Knobs

I’m starting a new feature in this blog.

It’s entitled: "Parts of the house that Audrey thinks look like a penis."

Observe the knob on our bathroom door:

Stay tuned for more.

Thirty-two-riffic!

Two-riffic? Is that working for you guys? I couldn't come up with something as clever as "thirty-one-derful."

It's been a good birthday. It's hard to be worried about jobs, and money, and taxes when it's so nice outside. And there are so many fun things to do all day. Like yoga, and bike riding, and drinking for free at the Anchor Brewing Company. You just need to survive the boring tour, then it's all the free beer you want! A great way to start out my 33rd year on earth!

Busy Busy

I don't know how I ever had time to work before. I feel like I have a million things to do every day. The list of feats to accomplish while unemployed keeps growing, and yet I don't even have time to start them.

I guess I'll just never be able to work again.

Seasons

In January, I was here:


And in February, I was here:


And people say they don't like the West Coast because it has no seasons. In fact, it has all the seasons at once, you just have to drive to them.

Carving and shredding

I first strapped my feet to a snowboard about seven or eight years ago. So, you’d imagine that after years of slipping and sliding, falling and flailing, I’d be pretty good snowboarder by now. However, with the snow being four hours away, and lift tickets being expensive, my snowboarding practice is about as frequent as my guitar practice – about once annually. Sometimes seasons go by without a trip to the snow at all. And the times that I do go, it’s often icy and, after falling repeatedly and bruising up both knees, butt cheeks and nearly breaking both wrists, I declare that I will never snowboard again. Then a year goes by and I decide to try once more.

Two years ago, when I snowboarded in Vermont, it was so bad it took me until this last weekend to try again. And on the way to Tahoe on Friday, I was dreading it a little bit. I knew that all the people I was sharing the cabin with were expert boarders, and that I’d most likely end up sitting on my ass on the bunny slopes alone.

However, I had never snowboarded in fresh powder snow before. And I’d never gone three days in a row before. And, I don’t know, maybe I just wasn’t quite ready to learn before. But this weekend, something changed.

It started out the same – falling, hurting, complaining, swearing that snowboarding wasn’t my thing and I would never go again. But on day two, something clicked. Suddenly, all the fear went away and the turns made sense. My weight shifted naturally and I started going faster. That isn’t to say that I didn’t eat shit hard, tumbling repeatedly and getting facefulls of snow. But snowboarding went from being work to being fun.

Really, really fun.

I had heard tales of riding powder before, but had never experienced it. Tahoe got over two feet of snow this weekend – fresh, soft, sweet, sweet powder. You know when you look out of a plane and think about what it would be like to jump on the clouds? Now I know.

My friend, Kimberly, and I were riding down the slopes, swishing past each other on our sea of soft powder and you could hear our crossing cries of “Weeeeeee.” We were the Downy fabric softener bear. Every time I fell, it was like falling into a pile of freshly washed bed linens.

But it wasn’t just the snowboarding that struck me this weekend. It was the whole overcoming of the challenges. I was seriously ready to give up on snowboarding forever. And then I rocked it. It’s a good lesson for life, I guess. With my guitar playing, my job searching and more. Now I know I can do anything if I try hard enough. And cover it all with soft white powdery snow that makes it easier to fall.

Is that a sea cucumber or are you just happy to see me?

Last night, I attended “Nightlife” at the California Academy of Sciences. This event featured the already awesome science museum/aquarium/planetarium transformed into a bar/nightclub. This meant that, while drinking a cocktail and dancing to the pounding music, instead of getting checked out by the usual San Francisco scene, you get checked out by guys like this:



And this:



It's like scuba diving with alcohol.

Luckily, it happens every Thursday night. I am going to be an expert on the chambered mollusk by the time summer comes.

guiltar

I’m not very good at guitar, despite all my desire to bust out with some awesome songs. Apparently it takes more practice than desire to get good at guitar. I’ve ignored the guilt-ridden instrument for the last year, sitting quietly in its little stand. But I put it high on my list of things I wanted to do when I got laid off, so I’ve now taken it off it’s stand and placed it in the middle of the floor in my bedroom. I figured that this way I can ignore it no longer. Instead of gotten very deft at jumping over it to go to bed.

