Buffy Thoughts 1.21.15

If you’ve been following my blog for more than a month you probably already know two things about me.
1. I love to write about The Walking Dead and 2. I like to list all the times I’ve written about TWD.
BOOM. Here I answered Dora & Cee’s TWD questionnaire
Here I found TWD jewelry for Dora
Here is about the Talking Dead
Here is the lame fan merch sold on AMC
And finally here, the Sex Ed Fail blog that started it all.
But what you all don’t know? Before TWD, there was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And you know what? It’s still just as good as back in college when I eagerly anticipated each Tuesday night’s new episode. I love it. And I’m rewatching it right now.
Grr Argh
Which leads me to my deep Buffy question of the hour.

What’s the Buffy team’s deal with the name William and its derivatives anyways? They’ve got 1. Spike AKA William the Bloody NÉE William Pratt 2. Angel NÉE Liam (Irish for William) 3. Willow AKA Will 4. Willy the Snitch and in the comics there’s 5. Billy the Boy Slayer. Does anybody know? Because that is a lot of Will-ish names for one show.

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Today’s bangles: silver bangle from my dad from 1993, silver bangle my dad gave my mom before then, Goodwill glass beads, Oneida spoon cuff, HiHo Silver knot cuff, 2 Swarovski crystal bangles.

Before anybody says anything: Yes “five by five” is a Faithism but my other Buffy needlepoint (beep me if there’s an apocalypse) didn’t turn out well.

Everybody’s a (terrible) Comedian

For some reason going to my IVF appointments brings out my inner comedian. I suppose “for some reason” actually should read “because humor is my defense mechanism” but so at today’s appointment I was killing it.
fertility frog
First there was the blood draw where I asked the nurse if I should remove my clothes. Then I added “I know not all my clothes, I learned that the hard way.” You see because they just need you to take off your jacket and I was implying I had fully disrobed at some previous blood draw.
Venus of Willendorf charm
Then during the follicle count process (which is the MOST awkward moment in the exam) I checked with the doctor if I could still go running. Then I asked if I could still be drinking wine. And then (ready those snare drums) I asked if it was okay to do both at the same time.
rabbit charm
Needless to say at NO point was anyone but myself amused. Such a bummer. That’s why I feel obliged to share with you all, my more or less captive audience, and the Pirate King. Because I thought that was some quality A grade humor. And I have 4 follicles. Which is 3 more than the “you are fired from IVF” round so that’s not awful news.

Fertility Charms:
Frog available at Across the Pond
Venus of Willendorf available at Charms4U on Etsy
Rabbit available at The Caring Society

A Pirate King Might Love Me 1.20.15

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Not to brag too much but I recently discovered a Pirate King is a big fan of my blog. For some reason he lives in a shack. But that’s fine, I don’t judge! I just think that maybe being King and all he might choose a pirate castle or something, but shack is cool too.

Anyways, he eased into the multitude of comments slowly.

Does running a well-established website such as yours take a large amount of work?

I was so flattered! “A well-established website such as mine”! Oh boy. And yes, Pirate King, it does take some work but not an overly large amount, thank you for asking.

Your means of describing the whole thing in this paragraph is really nice, every one be
capable of effortlessly know it

Again with the flattery, Pirate King. *blushes furiously* I suppose it would be cool for everyone to effortlessly know about my bracelet collection. Bracelets are pretty universal, right? I mean even a famous Pirate King is apparently into them so…

I suppose its good enough to use some of your ideas

Huh. Okay, I must admit this feels a bit like a back handed compliment. I’ll tell you up front, I don’t know how I feel about that, Pirate King.

This post could not be written much better! Looking through this post reminds me of my previous roommate!
He continually kept preaching about this. I am going to send this information to him. Fairly certain he will have a great read.

So you’re saying my post could be written better? I guess that’s fair. We all have room to improve. But I don’t know about this former roommate of yours. How did you both fit in a shack? Is he also a pirate? And why’s he preaching about bracelets? I mean, I can talk bracelets, man. But even I don’t proselytize about them. However, thanks for forwarding my blog on to him.

Everything is very open

Yeah, totally. Everything. A quick question, Pirate King, are we still talking jewelry?

But so, since the Pirate King is so interested in my bracelets, here’s today’s bangles: Hermes twilly wrapped bangle, a JKC ripped off by Chanel bangle, and my dad’s Baume & Mercier watch.

SF Muni Rabbit Hole

Unlike many SFers I love our public transportation system. Not Bart of course, duh. Nobody likes Bart. I’m talking about Muni. It’s our bus system. It covers the city, it is more reliable than people give it credit for, and, especially when you get a seat, it can be a downright pleasant experience.

