Giants Parade C*&k Block - Boo Bitter Bosses!

*Warning - this post isn't so much about sports as it is about having the party crapped on*

In the spirit of the World Series (and because Charlie and I seem to be the only people we know in this city who can look at sports objectively), I've decided to tell you all why I plan to party my ass off for the entirety of the series.

This started back to the 2010 World Series - I actually gave a damn then, so when the Giants won it was amazing. Parties in the streets, random vandalism (I wasn't involved thank you!) and hugs from strangers who believed it would "never happen in their lifetime!" Hell, I hugged an 80 year-old man and a hooker at the same time because we were just all so damn happy.

She actually did look like the blonde...

The best part was that I was working in building that was ONE BLOCK from the victory parade route! How awesome was that? I could take a few hours off and give my friends - the faithful, front row. Hell, I could give Timmy a hi-five! And hey, my bosses were Giants fans - what could go wrong? So a couple days before the parade, I went to ask my boss for the time off. I had been good - no ditching work, no coming in hungover (I actually wasn't drinking then because I was still in loan payoff supermode) and I even had a friend agree to do my work for that day. Imagine my shock when this bitch...I mean, Project Manager told me no. What!?! This is the first time in history that the San Francisco Giants win a world series and we're a half a block from the parade and I can't fucking go!?!

Guys, I almost quit...seriously. The worst part was that she never even gave me a reason why. So while I was out freezing my ass off in a dust-filled warehouse in the ghetto of San Leandro, my boss and other colleagues who weren't working on my project were enjoying the parade and sending me pictures thinking THAT would make it all ok. Just thinking about that STILL pisses me off. I never even got to get drunk and yell at people. Not. Once.

It's ok, I'm sad I couldn't drink too...

So here we are, two years later. Different job, different boss....who happens to be a die-hard Giants fan! In fact, I'm surprised she hasn't offered to pay me overtime to go secure a spot for the parade - and they haven't even won (yet). So not only will I get to go to the parade if it happens, I am no longer broke which means the gang and I have no excuse to not party hard because I fully believe, this will never happen again...unless the Niners make a super bowl (Go Niners)! Even if they lose, I will have the drunken, huggy, random crying experience that comes with having your local team in a major sporting event. I guess I can even overlook all the Journey that will be playing for the next few days.....ewwww, Steve Perry.

Yeah, I know the quality is crap but you should never miss a Journey psyche-out opportunity!

Lets Go....Giants?

Riots, Metallica, broken down buses, orange afro wigs - welcome to San Francisco when we head to a World Series. Don't get me wrong, as loud, obnoxious and drunk as I think Giants fans in this city are (I AM talking about my friends after all) - it's what is to be expected when your team does something unexpected like you know, GETTING THERE! So as much as it screws up my MUNI commute there's something rewarding about being in my professional clothes with my librarian-looking glasses as I go right up to some decked out fan, get right in his face and scream "fucking giants!!!!" It freaks them out so much more than it pisses me off to see them.

Mom, why is this nerdy librarian yelling at me?

Here's the thing - I'm not a huge baseball fan. I'll watch playoff games because they're interesting but my initial response to the Giants NLCS win was, "that's cool - at least my friends will be excited and the bars will be fun". So as a half-assed fan at most, who happens to have her:

• roommate (Tom, are you already waiting at the bar?)
• closest confidant (Charlie, it's ok, I'll buy you a shot...)
• his adorable girlfriend
• brother from another mother (Tone!)
• my adopted family (see Tone!)
• his lovely girlfriend
• The GPS crew - woo girls, I'm talking to you!
• cousins (hi Deirdre!)
• Dad
• Boss
• morning Starfucks crew
• regular train operator
• landlord
• awesome photographer and speech goddess friend
• favorite bartender
• and Project Management teacher

...who all happen to love the Giants - I. Support. Them. During the good times and the bad, I'm there for bro hugs, game analysis and potential bar fights. So like 70% of San Franciscans (fans or no), I will be sporting my Giants hat because this is the kind of shit that I moved here for! And while I may not be the biggest baseball fan you know, I'm the biggest San Francisco cheerleader I know. Now where in the hell is my rainbow afro wig and orange bell bottoms?

