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Stripy Riding Hood

My own personal soapbox and news channel

Posts tagged with:

“San Francisco”

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay4bcXP
Monday February 09, 2009
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So… On banality and St.Valentine’s Day

So for all those who know me a little bit, I dislike banalities with a vengeance.

Maybe I should say then that I DETEST banalities…

Not that I don’t fall into the trap of saying or doing them. For what it is worth though, I try my hardest not to.

So let’s discuss Valentine’s Day.

Why?

Because I bloody hate the day. Because it possibly is the biggest banality out there, with vomit on top and wrapped in tinsel and then with a huge snot bow (the green type).

I cottoned on to this when I was at the tender age of Fourteen… By the time I was Sixteen, when a sweet, young suitor offered me red roses and a heart shaped pin in a crowded coffee shop I flipped out and broke up with him. Poor boy.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that my mom found him drunk at our apartment building doorstep the next week.. oh no..  Nor should it have been a surprise that he hated my guts thereafter.. Although with my social ineptness I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why “… ‘cause I was honest and straight with him, you know? Isn’t that all that matters?”.. as I reasoned.

(Later on people will be relieved to know that I did figure it out, and that I did understand that honesty is not necessarily what matters the most. Breaking someones heart was/is. People will be relieved to know that now I mostly shut up, instead of blurting things out or, for that matter, tell lies).

Back to the boy… How was he to know that Valentine’s day made my skin crawl? Right? How was he to know that the sight of bars and restaurants donned in paper hearts and bows, and red kisses and cupids made my stomach turn to the point of physically having to throw up?

Now.. the psychological reasons for that, I do not know. I haven’t dwelled on it either because I do not feel there is anything wrong to my aversion to this Faux Love Fest.. like I don’t feel my aversion to multicoloured bed sheets, needlepoint frames (or cushions actually), vinyl trousers, aromatic toilet paper (what made you buy that anyway??), novelty picture frames, spam mail, eczema, dog shit on the soles of my shoes (POOPSCOOP ASSHOLE! Yes, YOU!), Jessica Simpson, public toilets, stepping on water while wearing socks, germs need to be justified or looked into.

They Just Are Things Perfectly Reasonably to Want To Ban From Life Forever.

So fast forward many years… fast forward me never accepting dates on Valentine’s, or refusing to go out on said day with people I dated.. skip the misguided efforts to ban the “celebration” by ranting off the top of my voice in the middle of a couple’s love fest at a bar or another and just ignore the years that I was a single female, living on my own cursing, cussing and spitting on the ground at people who wished me Merry Valentine’s on the day..

… to the week that I was to meet my Beloved, Super Great, Awesome, Amazing, Smart, Handsome (is he blushing yet?), Cynical, Sweet and after all Husband.

Queue Harp and violins and trumpets and some Motorhead.

We had met a year before and were casually flirting for a couple of months.. You know what? It doesn’t really matter. All that you need to know is that we were to meet up mid February. Sadly, that is very close to the cursed Valentine Day.

It was life pissing on my parade.. It was The Gawds crapping on the porch of my beliefs.

Queue Horror music, Shrilling screams, images of Fleeting Shadows and Creaking Coffins..

…

As it was we just managed to skip the Cursed Date of Valentine’s by sheer luck and flight schedules.

…

Swiss Airlines didn’t have a flight on the day…

…

The hotel didn’t have a room…

…

Well, and actually the gathering I was attending (don’t ask.. it is extremely Geeky and Nerdy) didn’t start until the 15th of February.

…

Queue Neil Diamond elevator music here… Look nonchalantly and casually at the elevetor panel…

…

If we had an anniversary on the 14th of February, I am not sure I would have been able to live with it. I would have to make up a date and lie about it.

As it stands this year I think we may celebrate by watching The Seven Year Itch as it is our seven years mark, drink some Lemonade, and have some sushi on our lounge floor in the lovely San Francisco, while cuddling our lovely boy Oliver and burning any Valentine paraphernalia we can find in our makeshift fire made of Broken Hearts and Bleeding Lovers..

