Laundry

I cannot complain about the freelance writer’s life. I make my own hours. I can work from wherever I want (mostly local cafés). And I can sleep until noon if I so choose. The only problem I’ve been able to find is that, since I don’t usually go into the office, I sort of stopped changing my clothes, like, ever. I mean, I change my socks and underwear of course. But I’ve been wearing the same jeans, T-shirt and sweater for about, oh, three weeks now.

Don’t believe me? Have you seen me in the past three weeks? Was I wearing a black T-shirt that snaps up the front and a black zip-up hoodie? I thought so.

Apples by the fire

Tonight is my favorite kind of night. My roommates and I just decorated our front livingroom, The room with the fireplace and no TV, and now two very comfy couches (and a not-so-comfy armchair that I found on the street). Yes, I’m 30 and I still take free furniture off the street, what’s your point? And now the three of us are sitting here by the fire and typing quietly on our iBooks. No TV to distract, no talking, just calm music playing and quiet Apple bliss.

Total Grandma Radness

Have you ever seen a more adorable and hilarious grandma? I think not. I know, you totally wish she was your grandma now. Well, maybe if you're really nice to me, I'll take you to Berkeley and introduce you. Maybe you can even get her to tell you one of her jokes.

Happy Family

What do you do with your stubborn 15-year-old brother who won’t pose for the family photo?



First you try love.



Then you try torture.



Then you let him call the shots.



Then you finally give in and pay him $10 to look pleasant.



I can’t wait until I have teenagers.

Life as usual

For some reason, I’m finding it very difficult to blog now that I’m no longer living in New York. It’s not that San Francisco isn’t exciting, it’s just home. Which is a good thing. It’s just not a particularly inspirational thing.

Things here are just life as usual. I mean, if you can call 3am private karaoke usual.

TB Test

My volunteer tutoring requires that I be tested for tuberculosis since I’m working with kids. I’m fairly certain that I do not have the consumption but I complied, thinking it would be an easy 20 minutes out of my day.

I thought wrong. Nothing’s easy at the public health clinic. Ah, the joys of being a freelancer and self-insured.

It took not 20 minutes, but 90 minutes. 90 minutes of sitting a dirty waiting room to be coughed on by aged transvestites and their mangy dogs (it was the Castro clinic). Then I got to answer pointless questions like “What’s your marital status?” “Do you have a religious preference?” and “What’s your mother’s first name?” Those are literally the three and only questions they asked. What does any of that have to do with TB?

And then, this is the kicker, I finally get to go into the little room and have a drop of liquid injected under my skin (liquid I don’t trust by the way, if I’m dead in three hours, you know why. You read it here!) I ask where the bathroom is. It’s outside! It’s a port-a-potty! The bathroom inside the clinic is under construction, so patients have to go outside to the port-a-potty. In a health clinic!

I don’t know where our tax dollars are going, but they’re clearly not going to healthcare. I feel way sicker than when I entered the clinic two hours ago. They probably GAVE me tuberculosis.

Indian Summer

San Francisco has some gorgeous months. And, though the residents of this fine city might prefer you to say "Native American Summer" or "Indigenous Peoples Summer." I'm going to stick with Indian. It's the best time of year.

Here are some pictures from my bike ride last week. It was my "get reacquainted with my favorite parts of the city" ride.

Ottery Audrey

The other night I went on a date of sorts. And it was fun. I had a good time. But it was one of those nights, I’m sure you know them, when you just can’t stop talking about otters.

My internal voice was yelling at me: “Audrey, stop talking about otters!” And yet, there was nothing I could do; the otter talk just kept pouring out. Like the fact that there is more hair on one square inch of otter skin than on the average human head. I had watched a documentary on otters that morning and I guess my mind was preoccupied.

I was trying to play it cool and be entertaining. But as more beer flowed, so did the otter facts. Like that Otters are believed to have been on earth for 30 million years? And they are the only marine mammals to have fur instead of blubber.

Suddenly I realized who I had become. I was the Giraffe Guy. So much for my love life.