Loving Relationships = Extra Pancakes?

I'm not gonna lie - the only person that I know of who is in spectacular shape is my good buddy Capn Dick (shoutout alert). The rest of us could use a little help, especially me. I'm going to admit something that I'm pretty ashamed of - I've gained 35 pounds since I've started dating the Crow. That is the equivalent of carrying about four bowling balls in a backpack up a hill...or at least, that's how it felt the other day when I actually started walking again.

Who's got the biggest...balls of them all!?!

Again, I'm not proud of this nor do I buy the excuse that "relationship weight" is ok. I won't pretend I didn't notice the weight gain and for the Crow's part, he hasn't said anything about it (not to my face at least). Still, I know how this happened...it's those fucking pancakes!

You delicious bastards!!!

Pancakes and Fried Rice and Pizza, oh my!! I admit it, the Crow and I eat a lot of crappy food, he's just on his feet for 15 hours a day and can burn it all off - I'm stuck behind a desk all day and have developed a penchant for baking cookies and banana-flavored items....mmmmmm, banana bread...oh, sorry. Still, this isn't about me bitching about getting fat - it's about understanding why we let ourselves "go" in the first place. We get excited when we find someone who loves us for us and in wanting to spend all of your time together, we tend to drop healthier habits in exchange for time with our loves and ahem, "extra-curricular activities". Or as Charlie says: we get complacent, we get tired, we don't have to impress them anymore. I thought this was bullshit until I heard the Crow mention something similar and was forced to look at my damn self when I ripped the ass out of two pairs of pants. Yeah, that bad. I ain't impressing no one anymore.

So after that final straw, I was forced to admit that in the sexy girlfriend part - I have epically failed. (For the record, I have to say this - you can be a larger woman and be sexy, I have women in my life who are. However, you have the frame and the bone structure to do so - I have bones like a bird so it looks like I just had a kid and enjoyed too many Cheetos or something).

I didn't enjoy them THIS damn much....

Because this matters to me, I have started to get back into shape. This weekend was spent going back to my favorite pastime - walking everywhere. I've even managed to recruit Charlie and Tom to walk to our bar for Football Sunday (2.6 miles - uphill...it's a start at least...damn bowling balls). Tone and I are gonna attempt the gym again (that is a hilarious future post by the way) and more importantly - No. More. Pancakes....except on Saturdays because I can't seem to say no to the Crow's excited face when our pancakes arrive on the table. But hey Cheetos - fuck you! I want my toned legs back...

Did you gain weight during your relationship? How did you handle it? Let me know in the comments!

My Ideal Saturday Night...'cuba diving!

In a world where there is no credit card debt, where you can eat whatever the hell you want without getting fat and work doesn't suck is my ideal Saturday night. I'm getting close to it in my new place but because I'm about to embark on an ambitious new plan to stop being broke, fat and lazy, it might have to be one of the last nights for awhile.

This is a mix of: a) my childhood Saturday nights with Take n' Bake pizza and HBO and b) all the shit I said I would do as a kid when I "got some money". I would watch my favorite comedy specials (thank you Netflix on demand!) while eating pizza (mushrooms and anchovies because I'm a damn weirdo). The gang would be here - heckling, screaming with laughter and doing bad impressions. Someone would want brownies and they would magically appear (ok, that's crap I'd make them with white chocolate....awwww yeah). Everyone would have a full glass of wine and no one would flinch if someone suggests going to play basketball outside at 2 a.m. It isn't much (hey, pizza wine and good tv is expensive) but it makes me happy.

Aw, good times. So on that note, enjoy a clip of Ralphie May doing one of the funniest stand-up bits I've ever seen and I'll finish my anchovies!

I dare you not to laugh!!!

School For Grown Folks...What "Professional Development" Really Means

I made a promise to myself when I got my B.S. (snicker) at San Francisco State that I would NOT go to grad school unless it was for something I absolutely wanted to do. Now, five years later I don't think I could actually get INTO grad school if I tried.