Life is good when you share it with someone who views life through the same binoculars. Even if they are viewing it the other way around and you refuse to take out one of the lense covers.

Indeed.

Current Read:

Lost Girls, by Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie

Current Music:

Let it Go, by William Young

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay4SCgk
Friday January 30, 2009
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San Francisco: Potpourri Days and Feelings

So there are a couple of things that happened these last few days that I wanted to share with The Internets so this might seem a bit of a potluck of thoughts and that is, because it really is just a potluck of thoughts.

Part -1-

So there has been one constant in my life since I remember myself:

IKEA

One of my early memories is me being sleepy in my mom’s arms while my dad is slaving over our new Ikea beds, putting them together in our new apartment in Stockholm. Ah.. that bed stayed with me for many years.. and that bed saw me grow up and become a Young Lady, albeit not very proper.

Fast Forward a few years to my first apartment and me bringing Ikea stuff from my business trip to Stockholm to dress the apartment in Thessaloniki Greece..

Fast Forward to London UK where going to Ikea was a day’s worth of trip and we rented a car for it with my, now, beloved hubby who right there and then realised that I will never have enough candles.

Fast Forward to Vancouver Canada where we bought our first bed together.

Fast Forward to Singapore sitting in an empty den waiting for an Ikea delivery while I am waisting time on Facebook.

Fast Forward to San Francisco realising that Ikea is self check-out and I squeal in enjoyment for not having to interact with a cashier.. bleep.. bleeeeap..

I don’t care what people say about Ikea, it has a special place in my heart.

Part -Deux-

So there is one thing that holds true when you go for an interview in Apparel/Fashion:

You do not need to know the exact address. Just the approximate area.

Normally for a detail freak like me, not having the step by step map with a picture of the street and the door is a situation that would be less than ideal and would cause me to leave home two hours early just to ensure I get there on time and at the right place (which incidentaly led me to Part -3-).

But there is a universal truth about Clothing People.

You just have to see where the people with the Cool Factor are going towards. See that guy with the fedora and the torn tee, thin belt and pointy shoes? That is a designer. See the woman who walks tall, wears funky clothes but is quite measured and has kick ass glasses? She is a Buyer. The ones that look out of place in their own cool clothes? Those are IT and Admin people trying to catch up. The tech people (like myself) tend to be more practical and go for more style pieces rather than fashion pieces.. or maybe I am flattering myself ;)

Everyone in the Fashion world has her/his place. And you can spot them from afar. It is as if we have invisible tattoos on our foreheads that only we can see and passing each other on the street, in an airport we nod and walk away because there can only be One.

One of my first managers used to bet me during trips abroad in airports.. “See that guy over there? He is a designer.. watch this”.. and she would walk up to him, hand him her card and then he would hand her his Designer of X company card and I would be left thinking “WOW! Will I ever be that good!”

Maybe I will be.. who knows.

Part -3-

One of my biggest stresses in life and that takes up a lot of my time preparing for when I go out (for whatever reason) is getting lost.

And this is almost certain for a person with an internal compass of a humming bird on speed (oh oh! I saw a couple of humming birds today above me in a tree.. so shweet!)

I get lost in my own apartment building and I am not exaggerating here people!

So after much deliberation, I got an iPhone. Yes, I do know of all the cons. And yes, it looks pretty cool nesting next to my flushed winter cheeks and reflecting my cool Christian Dior sunglasses. Yes, I tend to be a visual person. Unlike a lot of females out there. If I see, I feel. Her name is Bebe, she is black and shiny and gives me all the internets I want, all the time at a standard fee. She is a whore.. but I love her. She pinpoints me and tells me where to go next, while letting me know of my appointments, singing to me and relaying the voices of other people magically. She calls it Phoning.

Music of the moment:

Honey Honey, Abba

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay4Ns7K
Monday January 26, 2009
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San Francisco: Life on the Slow Lane

So this post has nothing to do with San Francisco per se. However, since I now live here, the titles will continue under that format for a little while cause I am so damn stocked that I live in San Francisco, OK? OK..

