovers. There are always book readings, writing classes, lectures, cocktail events...all centering around the written word.  The Free Speech Movement and the Beat Generation were spawned in the Bay Area.

There isn't a better place to be a writer than right here.

Uninvited Guests

I had a throw-down fight with a friend of Dean's tonight.  That fucker kept insisting he bring a guest to our wedding.  I yelled, "Why would I allow you a guest at our wedding when I'm not even allowing my single best friends to bring dates."

He dismissed me with his hand, "You think you make all the decisions and you don't.  Let me talk to Dean about it."

I screamed, "We have jointly decided no guests for single people so there's no need to 'talk to Dean about it.' "

"I'm spending a lot of money to go to your wedding and there's no way I'm going to Palm Springs without a date."

"Then don't come!"

Stay tuned on how this resolves itself.

Coulda Shoulda Woulda

I lived with a boyfriend for several months when I was unemployed.  Actually, we were unemployed together.  I gave up my spot in a flat with roommates, lied to my strict Catholic parents, packed a suitcase and moved in with him in his loft across from Costco on 11th and Harrison.  When he landed a consulting gig in Boston, I was the happiest person on earth.  I liked the solitude of living by myself most of the week which made our weekends together much more enjoyable.  I was on the dole with no rent payment and bound for an elite business school.  Life was very very good.

During our time together, we used to listen to the same music over and over: Air, Tenacious D, Dido, Transport, The Secret Art of Science.  Whenever I come across those artists again, I think, what if.  What if I hadn't gone to grad school?  What if we ended up getting married?  I was so attached to every single boyfriend, I always imagined a wedded life together.  Always. Where would we live?  What would our kids look like?  I hope he doesn't mind that I raise our kids Catholic.

I remember the conversations I had, our proclamations of forever after, I will always love you. Now here I am engaged to someone else saying those very same things.  What makes this time different?  Well, for once in my life, Dean is willing to stick it out.  I think all the other guys got tired of my bitchiness and wanted out--immediately.

But boyfriends weren't the only ones.  I seriously considered marrying my gay best friend.  We made a pact just like the movie "My Best Friend's Wedding."  Upon turning 40, if we were still single, we would sign that marriage license.  But even in our early 30s, we would sit on his couch quipping, "I'm not joking.  Let's do it."  Then we'd clink glasses and continue watching TV.  Why not?  We loved each other, were comfortable with one another, and imagined all the money we would save.

Most of all, we just loved spending time together.  Because isn't that the most important thing? I think society's gotten carried away with a marriage meaning certain things: weddings, the trophy wife, the hard-working financially stable husband, counseling, IVF, holiday cards with the dog, the cat, and the twins, the suburbs.  

I would have sacrificed those things for a lifetime with my best friend.

I'm Behind

Yes, I'm behind. A weekend away, several weekday nights out, and I'm struggling with my To Do List.

Dean and I have not done laundry. After today, I'm down to one thong underwear. The rest are granny panties for when I'm bleeding.

My car smells like playa. It's still dusty. When you turn on the AC, sprinkles of dust hit your nose. My tires have a propensity to go flat on me at whim. I'm way past the 6-month tire-checkup date.

I have voicemails and emails up the wazoo. Sorry for not yet getting back to you! I'll try very soon. Maybe this weekend.

Luckily the speed reading class I signed up through Groupon.com was cancelled for this weekend. What a relief. I've rescheduled it for December. Anyone want to come with?

Instead I will be trying on couture wedding dresses, hoping to find the 'one' so I can get it made cheaply in China.

Collaborating with a designer on my wedding programs. Thanks Stepher for the wedding gift: creative, useful, thoughtful, helps with my wedding budget!

Litquake is this weekend and next week. I need more hours in the day.

25% done with our book club book L'Assommoir by Emile Zola. I'm determined to finish by our Tuesday dinner date. Who chooses the next book?

On the Bandwagon

This post honors my college wifie who found her wedding dress for a fantastic price at Forget Me Knots Bridal on Union Street in San Francisco. She told me how much she paid and I was completely floored. Hooray for her! She is one smart cookie. She also knows how to cook a mean pot of borscht.

Why is she my wifie? We lived as woman and wife during college in Berkeley. I studied like mad and got mediocre grades. She watched TV all day and all night, and ended up Phi Beta Kappa that fucking bitch. During our spare time, we diagrammed on our whiteboard the organic structures of ingredients in our lotion, perfume, deodorant.

Even though she's smarter, we're pretty well-matched when it comes to Scrabble. I'm going to kick her ass next time! Hehe.

I can't say I'm pleased that she's getting married two weeks before me, going on her honeymoon, then making it in time for my wedding to sleep during the ceremony. Ahhhh well. I'll make sure our wedding coordinator keeps her away from the sleepy drinks.

Here's to cheaper wedding budgets so you can splurge on the honeymoon!

Give, It's for the Children

I don't remember the source of this story. All I remember is my mom reading it to me when I was a kid. Magazine subscriptions came and went, but my parents were devotees of Readers Digest. So it might have been from that periodical back in the day. I had researched Readers Digest for a writing class and I believe it is the most widely circulated magazine, translated into the most languages including large print and braille, and distributed globally.

This is the paraphrased story. In a poor town lived a minister with his wife and their brood of young children. They were poor themselves. Throughout the year, the minister and his wife saved as much as they could with the hopes of providing their kids with a full turkey meal on Thanksgiving. After months and months of saving, the minister's wife purchased a turkey the day before Thanksgiving. That night, one of the minister's parishioners came by and asked to borrow some money so that he could get some food for his family to eat on Thanksgiving day. He promised to pay the minister back promptly.

Instead, the minister summoned his wife and said, "We need to give up some of our turkey. That family is starving and they won't have a proper Thanksgiving if we don't help."