Once again, corrupting the youth of America

I had such a cool experience as a mentor for underprivileged kids in New York, I decided to continue something similar here in Cali. Today was my first day as an afterschool tutor at 826 Valencia (aka, the Pirate Store). It’s a Pirate Store in the front and a tutoring facility in the back. What’s not to love?

Just like in New York, I was paired up with a kid who is totally smarter than I am. She’s 7th grade, brilliant, completely adorable, and looks at me with such trusting eyes when I try and answer questions like “What kind of membrane to animal cells have?” and “How do you spell mitochondria?”

Honey, the last time I even thought about animal cells was when I was in 7th grade class, and all I remember was getting sick from eating the cell model we made out of Jello and marshmallows.

I’m not sure how much help I was, but she cracked up at all my jokes (which is the fastest way to my heart) and I was sad to say goodbye. Luckily there will be many more weeks of tutoring to come. Maybe next time I’ll bring a dictionary.

Quality programming

Rarely do I write about television on this blog. Only when I find a show that is so brilliant, so revolutionary, so necessary to our society that I feel I must share it with the world. This show is MTV’s “A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila.”

Here’s a little background into that I found last night on the Internets. Born in Singapore to Vietnamese parents and raised in Texas, Tila Tequila became famous at the age of 18 when she modeled for Playboy. Blah blah blah first Asian Cyber Girl of the Month, blah blah blah August 2006 Maxim UK cover, blah blah blah over 2 million myspace friends. You get the picture.

But the point – she’s hot. And she’s bi. And she now has her own reality show where both men and women vie for a shot at her love love. It’s now 5 episodes in and all 8 people left are madly in love with her. Last week one school teacher from the south was so upset that he got kicked off he started a fight and then knocked over a number of plants. It was then that I knew this show was for me. My roommates and I are addicted. I watched four episodes last night to get caught up. And now I have to wait a whole week for the next one. Whatever will I do with my time???

The circus is coming to town

Attention all Americans, tomorrow is the day to make your little voice heard. I’m hoping everyone I know heads to the polls tomorrow. And if you’re here in San Francisco, I recommend voting, not so much because of the political expression, but because of the entertainment.

Last night I got to share in the joy and laughter of every other San Franciscan citizen in the year’s most comical publication: the official Voter Information Pamphlet.

Is it the circus? Is it a freakshow? No – it’s San Francisco's mayoral elections!

When you have an entire proposition on the ballad devoted to the funding of the Golden Gate Park horse stables, I guess it’s not surprising that the mayoral candidates include a nudist, a sex-club owner, a florist named Chicken John and a taxicab driver named Grasshopper.

These are exact quotes from the official Voter Information Pamphlet. I swear, I am not making this stuff up:

Candidates for the Mayor of San Francisco:

GEORGE DAVIS
My occupation is Writer/Nudist Activist.

This is a One Issue campaign which is to Make Golden Gate Park Clothing Optional like the major urban parks in Europe. For other policy issues, a well known City Manager will be appointed.

Thoughts for today:
1. You are free to be nude!!! You are free to wear clothing. By California case law (In Re Smith 1972 and other court decisions), you have a freedom of choice.
2. Nude is not lewd.
3. With San Francisco's ranked three choices, voting for freedom of choice is as easy as one, two, three.

Give George Davis a ranked vote, preferably #1.

Yeah, nude is not lewd, people.

MICHAEL POWERS
My occupation is Nightclub Owner.

As a progressive I have owned and operated one of San Francisco's most unique and innovative nightclubs for 11 years. My creation of the Power Exchange adult sexual liberation experience shows my capacity to embrace every kind of alternative lifestyle and manage multiple environments housed in one totally law-abiding and successful business.

Why do all our politicians want to get us naked? I don’t know if you non-San Franciscans are familiar with the Power Exchange, but it’s San Francisco’s most infamous sex club where crazy deviant acts occur… I hear.

CHICKEN JOHN RINALDI

My occupation is Showman.

Hi, my name is Chicken John and I'm running for Mayor because I have a vision for the future of this city. I want a city that attracts artists, not one that chases them away; where innovation wins out over gentrification. In other words, a city that actually has a future, and not just a celebrated past.