So you know how it is when you try to make time through a busy month/week to do that Big Super Market Shop? You know the one.. the one you are dreading that involves 24 rolls of Toilet Paper, 5 liters of washing liquid, 50 tablets of dishwasher powder and other assorted Non-Frequent buyers.

That one.

So you try to make it to a weekday night because you know the brat factor will be at a minimum and the only other people down the isles are Singles, Couples or Sane Human Beings.

You didn’t make it though for at least ten days of trying and you are now down to considering using kitchen napkins for the loo as the roll has about ten leaves left and you just know that is not going to cut it.

And no.. using kitchen napkins is not comfortable.

Not that I would know.

I have only heard…

Anyway.. so now it is Sunday and yourself or yourself and your partner have to make your way to the Super Market.
You prepare yourself for the endless sea of brats.. the tantrum throwing.. the screaming down at the chocolate/chip isles (which btw, is an awfully effective deterant if you are on a diet) .. the touching of your thighs while small kids waddle by and the proud parents thinking it is SO CUTE! isn’t it? huh? Only MY kid is THAT CUTE..

You are prepared. And you know it is going to happen. Look, you even packed your bag sized disinfectant wipes because you know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the trolley will be packed with snot and sugary syrup stains from tiny lil palms (along with all the rest of the germs).

What you didn’t prepare for (AGAIN) is the Senior Factor.

They exist in every country.. it is the Seniors who refuse to change their routine and insist on going out to shop at rush hour in stores.

These Seniors don’t take advantage of the fact that they can go down to the Super Market at 10am, easily find parking, stroll down the isles (or Zimmer down the isles.. depends on levels of Seniority here) and go home within the hour.

These Seniors insist to go to a an extremely busy Super Market at times that the people who have no choice but to go at those times because they work are there.

Not only though do they insist to be there at the busiest times.. they insist you Respect them, Help them, Feed them and Change them because they are Seniors.

And you are left to wonder “WHAT THE FUCK?!”… You are left thinking “Hang on.. these people stay home all day and watch As The World Turns and Wheel of Fortune and all these people who work 12 hours a day have to make room for their needs? Fuck off!”

I have promised myself that I am going to be a good Senior Citizen if my body will let me get to that age.. To ensure I remember, I am making a list of things that I will never ever do, and things to remember to do.. hopefully I won’t go senile and refuse to follow it :P

Song of the Day:
The Joker, Steve Miller Band

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay4HAsc
Monday January 19, 2009
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San Francisco: The Waiting Days

So it comes a point in a relocation that you wait.

And you wait some more.

And nothing is moving.. nothing is happening.

You have sent your resume out, you have tried to network, you have called, asked, smiled, hand-shook and thank-lettered.

And you wait.

Mostly because there is this misguided notion that if you are new to a country, you can’t adapt or understand the working culture fast enough. And having hired people myself, I know how much the fitting-in factor plays a part in the selection.

However.

How can you make that decision before meeting someone? I have always made a point of taking the time to even do quick 15 minute interviews as introductions just on the sole purpose of ensuring that my decision on who I am hiring is not prejudged or uninformed.

The wait drives you to run in circles around yourself, second guessing your abilities, your skills your wants and your can-dos and have-dones.

And I know that at some point people will just start calling me.. and I know that once I got that first job I will have people head hunting me because my experience and skills are solid. However, everyone prefers that someone else takes the risk first.

I want to work. I am tired of sitting around and dealing with our relocation, our apartment and any other trivial crap. I want to wake up in the morning, put my clothes on and use my skills and experience to make someone else’s work and experience easier and nicer and more fulfilling.

Call me.

(or e-mail.. I am easy).

Song of the day:

She works hard for the money, Donna Summer

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay48xBl
Friday January 09, 2009
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San Francisco: The Property Manager that did not manage

So I am pissed off.

