Monday, November 1, 2010

the good, the bad and the ugly

Guy next to me at the café: Are you wearing perfume?

Me: Yes.

Guy: It’s just so weird, because I can smell that and the vinaigrette from your salad. It’s a strange mix.

Me: Oh.

Guy: Last night on the bus I was talking to this girl who was wearing [some perfume name—didn’t catch it], and we were talking about [blah, blah, blah, forgot what he was saying already]. It was so funny.

Me: Oh. [polite laugh]

Guy: It’s like your perfume is saying, “Come here,” but your salad dressing is saying, “Stay away.”

Me: Oh, hm. [polite laugh]

Pretty sure it was all saying “stay away,” guy. On the up side, I forgot it was cash-only here, and when it came time to pay I realized I had only $5, but my meal cost more like $7. I asked the guy ringing me up where the nearest ATM is, and he said there’s one right here but not to worry about it. When I protested (multiple times), he said the transaction fee is exorbitant and that he’d rather me not spend $3 to pay the two extra dollars for my meal. I always worry when things like that happen that the person didn’t notice my wedding ring in time, but maybe he really was just being kind. I’ll choose to believe that, and bring extra cash with me next time to make it right.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

My ideas are wasted on the logical minimalist I live with.

Me: [sitting on the couch thinking about shower curtains]

Chris: [sitting on the couch thinking about things that are not shower curtains]

Me: It just occurred to me—I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before!

Chris: What?

Me: To find the right shower curtain, we should be doing what the consultants do on Say Yes to the Dress!

Chris: I don’t know what they do.

Me: The very first thing they ask a bride, before discussing necklines, beading or price point, is, “How do you want to look on your wedding day?”

Chris: ….

Me: So instead of just trying to find a non-ugly shower curtain we both don’t hate, we need to first ask ourselves, how do we want our bathroom to feel?

Chris: ….

Me: I’ll go first. I want our bathroom to feel…rustic. Soft. Dreamy and calm.

Chris: [laughing] That’s not what I want the bathroom to be like!

Me: [trying to keep an open mind] Okay, what do you want the bathroom to be like?

Chris: [thinking about our bathroom, as if for the first time] A bathroom. I want to not be confused about where I am.

Me: [face-palm combined with deep, internal sigh. and maybe an eye roll. and some frustrated screams.]

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

to make up for the lack of photos here

Did you know Chris has a tumblr, and that his posts consist almost exclusively of photos? We are like the yin and yang of blogging.

A couple weekends ago we went to the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival at Golden Gate Park. It was crowded and freezing, and in order to have a decent seat/view we would have had to set up camp that morning, apparently, but thanks to a kind gentleman and his cooler, I was able to watch Conor Oberst perform the very last song of his set (it was one of my favorites). Chris documented the moment for us all.

I felt kind of silly standing on a cooler peeking through the fence, but I'm really glad I did it. I listen to these two albums all the time and love them with a fierce and emo devotion, but I'd never actually seen Conor Oberst before, so I was confused by the small guy with the mop of brown hair, bopping around the stage. Where's the tall, nearly anorexic Conor Oberst with the greasy, dirty blond hair? Oh, I made him up? Hm. This is going to take a bit of adjustment. (Kind of like the first time I saw Ira Glass.)

Thankfully, we snagged a patch of grass on the outskirts for the Gillian Welch concert--otherwise, I would have had to plop down right in the middle of the sidewalk because my feet were killing me, and we had only just gotten there. Chris is the Gillian Welch fan, but it was a really good show, and we had fun sitting there eating our beignets and people-watching while freezing our butts off.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Internet, meet weird uber-Christian Amy Boss

Guys, you are in for a treat today.

A few days ago I spent a good chunk of time weeding through my many, many plastic bins of keepsakes. (Side note: Kind of funny how predominantly the saving of sex for marriage featured into my middle and high school life. I found like five of those True Love Waits commitment cards as well as evidence that I attended multiple(!) Joshua Harris conferences. I was serious about not being a hussy.)

