Sometimes I get super pissed off that I don’t live near my really good friends anymore. Like it makes me mad. When we all lived in San Diego none of us had the same work schedule so we couldn’t like get off work and meet up for happy hour. Now, we all have the same exact schedule (well, Megz is going to school now, so not really), but we don’t even live near each other. It sucks. It is all this wasted time that we could have spent together if we lived nearby. But unfortunately Megz lives with her dog and boyfriend in Lodi and Ash is in SD….and I am, of course, in San Francisco.
However, today Ashley and I reminisced a little bit about the good ol’ days when we did live in San Diego together (and, at one time, with each other). And as I started to recall all the drunken nights and even drunker mornings, I began to feel that we don’t live near each other for a reason. I mean, it’s appropriate that I have packed away my Superman underwear and called it quits on the phone throwing across campus.
I was also reminded the other day about how frequently we all went to Mexico. And on second thought, not so sure it was all that good of an idea. It was so nonchalant, like no big D. But, seriously. We all met up and walked down the street to the laundromat after hours (when it doubled as Hollywood Ray’s bus tours to Mexico) and hopped on a usually very old bus and headed to the border. They let us out and we walked across as all the signs turned to Spanish only. Then we hopped in cabs and made it to TJ. Like, really? Somehow (and to this day, I really have no idea how we made it safely) we all left the club and made it back to the border, through customs and on the bus by 3 or 4 a.m. Yes, our feet were black and we were way too drunk for our own good, but we made it. And not one of us got arrested or put in jail. (Michelle got questioned once, but hey, that happens when you decide to drop trou mid-customs and pee on the carpet.) And I lost $20 once to pay off the cops outside of Club Safari, but that’s it! I just can’t believe we made it out alive.
Maybe someone is looking out for us after all. That’s why they split us up.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
The Aboriginals
Month 3 and it just keeps getting better! My stunners have arrived, right on time...and I love them. They are called "The Aboriginals" and are supposed to connect me to my roots - or something like that. You probably can't see the detail, but they are hand painted with red and yellow designs that sort of look like cave paintings (?). They are super cool. We haven't spent much time together yet as its been very cold and foggy here (and unfortunately wearing sunglasses in the fog makes it very dangerous to drive). I did get to wear them for a bit this morning from my house to the bridge where the sun was out, and it was amazing. Seriously, again I will reiterate...best money I've ever spent.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
When it hits you
It’s hard to control the way you see yourself. Unfortunately, most people end up seeing themselves in the worst light; but there are those times when you see yourself through another’s eyes. Of course, the best experiences are when you realize that the way others see you is a lot better than the way you see yourself—that’s actually my feeling on love. I constantly think about how Eric sees me. I mean, if you think about it (aside from my coworkers), Eric is definitely at the top of the list of people that see me for the most hours per day. He sees me at my worst, best and everything in between. (It’s kind of like Santa Claus actually… “he sees you when your sleeping, he knows when you’re awake” weird…never really thought about that before). Anyway, its hard to imagine the way people see you, especially those closest to you, and sometimes they are the ones that change your own perception. If you see a loved one look at you poorly or negatively, it can often hurt the most. Of course, there are also random people that remark or react to you in a way you’ve never seen before—and it hits you—just like that.
So, I am fully aware that I am 25 years old now. I am also aware that I live in an apartment with my boyfriend of 4 ½ years, and I am holding down a decent job, and I want kids someday, and I want to get married. All of these things seem more than obvious at this point; yet, while at Beverages & More the other day, all of these things lost all importance with one comment from the cashier.
So, I am at Target and have asked Eric before I left our apartment if he’d like me to get him anything. He says some beer would be nice as it’s Sunday and it’s football all day. So, I make up my mind that Target sells beer because they sell wine—and they are a package deal, right?! Like you are at a bar and they don’t say, “Oh, we only sell wine, or we only sell beer.” It’s always, “We only sell beer and wine. No booze. But beer and wine.” (Obviously, I know there are bars that only sell wine, but they are clearly called wine bars, okay…so my point isn't all that valid, but for the most part, it’s beer and wine or everything!) Moving on, Target does not sell beer. They only sell wine. So, I buy what I “need” and move on. As I leave the parking lot I remember there is a BevMo right in the same center so I decide that is where I will pick up the beer for my man.