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Being a Muni driver is a generally thankless job: one that is bitched about on twitter (looking at you @munidiaries), complained about to your face while managing fare jumpers, requires confrontations with unruly passengers, and includes chatty crazies who want to talk to you while you drive. All while negotiating the insanity of construction and traffic on San Francisco streets.

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All of this leads me to my question: what happened to saying “thank you” to the driver? It used to be a person exiting the bus would holler out “Thank you!” But now? Rarely do I hear this.

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Call me crazy, but I think the “thank you, Driver” should be brought back. So I do it, every ride, because it really is the absolute least that can be done to brighten someone’s day.

SF MUNI cufflinks by Jenny Reeves
SF MUNI cable care & token earrings Future History of SF on Etsy
SF MUNI transfer earrings by Passport to Paper on Etsy

The Other Monday 2007

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One of the very interesting things with memory is that to create and store a memory you must review regularly. Starting especially within the initial days following an event. So if something disrupts this process, especially when it’s something high adrenaline and stressful, the memories preceding it are easily forgotten. Which is how it’s so hard for me to piece together the prior week of dates out with my honey aka the guy from the bar.

That Monday (it was the 22nd of January), I woke up at my new boyfriend’s apartment early. We lived all of a ten minute walk away from each other so I dashed home where I dressed for work. I must have strapped my newish silver metallic bag to the back of my bike because it was returned to me later. I think I wore black pants and a white blouse, I definitely wore my long brown leather jacket, three squiggly little cheapo bangles, and a helmet. And then I got on my bike to ride to work.

I remember crossing onto Market Street, joining the bike lane. I also remember waiting at the red light on Octavia, in front of the freeway on ramp. Then the light changed green.

Next I remember pieces of a moment. At this point I’m not certain how real they are because it’s been eight years. But so the white truck to the left of me decided to make an illegal right hand turn onto the freeway.

I remember my surprise at the first impact. This “oh shit” feeling where I thought I was just going to lose my balance. Then the moment where I knew the situation was worse than that. Next there were people standing over me and I was both terrified and embarrassed to be laid out in the middle of the street blocking traffic. I wanted desperately to get up and go to work. I had an appointment! I had to leave. But they wouldn’t let me.

Most specifically there was a man. A very kind man with a goatee. A complete stranger who asked for phone numbers, he told me everything would be okay. And then he waited with me. I still don’t know his name.

Apparently the first phone number I remembered was my dad’s office number from when I was a little girl.

I sort of remember being in the ambulance. I know I was in immense pain, but when you aren’t in pain you sort of forget what pain is like. And then I have flashes of the emergency room. Being propped against a metal slab. My mom rushing in. The doctors saying I’d need a catheter and I started screaming. What? Catheters scare me. According to my mom that was when she knew that I’d be okay. At some point I had X-Rays, CAT scans, chest tubes inserted both in my right and left lungs, and a neck brace.

The rear tires of the pick-up truck (Ford F-450 bearing cement- that’s the punchline of this story) had crossed my torso and crushed it. Pretty much every rib broke, multiple times, puncturing both lungs. I should have died. Without a helmet I would have already been dead. There’s more to my injuries but the story telling machine is running out of steam.

“But what about your honey?” You may be asking. He came to visit me twice in the hospital. He met my parents while there. Then I broke up with him, because I couldn’t continue. I was hospitalized for just under a month, then I moved in with my mom so she could care for me. I spent a year of my life on a painkiller cocktail which left me numbed to pain and other feelings. My honey hung in there though, texting me (not too much, not too little) until finally we returned to slowly dating. It wasn’t until December that we became serious again.

So that’s it. The big week that changed my life in many ways. I’ve forgotten so much of it because the memories didn’t have time to form. I can piece together bits thanks to emails, pictures, my honey’s memory. But there are parts that are completely gone, blank hours. And things I’ve discovered that I misremembered. In the litigation I saw a picture of the truck, I learned the make and brand but it looked completely different from my memory of it.

Oh wait here is the actual punchline, you know why the driver made an illegal right hand turn and sped off after running me over? He had to go to the bathroom and hadn’t realized he’d struck a person on a bicycle. There are only two lessons here: drive safely and wear a helmet.

Today’s bangles: the trio I wore on the day of my accident, tortoise shell bangle from Goodwill, lucky figa charm bracelet.