While I have been doing so much work to sort out the inside of our apartment, our Property management company has done very little to ensure the outside of the apartment is safe, clean and in a good state.

Good state is relative as well. We live in what is quite an expensive neighbourhood, occupied by a lot of snobs, however it is also very close to Dominic’s work and conveniantly has three green spaces where I can take Oliver off-leash, a high-street for all our shopping needs and a cherry on top.

So for my money, I expect that the building is maintained in a rather good state.

At least as good as the rest of the buildings around us.

That is not what is happening though.

I will cut the boring story of the last month involving a kitchen drain, a pipeline, a couple of plumbers and black goo to this:

I have birds living in my kitchen wall.

No, not robins.. or sparrows.. or anything small and cutesy.

Fucking full sized, well-fed, turkey-sized PIGEONS.

Now you might think this implies there is a hole on the wall for said pigeons to be able to get in it, decorate the damn hole, have their friends over to oooh and aaaah over the architecture, and essentially have sex and an aerobics and raise a family of six.

To which I have to admit: Yes.. yes there is a hole.. No, it was not done by me.. no…

I am not impressed.

I am not impressed by our building “manager” (they give that title to bloody anybody.. seriously.. and then you say you are a manager and people think you sit all day having coffee and going on vacation to Rhino when your boss doesn’t know about it.. Simon) who keeps saying he will either fix things, or he will inform his manager to get a decision on the matter.

So for the last two days Dominic and I have been calling citiapartments (the said management and realty company) to many promises that someone will do something and someone will get off their fat ass and fix things.

But there is only one thing to remember when approaching situations like this:

If the lower down employee (in this case our building “manager”) is allowed to work and behave in the manner they are, it is highly likely that their manager (in this case the district manager) is working in the same manner and further on and up the chain until you reach exec which is normally detached from the whole reality of what is going on on the work-floor and growls down the phone that “When I tell them to call, they will call”.

No.. sorry. You are wrong. Your employees don’t give a toss what you think or want Mr.I-Make-Them-Do-Shit-with-my-NY-accent.

Behold.. it is nearly 2 pm and no one has called. Funny that, right? it is over 8 working hours since we spoke with The Boss (no, not Bruce Springsteen). And the weekend is coming.. and guess what? They won’t be able to do anything about it.. not even since they have been informed mid week and last week and a month prior.

Assholes.

California Band-Tails anyone?

Music of the moment:

Our house, by Crosby, Stills, Nash

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay44Di7
Saturday January 03, 2009
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San Francisco: The Settling-In Days

So we are finally done.

Done.

And by done I mean we are on the phase where we are debating where to hang our few art pieces and getting ready to compile the claim for the insurance for anything and all that broke during the move.

We have Purged with a capital P. It feels good. There is still quite a bit of stuff, but it feels good to have gotten rid of a lot of clothes, fad books and Stuff used once a year. The husband who is a notorious.. I should say *was* a notorious hoarder had the biggest break through in this.

So what happens during this time is I tend to reflect. It happens because suddenly I have no great and visible goal. And not because it is New Year.

So I am sat here and the question of “Has our generation any excuse not to be the best it can be as individuals?” surfaces. And I don’t mean in that Higher Purpose, Go Green or Die, Peace everywhere way..

Although that would be nice too.

I mean in a more introspective way: We have been bombarded for years on how to self improve (Oprah bloody built her empire on this crap), dissect our personalities and renovate and improve and build and grow. And after 30 something years (cough), I can honestly say that although I haven’t become the best I could be, I am hardly halfway there, but I do feel I have broken a lot of social afflictions passed on to me by my family, my social environment, friends and all that jazz.

One of the biggest break through for me is that showing joy and satisfaction is not making me a weak person. It doesn’t open me up to emotional assault. That happens when you trust the wrong people (and boy have I had my share of those through my years); It happens when you don’t wait and think before you open your mouth (something extremely hard for a person who is borderline Asperger who tends to say the most inappropriate things as jokes and chortle to themselves and doesn’t understand why people take offence to a good joke.. true story!).