She refused. "No, we have been starving ourselves so that our children could eat well on Thanksgiving. Absolutely not."

The minister went into the kitchen and took out the turkey. "Annie, you will slice this turkey so that family can eat. Here. Do it now." The minister handed his wife a knife and urged her on. She grazed the turkey every so slightly, cutting off a thin slice.

"Annie! Half of the turkey. You will slice half of that turkey right now for that poor family."

"We are poor ourselves. We work so hard and my poor babies can't even have a full turkey on Thanksgiving day."

"Annie! Now!!" He roared. She cut the bird in half, then ran away sobbing into the bedroom.

On Thanksgiving morning, the minister woke up to a large thud at the door. He opened the door to discover a fully carved turkey and all the trimmings--more than enough for his family to eat well for the next week.

That story really resonated with my mom. So much so that she called me over to read it to me. My parents have always been giving. Even though we never had a lot of money, my parents consistently gave to the church, to the poor, to non-profits that matter to them. They volunteer their time.

Without their prodding, I vowed to give as soon as I landed my first full-time job because I learned from example.  And back then, I barely made enough money for living expenses and my student loan.  So I volunteered more back then.  I volunteer less now because I'm focused on my career, but I also donate more money.

The season finale of Entourage with Matt Damon urging Vince to write a generous check to his non-profit made me think of this post. It's also my grad school's five year reunion and our campaign goal is simply 15% participation.  Our participation goal is less than other classes and less than the 20% participation goal of the most recent graduating class during a recession.  It's rather embarrassing.  

It's interesting, but I truly believe that people who donate and give of their time have better success in life. I hear a lot of rumbling from people who don't give because they don't make enough money, they don't believe in a certain cause, whatever excuse they want to give. Those people who complain seem to be the ones with less luck in life. At least that's my impression. It's the karma effect.

It's about choices.  Donating means one less fancy dinner for the week.  Donating means forgoing that bonus splurge.  If you take it immediately out of your paycheck, honestly, you barely even notice its effect.

Give, do it now.  And let's go Chicago GSB Class of 2004.  Let's hit that 15% participation mark.

Changed My Life

Books: The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald for its flawed, true-to-life characters, The Waves by Virginia Woolf for its beautiful imagery, The Secret by Rhonda Byrnes--my favorite self-help book

Magazine: Vanity Fair--because all other periodicals are shit

Game: Scrabble--best board game

Food: Lean Cuisines--tastiness packaged for convenient consumption for overeaters like me who have no sense of portion control and were raised by "clean your plate" immigrants

Restaurant: Ad Hoc--fixed-price, fresh, locally-grown, best brunch ever

Dessert: Havana-branded alfajores from Argentina

Artists: Chagall, Van Gogh, Peter Hudson, Bryan Tedrick

Movies: Kramer vs. Kramer, Requiem for a Dream--I love tear-jerking dramas that make you think about the human experience

TV: Sex and the City, Entourage--because I like my TV witty

Finances: Charles Schwab 2% Cash Back Credit Card

Stock Pick: BAC's dramatic rise will partially fund my wedding

Technology: Apple MacBook will last longer than all my previous shitty laptops, Google Desktop Search--my trusty secret for getting through my work day and finding documents faster

Web Sites: Craigslist, Facebook, Twitter--can't live life without them

Shopping: Amazon, Zappos--online convenience

Hotel: Morgan's Rock--San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua luxury ecolodge overlooking the ocean, all the food grown on the nearby farm (I cooked breakfast with the farmers one morning!)

Events: Bay to Breakers, Burning Man--kooky goodness

Botox: Yes, I do botox, but in the armpits to control excessive sweating, I don't put toxins in my face, people!

Period: Only 4-5 times a year, because you really don't need to menstruate every single fucking month

Done with Detox

I'm officially drinking again. Four weeks with one mid-program relapse because my gay best friend "forced" me. I cheated a little and didn't do a full month because a friend came in from out of town. We embarked on an eat and drink girls weekend in Napa. How lame would that have been to go to wine country and not sip on liquid goodness during harvest season?

What did I learn from this detox experience? I am ok with not drinking every single night. Yes, that's right. I'm perfectly fine with my chocolate soy milk before bed time. Still, that didn't stop me from loading up with four pricey bottles of wine during our mini-vacation escapade.

As a local, I really don’t go to Napa. Sonoma is my region of choice. But I had fun in Napa nonetheless.

Here's the weekend breakdown.

Wineries: Carneros (nice view), Pine Ridge (skip it), Mumm's (outdoor seating overlooking the vineyard), Duckhorn (fantastic wines--one of which was served at Obama's inauguration), Rutherford (good value wines), Rob Sinsky (skip it).

Food: Ubuntu (yummy vegetarian, pizzas mediocre), Redd (excellent!!!), Cindy's (cute, but go elsewhere for brunch).

I Heart Diamond

This post is a tribute to Val Diamond who has quit one of my favorite, unique only to San Francisco things to do--Beach Blanket Babylon. BBB is a hilarious musical that centers on Snow White trying to find her Prince Charming all around the world. The show's appeal is drawn from pop culture and current events (like the Obamas, Oprah Winfrey, the Jonas Brothers).

Dean took me to celebrate my 34th birthday this year. His first time, my fifth or sixth, BBB's 35th anniversary. He loved it, and I thought it was the best BBB I've seen yet. Everyone I take loves it. I think I've taken my parents twice.

I always wondered what would happen without its star Val Diamond who pretty much carried the whole show with her charisma, wit, and strong voice. I can't imagine the show without her and I'm totally bummed there wasn't one last performance with her in it. I would have paid top dollar for front row seats.

So long, Val. I will miss you!