Enter the store. All’s well. I make my way back to the refrigerated section and grab the cheapest beer they have (I know, great girlfriend, right?), and I head to the checkout lanes. I wait in line, still all’s well. It’s my turn and I am asked for my BevMo card and drivers license. I grab both and hand them over. As I am looking down into my purse to find my chapstick while she rings me up I hear her say matter-of-factly, “25.” That’s all she said. No shock, no surprise, no hint of rudeness. Just “25.” For some reason this was my moment of realization. My birthday was in April but it just hit me last Sunday that I was actually 25 years old. Holy shit, I thought. But, wait a minute! By 25 I was supposed to be engaged and thinking of buying a house and having a job that pays me a crap-load of money. Wait just a minute. None of those things are happening. Damn it. How did this happen? Don’t get me wrong, I love my life. I LOVE living in San Francisco and I love my boyfriend and my apartment, and my job is alright…at that moment; however, nothing mattered. I was 25 years old! Wow.
Thanks, cashier lady at BevMo…now I have a lot of work to do.
So, I am fully aware that I am 25 years old now. I am also aware that I live in an apartment with my boyfriend of 4 ½ years, and I am holding down a decent job, and I want kids someday, and I want to get married. All of these things seem more than obvious at this point; yet, while at Beverages & More the other day, all of these things lost all importance with one comment from the cashier.
So, I am at Target and have asked Eric before I left our apartment if he’d like me to get him anything. He says some beer would be nice as it’s Sunday and it’s football all day. So, I make up my mind that Target sells beer because they sell wine—and they are a package deal, right?! Like you are at a bar and they don’t say, “Oh, we only sell wine, or we only sell beer.” It’s always, “We only sell beer and wine. No booze. But beer and wine.” (Obviously, I know there are bars that only sell wine, but they are clearly called wine bars, okay…so my point isn't all that valid, but for the most part, it’s beer and wine or everything!) Moving on, Target does not sell beer. They only sell wine. So, I buy what I “need” and move on. As I leave the parking lot I remember there is a BevMo right in the same center so I decide that is where I will pick up the beer for my man.
Enter the store. All’s well. I make my way back to the refrigerated section and grab the cheapest beer they have (I know, great girlfriend, right?), and I head to the checkout lanes. I wait in line, still all’s well. It’s my turn and I am asked for my BevMo card and drivers license. I grab both and hand them over. As I am looking down into my purse to find my chapstick while she rings me up I hear her say matter-of-factly, “25.” That’s all she said. No shock, no surprise, no hint of rudeness. Just “25.” For some reason this was my moment of realization. My birthday was in April but it just hit me last Sunday that I was actually 25 years old. Holy shit, I thought. But, wait a minute! By 25 I was supposed to be engaged and thinking of buying a house and having a job that pays me a crap-load of money. Wait just a minute. None of those things are happening. Damn it. How did this happen? Don’t get me wrong, I love my life. I LOVE living in San Francisco and I love my boyfriend and my apartment, and my job is alright…at that moment; however, nothing mattered. I was 25 years old! Wow.
Thanks, cashier lady at BevMo…now I have a lot of work to do.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Upholding the family name
As a daughter, I was fairly convinced that meant that I could take the easy way out. Although I do carry the Schreibman family name around with me on my license, business cards, in my email address, etc., I was pretty certain that was my only obligation to the name…that is, until this past weekend.
My father is a big part of the Sebastopol Rotary Club (which rocks, by the way!) and not to brag but he’s kind of a big deal. And it’s not like I didn’t know that my dad was amazing and that he cared about helping charities, raising money, etc. but I got a great reminder of this at the annual Lobster Feed, which my family attended this past weekend.