So I guess the question is: What have you done to make yourself a better person for yourself and not for others? What have you done that makes you feel that slightly more comfortable in your own skin and what will you do now onwards?

Song of the moment:

Bulls on Parade by Rage Against The Machine (only because Dominic is playing Guitar Hero and that is what is on atm and is a good song)

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3vq6I
Wednesday December 17, 2008
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San Francisco: The “Any Day Now” Days

So! First the amazing news: I GOT MY FUCKING USA WORKING PERMIT! WOOOOOOT!

Never, ever did I think this would happen.. I am pleased as a punch and am celebrating with my own bottle of wine (hubby is busy over at ILM bonding with his fellow geeks over bad movies).

I also made a nice soup after following this recipe from TheKitchn.com which came out rather good.. A few things I would change but still.. a nice dinner with some wine.

So.. it comes to a point after a move (be it an international or even a local move) where your bed is assembled, the kitchen is sorted (after the loads of debating and umming and urring about where the coffee mugs should go and where the plates should be and do-we-really-need-all-this-taperware? debates) but things are not quite in place.

Yes, things are put away, but things are not at their optimum position.

I am at that point.

Oh.. and the lounge it still a mess.

Oh.. and did I mention the movers lost the screws that attach our dining table legs to our dining table top?

And did I mention how the whole bloody lot of cables that connect three gaming platforms, a surround sound, a DVD player and a huge TV got lost along with the wireless routers?

No?
Well let me tell you, they didn’t lose the fucking stones I had stuffed in a vase.. but they lost what is essential to hook up our life support (PS3, 360 etc :P).

We are currently back and forth with the relocation company playing good cop (Dominic), bad cop (Mirto) to get Results.

Other than that, all is peachy!

Music of the moment:

Nulla in Mundo Pax Sincera

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3r2bA
Wednesday December 10, 2008
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I open a box.. throw a piece of paper wrapping to the floor.. ten seconds later Oliver has claimed it as a sleep area. Love this pooch.. anything on the floor he makes it his bed and breaks your heart with those big brown eyes if you try to take it away and try to stir him over to his expensive doughnut bed with microfiber fabric and bells and whistles.

I open a box.. throw a piece of paper wrapping to the floor.. ten seconds later Oliver has claimed it as a sleep area.
Love this pooch.. anything on the floor he makes it his bed and breaks your heart with those big brown eyes if you try to take it away and try to stir him over to his expensive doughnut bed with microfiber fabric and bells and whistles.

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3r2Qj
Wednesday December 10, 2008
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San Francisco: The Boxed-In Days

So at some point, all those nicely planned (note the word planned, not executed) boxes you organised on the other side of the pond, are returned to you.

Oh what a day that is.

The unloading of our home was monumental: Three men crew (too few), three floors up (three too many it seems), and one hundred and eighty “boxes” later (don’t ask) I am stood in the middle of our new apartment, on one leg, holding one box cutter, wondering if slitting my wrists or unpacking is going to be the most sane thing to do.

Added bonus: Having to unpack as many boxes as possible for the refuse pick up the movers do so as to have them come by only once.

Try doing that in a small apartment.

I did.

Today after the debris pick up I finally regained the dining area of our kitchen.. And the corridor.. and part of the bedroom.

I felt like the Alien re-birthing from the belly of that crew member that died first and no one remembers hence forward due to the coming crazy events.

For this move we have also decided (I say we because it was indeed a joint decision between The Husband and I) to Purge. Which is a good thing. To a point.

Now along with all the stuff that need to find a place for, I have also to find a way to get four IKEA blue bags worth of clothes, three pieces of furniture, one box of kitchenware and a suitcase (not final as the purge is ongoing and will extend to books and linens) to charities around San Francisco without a car.

And while I tiptoe through piles of clothes, cables, Oliver, crap, chairs, mattresses, guitars and electronics I can’t pick myself up to do what is Important.