And my favorite line:

C'mon, it'll be fun. Vote for me.

But the ridiculousness continues. My roommate's actually ridden in this guy's cab:

GRASSHOPPER ALEC KAPLAN

My occupation is Vegan Taxicab Driver.

Born – Moscow, Russia; English – third but only language.
Grasshopper: Vegan, Bay swimmer, owner Grasshopper Taxicab. Lifelong musician; guitarist, singer/songwriter. Compassionate, tolerant, supportive, loving. 13 years here residentially challenged.

Restore festival, carnival atmosphere; musicians, Artists, fun, love. Remember to smile, laugh, celebrate our wonderful existence, our fabulous planet; create / make Grassland model – beacon of mutual understanding, hope.

I’m still stuck on the English – third but only language.


It could be worse, we could be Berkeley… the city that nominated an Ambassador of the Trees. The city that debates the use of the word “owners” for pets. And the city that actually voted a clown onto the school board. Literally a clown. A guy with big shoes, a round red nose and the ability to juggle rubber chickens.

I can’t believe I ever left the Bay Area. It’s just too fun here. C’mon, vote for me. It’ll be fun.

Shakey

Earlier this week, I was welcomed back to the land of earthquakes with a jolting 5.6. Not big enough to do any kind of damage, but big enough to remind me that I’m on unstable ground.

I’ve never been particularly concerned about earthquakes. As I wrote a while back, I kind of like them. But the news on TV has been freaking me out a little, saying that due to Tuesday’s earthquake, it’s 10% more likely there will be a “big one” soon. Granted, they’ve been saying that forever. And how many big earthquakes have I experienced in the entire 28 years I lived in California? One.

But I’ve been taking a few more precautions. For example, last night I started to fall asleep in my bed wearing nothing but a hooded sweatshirt. And the thought crossed my mind – if there was an earthquake and I had to jump out of bed and run to the doorway, how embarrassing to be wearing nothing but a hooded sweatshirt. So I got up and put on some undies.

Also, I’ve taken to wearing my bike helmet around. At all times.

Halloween in Berkeley

I showed up at my mom’s house at 4:30pm yesterday and nothing was ready. There were pumpkins to carve, spiders to hang, dead bodies to stuff, scary CDs to play – a whole porch to decorate. The street I grew up on is the Halloween capital of North Berkeley. Every costume-clad child for miles around shows up, pillow case in hand. And every house on the street is expected to impress. If you do not turn your house into a haunted horror spooktacular, you are shunned by every neighbor and trick-or-treator alike.

Luckily, we managed to get the place scary enough before the first Harry Potter costume showed up. And by the tenth Harry Potter, we had found our groove.

You have to see our street to believe it. There is no time to close the door and wait for the bell to ring. From about 5:30-8:30, there is a steady stream of children filing on and off the porch. At some points there would be bottlenecks – the cardboard and wood archway at the top of the stairs fell over onto multiple children. Still don’t get the picture? My mom spent $170 on assorted Halloween candy.

It’s always fun to see how different families treat Halloween. I was forced to take more than one photo with babies in chicken outfits, and I wasn’t even wearing a costume. I think the new parents were a little overexcited by “Pablito’s first Halloween!” Then there were the teenagers who’d show up in street clothes and a Freddy mask, saying things like: “Can I have Nerds instead of Jolly Ranchers?” “Can I have red?” “Can I take both?” and my favorite: “I can’t eat Skittles because of my braces, can I have M&Ms?”

Then there were the clever costumes, “I’m a chick-magnet,” a 12-year-old boy told me as I eyed the giant papermache horseshoe magnet around his neck affixed with tiny furry chicks. I’m sure you are.

I also cracked up at all the little girls dressed in 80’s outfits. Now I know what it feels like for my parents when I used to dress up for 70’s day at school. The girls would just shrug their one exposed shoulder when I’d say “I used to dress like that everyday for school, ya know.” When did I get so old?

During the three hours I spent passing out candy, I managed to eat so many Nerds and M&Ms, so many Twix bars and individually wrapped Twizzlers, that eventually I made my self sick. Some Halloween traditions never die.