A new post.

But...
I can't for the life of me think of anything interesting to write about.

You'd think after not having written for a month, and for months before that, I'd be full of insightful musings, life lessons, brilliant commentary on our times, or at the very least a funny story or two.

But I think writing is one of those "the more you do it the easier it is" type things, and aside from limosine reservations, dining recommendations, and my rent check, I haven't been writing much of anything.

What I can say is that I'm more than a little excited that it's the holiday season.

It's crazy that in all my 30 years this is the first where I truly have my own house to decorate. Most unfortunately, it's also the year that I have next to no money to spend on decorations.

Either way, I'm so happy with our coastal Christmas decor. Here's our living room:

Note: there is a now a real stocking where Rob's blue sock once was.

And I've decorated frugally!
Exhibit A: Pumpkin (photo above) I couldn't stand to throw away + stupid hat Rob was given at work = magical transformation into special Christmas elf.
Exhibit B:
Autumn decor and some metallic paint from Michael's and you got yourself some nice little economical Christmas decorations, am I right?

Finally, I'm proud to announce that I live with someone who loves Christmas music as much, if not more, than I do (don't tell him I told you--I could see him getting embarassed by this type of thing.) And all this time I thought I was Christmas music's foremost devotee. He also has an unprecedented love of egg nog, a fact of which I think he wouldn't be embarassed at all.

Bing Crosby and Elivs Christmas songs are on when we wake up so he can jam in the shower, and on as soon as we come home at night. And I love it.

If I don't write before then (which I aspire to but, let's be honest, very possibly may not) I hope everyone has a very happy holiday season!

One year ago today...

So here I am.
It was one year ago today that I started my life at The Ritz-Carlton, Half Moon Bay.
(And not coincidentally, one year ago today that my commitment to blogging went the way of the dinosaur.)

It wasn't my ideal job.
Not even close.
Like, pretty damn far from what I wanted to do or even envisioned myself doing.

It was something to fill my time and simply earn a paycheck, with self sufficiency (and not living at home) as my ultimate goals (with a stringent deadline of before my 30th birthday.)

This happened, of course.
I make money (I could stand to make more, but that's a post for another day.)
I have an apartment.
And just about a month ago, I turned 30.

But so many other good things have come out of my start here 365 days ago.

I remembered how much I love this company, and its philosophy behind the treatment of its guests and employees.

I've met a lot of really really cool people that I get to work with every day. I've said it before: this company knows how to hire cool peeps.

Even during my time at the Ritz Carlton in Colorado, people there made me laugh every day. I really hope I never see a workplace where I don't laugh every day.

Most importantly found someone I really really love just about two months after I started at this hotel. It feels like a lot longer ago, but in a good way. As those of you who have gotten to meet Rob know, he has a very big heart--the biggest and kindest I've come across in all my 30 years.

We live in a nice, homey apartment about 3 miles from work. It's in Half Moon Bay, CA, which is about as far from where I saw myself as could be.
Its a small coastal community that my coworkers call "social suicide" if you're single and ready to mingle.

For us, it's perfect. We have beaches and hiking and restaurants and pumpkins. And each other.

Work's still not perfect. But satisfaction (and pay) are improving as my responsibilities increase.

All in all, not a bad year.
Not bad at all.

Jiffy Loser

I'm irritated that I don't know anything about cars.

I'm even more irritated that the guys at Jiffy Lube know I don't know anything about cars.

The worst part is that I can't even fake it. This is very disheartening for a girl who pretends to know a lot about a lot. Who can name every state capital and actually has a master's degree, but can't change her own tire.

Once in a while I'm reminded of how little I know about my trusty 11-year-old SUV.

Like today.

Today, I needed to get an oil change. My car (at close to 120,000 miles) was way overdue. Like, 3,000 miles overdue. The silver bullet's still got some miles left in 'er, but she needs some high mileage, synthetic TLC.

Before he left for work this morning, my boyfriend Rob, who happens to know and adore all things about cars (he's from Detroit), gave me some sound advice.

"They'll try to sell you a lot of stuff," he warned. "Just get the oil changed."
"Just the oil," he repeated.

$350 dollars later, I'm home from my oil change. Albeit with new transmission fluid and some radiator work, but $350 poorer nonetheless.

Mr. Lube explained what the car needed, and the total came to close to $500. I got it down to $350.

I thought I deserved a pat on the back. Or at least a cookie.
Well I just talked to Rob, still at work, and told him about my feat.

He wasn't as pleased as I was. Not nearly. He's disappointed that I didn't listen to him, and even more disappointed that they would "screw me over."

Assuming he's right, how do these people sleep at night?
The guy seemed nice enough. He commented on my dog. I thanked him when I left. He smiled.

I'm going to go forward believing that my car actually did need all and more than what I bought.

I'm going to pay my credit card bill happily, knowing that at least I'm practicing preventative medicine on the old girl.

That way, at least I'll be able to sleep at night.

Stories about love....

Terrified of marriage though I am, I've always enjoyed reading The New York Times Wedding/Celebration section. I love reading about the ways people met, the way they fell in love, and the extravagence with which they sealed the deal.

So it didn't seem too out of sorts to read the San Francisco Chronicle equivalent during a late evening slow time at work (shhhh...).

I won't make that mistake again.

It was a love story. Just two good looking, super bubbly college students who, despite a bad first date over underage cocktails, fell in love and finally became Mr. and Mrs. and just wanted to read a nice story about it in their hometown newspaper.

The story was sappy and kind of lame. It was. But it didn't bug me. If you don't like love stories don't read the wedding section, right? But it apparently pissed off the majority of the Chonicle's online reader base.