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Sunday 2007

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Something I realized while working on this anniversary series of posts is that I more strongly associate the events with the days of the week than the dates. So I’m changing the context. We’re jumping from Wednesday to anSunday, that occurred eight years ago.

It was the first time that I referred to my honey as my boyfriend. This was after just 6 days of dating! Can you believe it? Apparently I was not worried about jinxing myself. Granted, I called him “my boyfriend” in conversation with a meth head selling a dresser on Haight Street. But as you will learn tomorrow, The Monday that brackets my week of anniversaries from 2007, I did jinx myself. Just not in the way you expect.

BTW that bat face on top? That’s my brother’s new puppy.

Today’s bangles: ivory bangle from Goodwill, Hermès yellow bangle, tiny tortoise shell bangle from Goodwill

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Hump Day 1.17.2007

Really? Do I really need to explain the anniversary on this one? Let’s just say, give me the right setting, a little take out food, a barely furnished apartment, a big brown dog, and the guy I met two nights prior in 2007…

We watched American Idol. For my very first time. I definitely mentioned that part in yesterday’s post. I couldn’t bring myself to link anything American Idol *shudder* so instead is the Haim song I like the most right now. It sort of works with the memory theme, right?

In case you are just tuning in, I’m telling the story of a very life changing week. It started with meeting a guy at a bar on a Monday, back in 2007. Not to give too much away but the timeline is a Monday to Monday string of events.

Some days were less interesting. Like Wednesday. It was a very regular day, I think. Except that it formally counts as “our first date” being that I went over to Aaron’s barely furnished apartment and we watched American Idol and I met the Moosehead. He was a hell of a dog. Before AI we took the Moose up to Alamo Square dog park. We also hit up Bar 861 on Divisadero for happy hour. I think this was all the same day. Regardless, it has become a conflated memory of a date.

What I can tell you concretely, this was the day that I wrote this to my best friend:
“I met such a cute guy last night- this is his myspace pic. And he already called and we’re watching american idol and eating dinner tonight smile emoticon hooray!”

Oh wait, so I guess I watched American Idol on Tuesday? Oops. Must change the time line.
To be cont.

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Today’s bangles: yellow Hermès from my brother, Angela Cummings from my mom, and an Alaska charm bracelet of my mom’s from when she was a girl.

Something Happened Tuesday 1.16.2007

Remember yesterday? I told you all about how my honey and I met. It was sweet and cheesie and special and a story that will take exactly one week to tell it all, because this is the big week in my life with the most life changing anniversaries.

I think about this week in 2007 a lot. I think about each day of the week, and about how we as a species find patterns in everything, even when there are no patterns. I have a need to comb through the events to find reasons. It’s part of my life philosophy- everything is connected, each action pulls and moves and creates our lives. Maybe by looking at the pulls and changes I can better understand some of the outcomes.

This day, eight years ago, a Tuesday started abruptly. My honey, who was not yet my honey but just the guy from the bar last night was sound asleep in my bed. Don’t judge! I wasn’t as easy as this all sounds! And he is my HUSBAND now, after all, so even if I was that easy… errr. I digress!

In 2007 I lived on Oak Street where they begin car ticketing and towing each weekday at 7 a.m. sharp. My bed was pressed against the window, I loved the noise of the traffic. It was kind of a swooshing lull but I was very keenly attuned to the ticketing and towing process. So with the rattling of the metermaids and tow trucks I sat bolt upright and began punching and pushing my guy from the bar last night to move his scooter. Side note, it turned out the motorcycle helmet was actually a scooter helmet.

He yanked on some pants and ran/hopped out the door into traffic and meter maids and tow trucks barefoot. He managed to roll the scoot up onto the sidewalk in the nick of time and return to my place where we probably exchanged some awkward words, phone numbers, or something. But we solidly made plans for either that night or Wednesday night (I can’t remember now) to watch American Idol at his apartment.

So today (or tomorrow) is the anniversary of the very first time I ever watched American Idol. It turns out I’m not such a fan. Oh well. The things that stick with you, right? To answer your question, no, (thank god!) this is not one of the life changing events. This was just a first that happened to occur during a phenomenally life changing week. It was the last week of part of my life and I didn’t realize it at the time, but the little things, they all stand out now.

To be cont.

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Today’s bangles: the orange Clic-clac I was wearing the night I met my honey, the blue Cape Cod watch also wore that night, and my lucky little figuinhas.

Boobs On The Brain

Don’t think I didn’t notice that you all clicked on my other boobs post. What, were you too shy to comment? Don’t you worry though, because I’ve got boobs on the brain. Probably because I’m trying to buy a new bra. Trying being the operative word here.

