hate hate hate

I hate easyJet. Hate. Little beads of hate. Hate droplets. HATE.

1. If you have a 24-hr cancellation policy, have a 24-hr way to do it.
2. If you're going to sell tickets to Americans, have a phone number they are able to dial.
3. HATE.

We'll see if I can get the number to work when their call centRE opens. At midnight, my time. In the meantime, "your international call cannot be completed as dialed."

(YES, I looked up the proper codes!)

(HATE!)

I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in...

Yay! Girls have hobbies! I signed up for a photography class which started last week. I'm "Learning to Photograph." No, it's not digital, so until I get hold of a scanner you won't be able to see any of my pictures (I say that like people besides Anna read my blog...).

But on Sunday I went on a photography adventure. It was very Berkeley. I got Matt to drive me to the Berkeley marina and I was going to take pictures of the bridge and the bay, but it was kind of hazy. So as we're leaving, we notice a crowd of cars and people milling around the parking lot. That's a crowd of ... all the same car. Parked by color. Yes, we had stumbled upon a meeting of the Berkeley MR2 owners association. Parked by color. With barbeque. We went deep cover (I was wearing my sunglasses) and I managed to take some lovely pictures of identical yellow cars with their skirts up and the long line red cars.

So then we decide to celebrate by going to my favorite restaurant Cesar. But as we're walking there, we notice an event of some sort at Chez Panisse (its next door neighbor) -- the Asian women with ukileles tip us off. Turns out Chez Panisse is hosting a trunk sale of dosa designer clothes to benefit the Edible Schoolyard. And giving away free munchies and free wine to boot! So while I got to see Bobo Berkeley matrons in various states of undress trying on all this designer silk in a cordoned off dining room cum dressing room, Matt stayed entertained with his four glasses of wine. (And I got a lovely purple washed silk slip dress with turquoise pants, sort of Indian inspired.) And I saw Alice Waters! And I took a picture of the Chez Panisse kitchen!

Good day.

Crisis averted with mac and cheese

Turns out I was just hungry. You know I get whiny when I'm hungry. :) Yes, I've turned to bourgeois organic mac n' cheese. You know you live in Berkeley when...


Bunny always makes me feel better!


addendum:
I bet bunny will even make it better that my medieval Latin advisor is rushing off to be the president of a small liberal arts college in massachusetts. Ooh, let's try!

cloves and cranberry vodka

I'm sitting curled up on the couch under a red fuzzy blanket. I'm whining to my boyfriend. It's raining outside and about to get dark. More crisis, following up on my last several postings about my lack personality, uncertainty about my discipline, etc. I inform boyfriend about the phenomenon of the "quarter-life crisis." Boyfriend tries to help. What do I like about academia? I don't know. I don't find it very fulfilling. So don't do it. But what would I do? Whaaaa...

What would I do?

Boyfriend says, put on your shoes. What? says me under red fuzzy blankie. It's cold and wet outside. Put on your shoes. Are we going on a venture? Is it a puddle jump venture? I don't have puddle jumping shoes. Put on shoes. Boyfriend goes off to get ready. I put on extra sweater and thicker jeans, get coat and hat (cold!). Do I need my wallet? He says no.

We get the umbrellas and get in the car. We start driving. First we go to 7-11 - Matt says we need snackies. Cheetos and coke. Back in the car, still driving. Where are we going? Is it far? Can I open the cheetos now? Does the leaving behind of my ID represent my leaving behind of any kind of set identity at this moment of crisis? I've been analyzing literature too long.

Over the highway, towards the Berkeley Marina. The clouds have broken just over the bay and we can see the fading yellow light of the sunset, illuminating the marin hills but the clouds cover the mountain. We park facing the bay.

Boy pulls out pack of cloves and a flask.

Here.

But I've never smoked a cigarette before though - not a whole one. I don't know how to hold it. He offers to split one.

Pause. No... I want my own.

The flask is filled with cranberry vodka from when we went to a concert last fall. We take the cheetos, coke, and cigarettes out of the car and sit on the bench facing the bay, in the rain, under our umbrellas. The sun is hidden; the water is choppy and reflecting light off its peaks. The city lights begin to come to life, buildings dark against the gray sky. The lights of the pier look like they extend right out to the Golden Gate bridge, gray against gray clouds.

We should cut class sometime, he says. Go to the beach.

I've never cut class.

You've never gone out to smoke on the pier before, either.

He has a point.

My lips taste like cheetos, cloves, and cranberry vodka.

What's a girl to do when she hasn't done anything else?

He just couldn't wait...

Another two months and I would'a been there...