What attracted me to the story in the first place was the fact that it had 97 comments made about it. 97! 97 readers had something to say about Mr. and Mrs. Happy Newleywed.

I've included below a few of my favorites (and by favorites, I mean the ones that upset me the most).

"Yes, I suppose it is sweet to be young and in love and living in this city with the hundreds of civil rights you get to enjoy by being legally married. It's too bad that that same opportunity isn't available to equally deserving same-sex couples." Not place like someone else's wedding announcent to display your political beliefs.

"I just threw up in my mouth a little."

"Get back to me when he's bangin' his secretary and she's raising their five kids and is depressed."

Straight-up character attacks: "He looks gay in that picture" followed by "awesome funbags" and "nice rack."

And my favorite:

"This comment violated SFgate's terms and conditions, and was removed." Really? A comment was so bad that the staff had to remove it. Wow.

It would be sad if it weren't so ridiculously funny. And now, the count is up to 125.

Tahoe '10

Man, I love skiing.

I love everything about it. I love the speed and the smell and the views. I love the memories I have of skiing with amazing people in Colorado. I love the prospect of skiing with new people.

Fortunately, thanks to a willing boyfriend and a killer hotel discount, I've been able to make it to the mountains two times in the past couple weeks.

This is where we were:


It was 50 degrees. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. If heaven exists, I'm convinced it looks like this.

Rob loves skiing too, though he's not quite the die hard I am. Apparently, the slopes in Detroit's suburbs (built on old trash dumps--seriously) just don't quite measure up to the Rockies.

On our first day out, he said, "Can't you see how this would be intimidating? Propelling down a mountain with two skinny planks attached to your feet?"

I guess I can see it. There are trees and icy parts and random moguls and careless beginners and reckless snowboarders, all potentially available to put a dent in your day.

So the second time around, he asked for a bit of instruction.

I affectionately call it the "Andy School of Pain."

It's a simple regimen of pre-skiing Bloody Marys (for liquid courage purposes), yelling at the student on the hill ("skis down!" and "beach ball arms...pole plant!" are the most common), leading them down unexpected tree runs (exposed rocks and icy terrain add to the challenge), and additional beers at lunch (more liquid courage).

In essence, it's a combination of tough love and good old fashioned public humiliation.

Here we are during the 'barley and hops' portion of the training. Pupil is still smiling:


In my limited experience, I've found the program to be quite effective.

I noted unquestionable improvement in Rob's form. Being the modest and gracious coach that I am, I take full credit for said improvement.

Should be interesting to see if he re-enrolls....

Back in the saddle....

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written! But it's so nice to know that you people somehow, someway miss me! Unfortunately, today I'm sick and the creative juices aren't necessarily flowing.

My joints and muscles hurt like hell and it feels like someone lodged a spiky golf ball in my throat. I'm reluctantly revisiting the days of unemployment on my trusty family room couch.

But in the spirit of optimism (inspired by tonight's State of the Union Address, notwithstanding boos from angry republicans), I thought I'd make a list of things making me happy while I'm sick:

Ocean Spray sugar-free blueberry (blueberry!!!) juice. Straight up deliciousness.

Alleve and all the other members of the pain-killing family.

The 3rd season of "Big Love." Gotta love that crazy family and their polygamist shenanigans.

Hulu and missed episodes of "30 Rock" and "Modern Family." By far the best sitcoms on TV.

Egg white omelettes with old friends who live far away (and tell you how you're "not learning to be sick very well.")

My new subscription to "The Wine Spectator:" making me more of a vino snob than I already was. And you thought that wasn't possible....

Thoughts of being up in Tahoe in a week from now with my amazing new boyfriend, skiing, eating, drinking, and repeating. My sore throat and achy muscles aren't invited.

And, for venting purposes, a short list of the things not making me happy:

The "homemade" chicken noodle soup from our grocery store that is slimy and tastes like it came out of a can that's been sitting on a pantry shelf for the better part of a decade.

The end of Brett Favre's season. That guy fought the good fight and came up just a bit short. Sad.

Does anyone else think that our vice president looks like Guy Smiley of Sesame Street fame?


Twilight.
That movie flat out sucks.

Bacon.

I wish I knew what transpired in my head to drive me to publicly pay respect in the form of an entire blog post to this unfailingly welcome addition to any meal.

But if you haven't played around with the term "bacon flavored" on Google, and you have some time on your hands, it's fun, and like bacon itself, a bit addictive.

Turns out there exists a Holy Church of Bacon, aiming to "promote consumption of, and unfaltering love for, the holiest of holy foods: Bacon." They abide by the "Five Baconic Laws," bacommandments if you will, and I love them so much I had to share them:

* Thou shalt not consider Bacon on the same level as any other food, as it is above all.
* Thou shalt not consume imitation Bacon.
* Thou shalt not stop pursuing Baconlightenment until it is reached.
* Thou shalt not forget to consume Bacon for ten days.
* Thou shalt spread the word of Bacon to all.

And now for a few enjoyable bacon things I found that I may or may not like to try someday:

"Bakon" Vodka: "clean, crisp, and delicious." Really? Some of the recipes look great, but clean and crisp are just about the last possible adjectives I would use to describe any pork-flavored alcohol.

A site dedicated to "bacon porn." Photos of everything from bacon cinnamon rolls to bacon lubricant to good old fashioned plates of cooked bacon. Bacon porn for every taste.

There's scarves, watches, underwear, wallets, mints, and toothpicks. And there's this:



Pretty awesome, right? That's a guy who loves his bacon and isn't afraid to show it. Bonus: it smells like bacon. Hopefully homegirl in the red enjoys cured pork as much as he does.