I'm sooooooooooo over 2007, Take II

Close your eyes and imagine the waft of burning hair, a.k.a. my hard drive. Yum. Bye bye hard drive, grades, photos, emails, calendar, brain. Hello, the peace of a vacation totally unplugged and unavailable.

I’m sooooo over 2007…*

As if it weren’t enough to fall into someone who was into someone else and not so much ready for/into me until I was no longer ready for them so my heart could get stomped into apple sauce... As though it wasn’t enough to up and nearly die in the hands of inept UCSF interns... so it wasn’t enough to have to repair a month’s 'worth' of substitutes setting the tone for my classroom for the year... like it wasn’t enough that everyone I know is having a crazy hard year and it is 48 degrees daytime in San Francisco and I am freezing despite Michelin Manning myself in a North Face puffy jacket... I gotta get full-body groped, jumped, and nearly carried off into the night by a wild eyed, alcohol breathed one-legged man in a wheelchair. In view of ten bystanders looking at me like I’m the only crazy ranty one for miles on 14th and Mission when I unleash a screechy pent up rage-a-thonic diatribe on his surprisingly fast-wheeling ass.

Did you get the part where I got jumped by a guy in a wheelchair?! I mean, WTF?!!!

Well, F#$% you, 2007. I am so over you.



*And as a bet-hedger, I would also like to point out that I am also over the Year of the Pig, the school year, the fiscal year, and even the Jew Year 5768.

2008: A Spaced Oddity

Up until Aprilish, I was steeling for one of my 2008 themes to evolve into: 2008 – Year of Relationships, Gulp. But now circumstances have led to an alternate plan, one that is less novel and more wordy. 2008: Year of Speed ‘Nating’ (non-dating) for Potential Therapists. A little more awkward to say, but I don’t exactly control these things. And true to form, I am of course engaging in a preview run of the year’s theme a month early. My screening process is quite simple. I even skip the Craig’s Listings, going straight (or gayly forward, whatever) to recommendations. Me: Talk to potential therapists by phone. Say things like, “I am sure four sessions will cure whatever is wrong with me.” If they noncommittally “hmmm, that is interesting and something we can explore” me? Rejected. If they laugh, they win a face-to-face Nate with me. What with the Hollywood writers’ strike, I sense 2008: A Reality Nating Show in my near future.

Again, My Suspicion that My World is Secretly a Musical About to Happen?

Was Almost Affirmed.

Never content to allow me a moment of normalcy, today the J Church found me literally surrounded by the lyrical mutterings of seven chanting nuns with rosaries and one street fella with a poorly sewn up nose. Do you think it is pheromonal or just my perfume that leaves me OK-choralled in an otherwise empty train?

A Reality Check for All the Insanity Questioners

I was reminded that despite all recent indications, my sanity is actually fairly intact.

My upstairs neighbor was recently basically forced to move out of her $300 a month, two bedroom, wood floors, view of the bridge and bay, sunny sunny sunny, top floor apartment to shuttle herself into assisted living. Choice A: $1000 for an Assisted Living large studio in New Mexico or Choice B: A SHARED one ROOM, i.e. a twin bed and one closet, Assisted Living in San Francisco for almost $3000/month. Um, duh, hello New Mexico.

So, she wrote to say we really need to start keeping an eye on our downstairs neighbor, who has sent her two packages since she left on Thankstakin' weekend. The first contained essential “old mail” – i.e. three catalogues that arrived for Assisted Living ex-neighbor at the building. OK, kinda silly but that’s cool, because lord knows my neighbors they love their catalogues. Some might even say, a little eccentric, but very thoughtful to forward such shiny things.

The second package? Well, that one consisted of a “whole tub of country crock margarine and half a stick of butter which she decided to ship here in a padded envelop.” Um… Yeeeeeeees, that is clearly a package sent with much thought, but those thoughts are a little concerning. Oh dear.

On the up side, since this blog is all about me me me, I feel comparatively healthy simply by living in the vicinity of the dairy shipper.

A Blessing on Your Head, Mazel Tov, Mazel Tov

Much love to the likes of Boothie-Baby and other non-jewie friends, especially all those of you who were kind enough to inform me it was Chanukah, since without you, I would've as usual totally missed the whole thing. The Boothie wrote: I think today is the first day of Hannukah....so just wanted to say HEY and that I am thinking of you. Not sure if you are 'en la escuela' o en casa, o en temple. To which I thought, are we supposed to go to shul on Chanukah even? Hmmmm...

Aaaaaaaaaaaw. Y’all keep me Jewish. More so than my mother, in any case, who true to form dug out her favorite "festive" attire of green/red plaid everything accented by cotton sweaters with appliques of Christmas trees on then and LED lit Santa pins, which she wears before she lights the candles, which is after she set up this year's disturbing version of a creche and decorated the house like a Macy's window display. Isn't assimilation da bomb?

Let's Make First Dates Final

In the same vein as “never take different lovers to the same vacation location within one month of each other,” I would like to add a “never do the exact same activity on two first dates.” Even if the activity is fun. Even if the activity has ‘80s music crooning in the background. It is just too weird and we don’t live in a one-Denny’s kinda town for that to have to happen. That is all I am gonna say about that.