I'll never be one of "the elite"...

So where do disillusioned business graduates go when they are trapped in their current positions and unable to advance without another too expensive piece of paper? Professional Development classes! Most universities offer certificate programs and classes you can take without being a student or even alumni. It's like the speed dating of school - classes are only for a couple weeks and "reasonably" priced if you have some kind of decent job. After suffering from extreme burnout with my current mind-numbing career "choice", I decided to partake in one of these certificate programs. That's right gang, I went back to school!

If you're old enough to get this reference, you get a cookie!

I've been back for about a month and I now know what Extended Learning / Professional Development  really means:

• People take these classes because they are paid for by their employer. It's the equivalent of the kids whose parents paid their entire way in college and barely showed up yet constantly bitched about how they shouldn't fail the class because "they paid for it". That mentality doesn't change in your 40's folks.
• The people who teach these classes really know what they're talking about...but could have gambling debts / alimony payments. The pay is kinda shit and a lot of the professors are pretty burned out in their industries. Those have been my favorite classes - it's like hanging out with an old person who has lost their filter - they don't give a damn about what they say.
• These certificates may be worth more than a graduate degree. THIS has been the hardest pill for me to swallow. It goes against everything we've been taught in college about striving for more. I have been in the "real world" of business for long enough to know that unless you're specific about your grad degree, training trumps school...still. Remember, it's still the baby boomers who are still doing the hiring for the next five to ten years...boomers who DIDN'T go to college. Yeah, sit on that for a second.

All in all, I can't really say that I'm learning very much towards a new skill but I am understanding a fundamental truth - the assholes in kindergarten are still the assholes when you're 40. I'm surprised we aren't still fighting over the smelly markers...

Why I'm Taking Swimming Lessons...I should probably blame my mother

For the record, I can swim. Toss me in a pool and I can doggie-paddle with the best of them. Toss me in a river....that's another story (no Capn Dick, that was NOT an invitation). Like many things that I can do only half-assed in life - I blame my mother.

I never had formal swimming lessons as a kid - we couldn't afford it. In fact, my earliest swimming memory consists of me simply walking off of the side of the pool at my aunt's apartment complex and standing underwater with my crappy, half-inflated water wings doing nothing that they advertised as I looked at all the legs dangling around me. Even at three years old I realized that this wasn't swimming. Luckily my mother put down her cigarette long enough to notice I was standing at the bottom of the pool and promptly reached in to pull me out by my stringy arm (yay responsible parenting!)

These aren't saving shit!

After that, through kind relatives and Grandma having a pool (above ground because you know, in-ground pools are some rich people shit), I learned how to flail my arms and legs around enough to save my life in a concrete water situation. I could "swim" in the crudest sense of the word or at least, not get laughed at when I went to the City Pool.

What are you laughing at geek?

Fast-forward 25 years - I'm rafting down the American River with the Crow, Gangster Tom and the ultimate River Pirate, Capn Dick. All is well until the river fought back, knocking the Crow AND Gangster Tom out of the boat and into the rushing rapids. Here I was, prepared to jump in after them when Capn Dick (ever the voice of reason) points out that I can't swim for shit. For the record, the Crow and Gangster Tom are very strong swimmers and something tells me they'd be pretty pissed if I drowned in some half-assed rescue attempt. So I paddled with all my might, reaching Gangster Tom right before the water got ugly...like crackhead ugly. Everyone was fine but damnit, it was the first time I realized that I couldn't help my friends (or hell, save myself) if it were me in the rapids. I decided then that even if I had to take the class with a bunch of six year olds, I was gonna take swim lessons!

Like this but a little less gay...or not

Luckily, there is a city pool right by my apartment. So I'll be taking my weekday evenings (in the winter because I can be a lazy dumbass sometimes) learning the basics of swimming. Hopefully next summer I'll be proficient enough to not drown on one of the (hopefully) many rafting pirate outings. And who knows, maybe I can get the word out how water-wings are bullshit. At least now I know what to get my mother for Christmas...I wonder if I can find the orange ones in extra large?