Here’s how the night played out in an extremely condensed version: arrive on time, check in, collect personal wine glass, drink a lot, eat yummy appetizers, watch huge pots of boiling water with great food in them, drink some more, sit down, cheer for a lot of things, watch the lobster pot being poured onto our table, consume massive amounts of food, drink, get a lobster hat and wear it, bid on auction items, drink, bid, drink, bid, get elbowed by other bidders vying for my item, check out, find my brother sharing a cigar with some fellas, go home. All in all, GREAT night! But there was one particular moment that could not have happened and I would have been just fine.
Here’s the scene: The night is ending and you must go to the cashier to pay your dues on what you bid on, what you’ve donated, etc. throughout the evening. After I had been so politely told that I would not be getting my auction item (via the mouth of the hoverer who actually out-bid herself just cause she knew I couldn’t afford any higher), I decided to go check out. I walk in, purse in hand, and I already have a plan of attack. I know that because I didn’t get my auction item I had only successfully donated $10 to help children learn to swim, and $10 is a very low number, and I was already embarrassed by it before I walked in the room. (Initially I had wanted to donate $50 and then throughout my drinking extravaganza I was going to spend $100 toward charity.)
So, I walk into the cashier room, and, of course, it’s just me and one other lady in the room amid like 6 cashiers. And, of course, the “lady” just so happened to be the previous president of the Rotary Club, whom I have met before (because she knows my father…). The minute I walk into the brightly lit room (which sucked in itself cause I was pretty drunk and it was a shock), former-president lady says, very loudly, “This is David Schreibman’s daughter!” Not only was I caught off guard, but I’m still not sure what prompted her exclamation, or who really cared…but, boy did it get a reaction. Every single person behind the long desk looked up if they weren’t already staring at me and let out a long “ahhhhh” of realization.
Already embarrassed, I smile widely and move toward one of the cashiers. My plan to ask them to change my donation from $10 to $50 was slowly losing its chance at panning out – this I already knew in my mind. Still, with a slight bit of confidence, I show them my bid number and they bring up my bill. “So…we have $10 here to help children swim….” He looks up at me. “Uhhhh…ummmm…well, I was trying to bid on some stuff in the silent auction and those people are feisty out there! Some woman actually elbowed me to outbid me!” I immediately say even though he hadn’t really questioned my small donation. Everyone laughed and definitely thought I was hilarious. (It’s also important to note that I am wearing a bright red lobster hat and a lobster necklace.)
Once the laughter subsided, the man in front of me looked up and said, “Oh, well, your dad would be proud!” (in a completely sarcastic tone). Again, everyone laughed. My face turned red and I, again, proclaimed my intentions on donating more. Then I handed over my debit card (another bright-eyed moment as it was only $10 after all), and I didn’t have the gumption to say anything about making the donation more money (because I felt like if I said something they would think it was because they were mocking me and that is not what I wanted to portray). Transaction finally complete, I walked out feeling like a loser and shaking my head at myself. I immediately ran to tell my brother and Eric…and they laughed at me as well. Humor probably saved me here, as it does in so many other situations.
The moral of the story is that my dad has set the bar pretty damn high. And Rotary donation aside, he makes me want to not only meet his expectations but exceed them on a daily basis. Most days I feel very lucky to have that. Thanks, Dad.
My father is a big part of the Sebastopol Rotary Club (which rocks, by the way!) and not to brag but he’s kind of a big deal. And it’s not like I didn’t know that my dad was amazing and that he cared about helping charities, raising money, etc. but I got a great reminder of this at the annual Lobster Feed, which my family attended this past weekend.
Here’s how the night played out in an extremely condensed version: arrive on time, check in, collect personal wine glass, drink a lot, eat yummy appetizers, watch huge pots of boiling water with great food in them, drink some more, sit down, cheer for a lot of things, watch the lobster pot being poured onto our table, consume massive amounts of food, drink, get a lobster hat and wear it, bid on auction items, drink, bid, drink, bid, get elbowed by other bidders vying for my item, check out, find my brother sharing a cigar with some fellas, go home. All in all, GREAT night! But there was one particular moment that could not have happened and I would have been just fine.