Here I am, having a friend fly over from Vancouver (HOLLAAAR!) on Boxing Day and instead of making sense of it all I am doing everything else:

Ordering New Cooky tags for Oliver from Fetching Tags and spending time browsing the dog gallery… Trying to put up hooks on a wall that just isn’t built to hold anything (old Marina houses in San Fran are not built for fancy things like hooks!).. Watching Lipstick Jungle and wondering why the hell did Nico choose a baby over that hot stud-muffin she bagged (some women NEED to get their priorities straight the kid will just crap everywhere and yell at you what a horrible parent you are.. stud-muffin on other hand will not).. and in general, just doing some good ol’ procrastinating.

I promise myself that tomorrow I will DO SHIT and GET MOVING and then I feel good about it and go grab some coffee flavoured frozen yogurt and watch some more crap TV.

Song of the hour:

Row, Row, Row your Boat… Gently Down The Stream..

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3l9Hm
Tuesday December 02, 2008
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San Francisco Relo: The Super Market Factor

So, there is a point after you have finally relocated to your new country that you have to face the Great Unknown of the local super markets.

What that is, is essentially the feeling of anxiety, excitement, panic, joy and combination of when going through shelves and shelves of product you have no idea if you like, are healthy, have too much sugar or carbs or fat.

I am a creature of comforts. I like to have my brand of milk/soup/whatever.

I am also an avid reader of nutrition labels. You need to know what you put in your body even if you choose the crap high-fat, high-cal  whatever as opposed to the low-fat “healthy” version.

If you are going to abuse your body, ensure you know what you are abusing it with (this is by far the biggest reason why I never endulged in any chemical drugs.. I refuse to have glue and strychnine floating in my blood).

So what happens for the first few months is that every trip to the super market is A Great Adventure Into The Unknown. It entails taking down notes, staring down aisles (which alarms the local workforce a LOT) and questions such as “I thought you were getting some milk and bread, what took you so long?” from Hubby.

The first time I really experienced The Super Market Factor was visiting a Tesco (Heathen yeah, yeah, I know..) in London: The sheer variation of goods, the versatility (who knew you could get Peruvian whatever smack middle in London?!) was new to me. I had only come from lil Greece where people buy pretty much the same things they did 60 years ago.

The feeling is the same every time.

It is that mild discomfort of having to reorganise your underwear drawers and throwing out whatever is broken beyond fixing and trying to get excited with this new bra you had to buy because yours is discontinued (yet not understanding why that happened! it was perfect!).

The one thing I really don’t like about American food products is that everything is sickeningly sweet. Syrupy almost.. and for a person who doesn’t really have a sweet tooth, that is not very appealing.

Which means that hopefully I will lose some more weight! BONUS Bling Bling Bling!!

Song of the Moment:

1979 by Smashing Pumpkins

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3fm6U
Monday November 24, 2008
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San Francisco Day Seventeen: Weekend Bonanza!

This weekend was the first weekend Dominic and I did Stuff around the city.

It was a great experience just walking from place to place, trying to figure it out.

The more I see of this place, the more I like it!

We had a great time during Saturday afternoon walking around Market Street (central) ending up at the Embarcadero and at night meeting with good friends over at Mission (being driven there by Taxi Dude -hubby describes the whole experience- was awesome too).

Today we walked around SOMA with Oliver trying to find a cheap, nice place to eat al fresco (with pooch we can only eat al fresco, rain or shine). All I could see what the fantastic SFMoma looming from across the street, or better yet, lurcing or crouching and think “Soon my pretty.. soon…”. Am planning on an outting next weekend!

This is another calm before the storm: This week am getting keys to the new places (pictures to follow), having a “dry run” with Oliver on the bus on Thanksgiving (because you are allowed canines on the bus, how said canine might react to the whole commotion is a different story so a day where no one is going to be on said bus is perfect), and eventually getting our 20’ container moved in and up three flights of stairs and unpacked by our movers who are inevitably going to hate us for said three flights of stairs, me unpacking the apartment and hopefully hearing from some job applications.

Song of the day:

She Bangs, She Bangs, by wotshisface