Fallen eyebrows

I walk the borderline between high and low maintenance. Actually, that’s not true. I’m low maintenance. I wear the same jeans every single day (well, every day that I put on pants). But I do have things done like pedicures, bikini waxes and eyebrow shaping. Most recently, I got my eyebrows threaded. It’s an ancient art originating in the middle east. Or India. Or somewhere mysterious like that.

Threading is like waxing, only it hurts a lot more, because each hair is plucked individually. So why do it? Because it lasts longer. I know, I didn’t believe that either when I heard it. But it’s true.

So, a couple weeks ago I headed downtown to get threaded. After fifteen torturous minutes of excruciating pain, I was recovering while the girl trimmed what was left of my brow.

“I’m going to put some eyebrow gel on you.”
“Eyebrow gel?”
“To keep your eyebrows from falling.”
“Falling off of what? On to what?”
“You don’t use eyebrow gel? I use it every day.”
“No really, where would my eyebrows fall to?”
“You know, down. They could fall down.”

Really? Is this something I need to worry about now? To add to my list of beauty concerns – wrinkles, pimples, dry skin, unwanted hairs – I now have to worry about my eyebrows falling down?

I think this may be the last time I get threaded by this girl.

Sweaty Hippies

Friday night, I joined my friend Summer near her home in the country. It’s not even the ‘burbs anymore where she lives, it’s straight up country. It was a big night out in the country: First Fridays, when all the stores are open late (9pm) and all the residents are out on the street (about 13 people). And Summer’s favorite yoga teacher was hosting a special class…. An hour and a half of interpretive Vinyasa with a live DJ.

We showed up with our mats and Lululemon pants. And then embarked on 90 minutes of yoga meets interpretive dance. Warrior pose meets “make love to yourself.” Downward meets “pretend you’re crawling through primordial ooze.” It was entertaining, to say the least. And kind of strangely fun, as long as I avoided all contact with my friends, which led to inevitable giggles.

I am impressed with how much my mind has opened with regards to crazy hippy shit. After all, I grew up in Berkeley. But then my cynical side (rebellious side?) has sucked out a lot of my willingness to crawl around on all fours, wagging an imaginary tail, in front of other adults.

But I did the whole class, and I enjoyed it, except for one part: we kept shifting mats. I don’t mind other people on my yoga mat, as long as they’re not sweating. And I don’t mind sweat on my yoga mat, as long as it’s MY sweat. But when my yoga mat is drenched with OTHER PEOPLE’S SWEAT, it kind of makes me want to barf.

I think next time I’m on my way to get in touch with the spinal arch of my ancestors, I will borrow a mat from the studio. Because otherwise, it’s just gross.

Working (out) at home

My first plan for when I got laid off was to get back in shape. A week has gone by and so far… I pretty much look the same. I’ve been considering signing up for classes such as Boot Camp or the Dailey Method. But they’re pretty expensive.

However, these are now deemed unnecessary; I’ve come up with the solution to my problems (thanks, Lizzie!): On Demand Exercise TV.

It’s free, and there are hundreds of videos to choose from, from 2-minute abs to 10-minute “Booty beautification.” I wish someone could have taken a picture of me this afternoon doing "Carmen Electra's Cardio Striptease" with my roommate and his visiting English pal. Rich and I are going to do the “two weeks to a new you” series.

After two-weeks in front of my On Demand TV, I’ll be a new me.

Day #2

It's been two days of unemployment. No office to go to, no projects to finish, no boss to answer to.

Finally, I'm able to pursue my dream of lying in the sun and doing absolutely nothing. Now if only I can find a way to get paid for it.

Seriously though, I couldn't have picked a better week to stop working (not that this was my choice, mind you). It's sunny, clear and hot outside. Loving the January in San Francisco.

Though in a few days it's supposed to start raining again. We'll see how I like unemployment then.