Here’s the scene: The night is ending and you must go to the cashier to pay your dues on what you bid on, what you’ve donated, etc. throughout the evening. After I had been so politely told that I would not be getting my auction item (via the mouth of the hoverer who actually out-bid herself just cause she knew I couldn’t afford any higher), I decided to go check out. I walk in, purse in hand, and I already have a plan of attack. I know that because I didn’t get my auction item I had only successfully donated $10 to help children learn to swim, and $10 is a very low number, and I was already embarrassed by it before I walked in the room. (Initially I had wanted to donate $50 and then throughout my drinking extravaganza I was going to spend $100 toward charity.)
So, I walk into the cashier room, and, of course, it’s just me and one other lady in the room amid like 6 cashiers. And, of course, the “lady” just so happened to be the previous president of the Rotary Club, whom I have met before (because she knows my father…). The minute I walk into the brightly lit room (which sucked in itself cause I was pretty drunk and it was a shock), former-president lady says, very loudly, “This is David Schreibman’s daughter!” Not only was I caught off guard, but I’m still not sure what prompted her exclamation, or who really cared…but, boy did it get a reaction. Every single person behind the long desk looked up if they weren’t already staring at me and let out a long “ahhhhh” of realization.
Already embarrassed, I smile widely and move toward one of the cashiers. My plan to ask them to change my donation from $10 to $50 was slowly losing its chance at panning out – this I already knew in my mind. Still, with a slight bit of confidence, I show them my bid number and they bring up my bill. “So…we have $10 here to help children swim….” He looks up at me. “Uhhhh…ummmm…well, I was trying to bid on some stuff in the silent auction and those people are feisty out there! Some woman actually elbowed me to outbid me!” I immediately say even though he hadn’t really questioned my small donation. Everyone laughed and definitely thought I was hilarious. (It’s also important to note that I am wearing a bright red lobster hat and a lobster necklace.)
Once the laughter subsided, the man in front of me looked up and said, “Oh, well, your dad would be proud!” (in a completely sarcastic tone). Again, everyone laughed. My face turned red and I, again, proclaimed my intentions on donating more. Then I handed over my debit card (another bright-eyed moment as it was only $10 after all), and I didn’t have the gumption to say anything about making the donation more money (because I felt like if I said something they would think it was because they were mocking me and that is not what I wanted to portray). Transaction finally complete, I walked out feeling like a loser and shaking my head at myself. I immediately ran to tell my brother and Eric…and they laughed at me as well. Humor probably saved me here, as it does in so many other situations.
The moral of the story is that my dad has set the bar pretty damn high. And Rotary donation aside, he makes me want to not only meet his expectations but exceed them on a daily basis. Most days I feel very lucky to have that. Thanks, Dad.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Treasures....
I am currently sitting at work and listening to a CD a co-worker brought back from a recent tradeshow. Listening to the CD actually started out as a joke, but as it turns out I am thoroughly enjoying listening to "Treasures of Hawaiian Slack Key Guitar." Who knew? I just think that's a funny thing to point out right now...oh, you know, I'm just a 25-year-old girl pretending to be a professional journalist, sitting in her extremely bright-colored office with a red poodle puppy moping under her desk...I wonder what this girl is listening to on her iPod headphones plugged into her laptop? Oh, of course, Treasures of Hawaiian Slack Key Guitar. Naturally.
I would also like to admit semi-publicly that when I was in Maui for work a few months ago every time I went back to my hotel room I turned on the TV to the generic hotel station, which was showing photos of the property and fish swimming. The reason I turned on this channel was to listen to the Hawaiian music they played in the background. The worst part is that the station only had like 4 songs that just repeated over and over...and yet, still turned it on every single time I was in my room. I don't care, I'm still really cool. I swear. My blog is called shameless, so who cares. No shame here.
I would also like to admit semi-publicly that when I was in Maui for work a few months ago every time I went back to my hotel room I turned on the TV to the generic hotel station, which was showing photos of the property and fish swimming. The reason I turned on this channel was to listen to the Hawaiian music they played in the background. The worst part is that the station only had like 4 songs that just repeated over and over...and yet, still turned it on every single time I was in my room. I don't care, I'm still really cool. I swear. My blog is called shameless, so who cares. No shame here.
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