I felt like going out after work yesterday so I did. It was a lovely evening for a drink on Portal’s patio. I ate some brussels sprouts and watched the sunset. I was joined by a young heavily tattooed guy who didn’t care for things, many things and expressed his displeasure with what I’ll call the jerk-off with jizz gesture.
The jerk off and jizz seemed to be an extension of the jerk off gesture used to connote lameness. It was a jerk off and jazz hand. I’ve been trying to practice it so I can use it around my friends to see if they’ll say something.
Mr. Jerk Off and Jizz told me he was a bad boy and a lady killer. His dream is to travel around the country with a tiny house and bed ladies. Tiny House Hunters is the worst show on HGTV IMO.
I’d just been reading some of the Ask Polly book. I told him that the more he said he was confident and amazing, the less confident and amazing he seemed, at least to me. We went our separate ways.
I hadn’t been to a WeWork Berkeley Happy Hour in awhile. I sat by myself and texted a friend. I looked up and saw an attractive guy.
Me: Long haired muscular Asian boy alert! I love WeWork.
Friend: Haha, go say hello.
So I did. We had a good conversation so I asked him out. He said yes. We texted back and forth for a couple of days planning the date. He was kind enough to ask me if I had any dietary restrictions. I googled him and there it was on his LinkedIn profile. He graduated from Cal in 2015. I thought he was probably around 30. Nope. He probably had no idea that I’m considerably older than him. I wondered if I should alert him. I decided that a date was not a marriage proposal and to stop overthinking.
The day of our date. He canceled. It’s not me it’s him, he said. It bummed me out. It bummed me out just because I liked talking to him and had put myself out there.
Being young is hard for him. I’m not being sarcastic. I get it.
You can park anywhere you want for as long as you want for free with my new disabled person parking permit. Do you want to take me to dinner in San Francisco’s SOMA? Giants game anyone? Whole Foods? When my boot comes off I will love parking my car in front of my apartment in downtown Berkeley and everywhere else until October 31st. My broken foot doesn’t seem so bad all of a sudden.
I’m not Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps or gymnast Alex Naddour but I experienced a sister of cupping type “massage” and did not like it one bit. I’d hurt my wing and went with a cheap but well-reviewed place on Piedmont Avenue in Oakland. Bunch of masochists those reviewers were.
I don’t believe in not gaining without paining or paying to be pummeled. If it hurts so good, please don’t do that to me. I don’t think cupping is supposed to hurt. According to cupping pioneer Gwyneth Paltrow it feels amazing. I think horrible pain is what I get for being cheap. I’ve proven that over and over again with bikini waxes.
The real message here is to stop something when it’s unbearably painful. I was also scarred by a burning stick at a so-called acupuncturist because he took my insurance. He said, “you’re supposed to say uncle.” I thought the pain was supposed to help me.
San Francisco’s Outside Lands is the thinking-festival-babe’s weekend of music and art. You won’t see many bikini-clad scene girls in Golden Gate Park. The venue is all-natural beauty and fog. It’s not a mud pit, and skimpy synthetic junk fashion is ill advised.
If you’re heading to Outside Lands, your outfit matters as much as the music, and you probably feel that slow fashion is the new slow food. Here I’ve highlighted a few of the local designers who are making festival wear.
As I Lyfted to the foot doctor today to find out if I would need surgery, my driver said some interesting things. He had just turned 30 over the weekend and said, “I feel so accomplished. I’m still alive. I have to play catch up with those other people who planned to live past 29.” His birthday presents were a camping trip and some Kanye shoes.
Artist and genius Kanye West created the Yeezy sneaker. The most expensive pairs on eBay sell for tens of thousands of dollars. My driver said that they were expensive and he was being irresponsible but that he considered them an investment in his future. He’s an artist.
He said, “I’m not going to wear Jordans. He just played basketball. Jordan didn’t change the world. How come nobody ever asks what shoes Gandhi wore? What kind of shoes does Barack Obama wear? I want to walk in Kanye’s shoes because his music changed my life.”
I’m going to drop over $100 on a “comfort” shoe for my good foot today after work. I don’t have to have surgery. I think wearing it in all its sturdy fugliness will inspire me to:
I have a cold, my foot is broken and I’m on a bowel rest diet to hopefully avoid having to take prednisone for my colitis. I’m a mess. I used to think FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) was just a stupid excuse my ex would use for never missing the newest iteration of the same party we’d gone to roughly 3 times a week for almost 2 years.
I was wrong, FOMO is how I feel right now as I pack some mashed potatoes (easy to digest) into my craw. I’m missing Books and Beer Club at Hella Vegan Eats tonight. Most of my friends are going to drink beer outside next to a graffiti mural and some multicultural families. It will be a perfect Oakland night. Later, I’m going to pack some white rice into my craw.
I hate that my happy fierce critter brain has been kicked to the curb by the overbearing beast of my body. The next round is coming and who doesn’t love an underdog? Just ask all my mother who is still feeling the Bern.
P.S. I just heard from my friend T, organizer of tonight’s club meeting.
T: And this is why I don’t plan anything
T: There’s gonna be 3 of us
T: Cuz no one else is coming😦