Anyway, I found this one random little journal with only six pages filled out. I don’t recall naming my journals, but apparently I had high hopes for this one, because I titled it “Secret Secrets.” Here are two sweet morsels of Amy Boss goodness:


June 28, 1997

My Secret Summer Dream

My secret summer dream is to find a guy that is just perfect. One that is spiritually mature (maybe more than me), has the same standards as me, looks really good, is tall, goes to Cypress Creek, and wants to go out with me/get to know me better. That’s not too much to ask, now is it? Oh, and one more thing; he has to be hilariously funny, and not desperate. Added on 11/27/98: And outgoing. Fun!!!


My Secret Senior Dream

To have a date to prom. I want to be asked by someone (preferably someone who goes to CCHS) who does not booty-dance, and I want all the plans to run smoothly. Not smoothly; but just comfortably—no awkward moments, you know?


Who is this nerd? Spoiler: No one asked weird, non booty-dancing Amy to prom. Maybe if I’d spent more time getting to know people with different “standards” than me and less time talking to my journal, my Secret Senior Dream would have come true.

Thankfully, there’s a happy end to all the pathetic weirdness: I did indeed find a tall, good-looking guy, although not in time for prom. But he is hilariously funny, and I think he wants to get to know me better. I’ll let you know how it turns out!

Wednesday, September 29, 2010


1. Riding the bus is, for the most part, a calm and peaceful experience.

2. It’s kind of fun wandering around the city during the day.

3. I’m surprised so many other people are also wandering around the city during the day. Don’t these people have jobs?

4. Some people just like to dress up like “sexy” cats.

5. Some people just like to dress up like “women.”

6. San Franciscans are friendly and kind.

7. The Alemany Farmer’s Market taught me that plums are not exclusively sour and mealy. There’s this one kind of plum that looks like a grocery store plum on the outside, but on the inside it’s dark maroon and super juicy and sweet. Now I understand why people make desserts with plums, or really, eat them at all.

8. I can go approximately three weeks without social interaction (other than talking to Chris in the evenings) before I start to think, “Hm, I kind of wish I had friends here.”

9. We have no friends here.

10. Hardwood floors and glass doorknobs make me as happy as I thought they would.

11. There is NO MILDEW in San Francisco. I may never clean my bathroom again, ever. I’m not kidding. Yes, I am. No, I’m not.

subtle hints received

Hello, friends. Sorry so silent.

I got lost inside my own head, and boy, is it confusing in there. Almost immediately upon entering, you forget what you came for and wander around slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Nothing is arranged quite like you expect it to be, so you walk back and forth, back and forth, just knowing the lemon zinger tea has to be there somewhere, and you keep passing the same guy over and over and you worry that he thinks you’re one of the crazies, and you try to discern out of the corner of your eye if he decided to hold his breath when he walked by you, just in case.

Wait, I’m thinking of the supermarket. But it is also confusing in my head, and there’s apparently no blogging allowed there. Good news, though—I got out, and here I am.

And now, thanks to my award-winning imagination (and by award-winning I mean that I’m still afraid of the Jabberwocky from the made-for-TV, late 80s version of Alice in Wonderland) I’m doing a remarkably good job of pretending I have a tattoo that says No Regrets. Not a tramp stamp—geez, what kind of a girl do you think I am?—but a nice, classy one on my bicep.

My No Regrets tattoo reminds me that no matter how long it’s been since I’ve written here, I don’t have to apologize. I don’t have to summarize what’s happened since the last time I wrote (and in this case, it’s been a lot). I write when I feel like it, about whatever I want, for the same reason I finally starting cutting the nasty bottom crust off my sandwiches: Because I’m an adult.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

mild obsession

So, I MAY be checking this page every day:

For a while a long row of low 60s stared back at me, so I cheered when the first two days in our new city gained about ten degrees. I just keep telling myself, "It's like a Florida winter, Amy. You know, when you wear your boots and tights and sweaters and torture Chris by turning on the heat at night."

come here, have a cuddle

This Damn, Gina post could've been a scene from the Millward couch these past few weeks. I love that somewhere across the Atlantic, some other guy is comforting his woman with the promise that "we'll get all our stuff done."

Also, it's nice to know other people have random bad nervous feelings too, because they kind of make me feel like I'm a few nervous twitches away from tearing the wallpaper off the walls and finding friends underneath. But someone on the internet who doesn't appear to be institutionalized had one once, so not to worry, right?