You lady readers know what I’m talking about. You fellas? Well, trying to buy a new bra is similar to buying new socks in levels of tediousness. That is, if socks cost $72, each one fit differently, sizing was inconsistent, and sometimes, even after you think you’ve found the ideal comfortable sock, even then it doesn’t work under a t-shirt. Now, I don’t know what you are doing putting your t-shirts over your socks. That’s your business.

But so, I’ve now purchased (and returned) six bras in an effort to find one god damn bra. It doesn’t help matters that I’m currently injecting my body full of hormones. As anybody transitioning to female (or my fellow IVFers) can attest these hormones throw your top dimensions all out of whack. The situation has gotten to the point where my MOM commented on my boobs. I think that right there should remain exclusively an initial rite of womanhood, not to be repeated when 35. It usually happens when you are in your tweens/teens. Your mom or grandma or Auntie or mom’s best friend takes you aside and says “You need a good bra.”

“Welcome to womanhood, first lesson: everyone is now entitled to express their opinions about your body. Second lesson: you need a good bra.”

So far this is the only bra that I’ve found and liked:
Totally A Bra
What? You got something to say about my shopping technique? But you won’t, will you? Because this post is about boobs and bras, and everybody looks at these posts but few are comfortable commenting.

The Start of Something 1.15.2007

This is the week, folks. The week of important anniversaries that changed my life. Today is the day that eight years ago I… Well… Let me set the scene.

It was a Monday evening. I was working in downtown San Francisco. This was life before my darling little shop back when I was a small fry in a huge international corporation. My job was shaking hands with clients and showing them how to use a computer program (ha! Right? Like I knew how to use a computer program!!!) So really I spent most of my day going to appointments while pretending either to look busy or to know what the hell I was saying.

To relieve all this make believe I went out. A lot. Even on Monday nights. I know my mom is shaking her head right now going “but it was a school night!” It was a school night! Can you believe it? Not literally, because I wasn’t in school. Though it was still literally a school night. Blah, whatever! It was a school night, just not for me. There.

Anyway, back to setting my scene. It was a Monday, afterwork. I probably had changed my outfit. Which is not an important detail but to get the writing juices going I had to let you know. An acquaintance and I hit up some bar on Pine Street, though I had a headache so I briefly considered going home. However, she urged me to tag along with her to meet her friends at another bar, the Cellar. It was a karaoke night! “Margaret does not karaoke,” I’m certain I told her. But I was young, 27! And went anyway. Hangover on Tuesday be damned.

Once there we scooched into a sparkly vinyl booth. I leaned over the table and asked her “Are there going to be any cute single guys?” And she said yes. And guess what? There was! For narrative sake I’ll say he walked in right then. He carried a motorcycle helmet under one arm, wore this big hulking bomber jacket and glasses. Which, as we all know, is the recipe for female catnip. When I found out he was going to sing a song I told him “Margaret does not karaoke but she does dance”, and volunteered to be his back up dancer.

And guess what? That guy is my honey! Cruel man that he is he made me back up dance to the Cranberries “Ode to my Family” (you know how hard it is to dance to that song?!). So today is the 8 year anniversary of that, my first major life change: I now karaoke.

But more importantly it’s the anniversary of the day that I met my honey. I just now went into the bedroom and kissed him and said “I’ve known you for 8 years, honey!”

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Picture of us (me dancing or, rather, posing for the camera, and him singing the Cranberries) from that very first night. This picture, my friends? It is a bona fide film photo. As in not digital. Woh! Blows your mind, right? And I still have this dress though Bandit ate the boots at some point. Anyway, Aaron and I were pretty hot and heavy right out of the gates; a date almost every night of the week! And I’m going to tell you all about them! Because they were full of firsts.

To be cont…

1.15.2007 bangles: my blue Hermès Cape Cod watch, and skinny Orange Clic-Clac
Today’s jewelry are all the ones from my honey:
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Hermès Collier de Chien from this Christmas, Hermès Astrologie from last Christmas, Tiffany’s pearl bracelet from my 30th birthday, Jawbone UP from last birthday (35), rose gold wedding band, engagement ring, rose gold Tiffany earrings from a birthday (33?), and pink pearl necklace he won at an auction. Last is our anniversary ring with Leroy’s head, my honey adds a stone at each anniversary. The colors are for the married years.

I just realized maybe I’ve never before revealed my husband’s name. It’s Aaron, but I’ll probably continue to call him honey. Because that is how I do it!