Backpacking

It was really cold, and it was flowing much faster than this picture is showing.

Annie did a great job detailing my first experience backpacking.  We went all out for my first time, and I feel very accomplished afterward.  Sweet, darling, innocent Annie was nice enough to leave out some of the details more appropriate for my blog than hers:

We delayed our trip by a day because I didn't feel spectacular.  I was in full-on allergy mode, and my domestic partner's mother decided to poison me with a concoction of over the counter medication.  I've learned not to take dosing advice from her, even though she's half my weight.  She's a professional.

Bugs are damn annoying.  I was covered in 100% Deet which smells lethal.  Almost flammable.  Yet, there were no fires, so I couldn't roast 'mallows like I'd always imagined camping entailed.  I want s'mores if I'm walking my ass that far without a shower.

How's that for a view?

We had a wine platypus.  Yeah, most people hike with these little plastic, flimsy bottles filled with water.  We are not most people.  We poured a petite sirah into one of them before leaving.  This is a level of classiness not seen before in camping.  (Except it was designed specifically for wine, so I imagine it is a top seller in yuppie sporting goods stores.)

I didn't poop for over 24 hours.  This is/was a big deal.  You're asked to pack out any toilet paper you use.  You have no clue how much toilet paper I use to wipe my ass.  I'm not clean down there until you would blow your nose in the tissue after wiping.  You also have to dig a hole for your poop.  Nope, not worth it.

I experienced what it was like to skinny dip while being sober, in the full light of day.  Skinny dipping is way more awkward than I remember it being in the past, but those incidents were always clouded by the alcohol fairy (or at least the extreme blackness of night).

This was the view from my water seat above.

I got a little whiny in the morning.  Big surprise:  a fat guy on a thin mat resting on the ground didn't find himself very comfortable.  I also got really hot.  So, sleeping didn't go as well as planed.  ~RoB minus sleep becomes Dragon Rob!  Food helped a little, so did motion in the direction of the car.

You must separate yourself from your chapstick the entire time that it is dark out.  It is unacceptable.  I need my chapstick more than I need oxygen.  More than I need sex.  (If there was a better advertisement for Chapstick, I'd like to see it.)  Apparently bears like fruity smelling things, and it was the choice between luscious, soft, creamy lips or arm wrestling a grizzly.  My brain won the argument, but just barely.  I could probably take a bear if it had my last Cherry Chapstick.

Found a teddy bear saying "I <3 Chapstick". This was next to it.  WTF?

Apparently, I purchased a fancy, new, inflatable camping mat from Annie's dad's store (30% family discount!), and we're going out for 2 days in Pt. Reyes at the end of this month.  I'll either be really good at this soon, or I'll be craigslisting a fancy, new, inflatable camping mat from Annie's dad's store.  We all know I'm meant more for a fancy hotel downtown than a rustic campsite anyway.

Happy Camping,
~RoB

Domestic Partna'

My internship at the wind farm ends next week, when I will once again return to the ranks of the nation's funemployed.  Since I've started working out approximately 5 days a week (between volleyball, teaching Zumba, and starting to weight lift again), it is only a matter of time before I injure myself.  I haven't had any type of health insurance since I dropped out of UCLA in January.  So, Annie, in all of her wisdom, demanded that I look into purchasing my own health insurance.  It costs so much $$ to insure yourself, independent of your workplace.

So, Annie looked into adding me to her policy.  Ways to get on hers: marry her, be a dependent child of hers, or come up with some sort of legal relationship that is recognized where she lives.  So, some research was done.  Can we be domestic partners?  In the state of CA... nope.  Per the State of California Declaration of Domestic Partnership, we did not meet one of the requirements:

Both persons are members of the same sex, OR one or both of the persons of opposite sex are over the age of 62...

So, I gave up.  Annie continued digging, though.  It turns out that we actually meet all of the requirements for the City of Oakland's Domestic Partnership:

• We are both over 18 years of age and have chosen to share one another's lives in an intimate and committed relationship of mutual caring;
• We live together;
• We are jointly responsible for basic living expenses which we incur during the domestic partnership;
• One of us is an employee of the City of Oakland, or both of us reside together within the city limits;
• Neither of us are married, nor are we related to each other in a way which would bar marriage in California;
• Neither of us has had a different domestic partner less than six months prior to signing this Affidavit;
• We agree to notify the City of any changes in the status of our domestic partnership agreement.

So, we made an appointment and signed the City of Oakland Notarized Affidavit of Domestic Partnership on Friday afternoon:

Throughout all of the forms, we put Annie's name first, and my name still came out first-billed.  Men rule!

First of all, you cannot be in a domestic partnership in the Bay Area and not feel like a Gay Rights activist.  This is slightly humorous karma.  A year or two ago, in the middle of the Gay Marriage debate, I was so upset by the ridiculousness of the homophobic movement that I said that I would refuse to get married until all of my friends could.  I said that I would only get a domestic partnership.  To be honest, I was kind of talking out of my ass at the time.  Who knew it would come true?!

Second, I have no doubt that we will get married at some point in the future.  Weddings are just so expensive, and we'll be paying for it entirely on our own.  Plus, I'm still really unstable until I find a career that I'm satisfied with (or return to school), so it isn't a safe time to try and nail me down yet.  Also, we'd like to register at some really classy places, so we need this recession to run its course and let all of our close friends get really good, high paying jobs for top-notch presents.  ;)

Third, it is really sad how informal a domestic partnership registration feels.  It makes me a little sad for gay couples.  We discovered we were eligible on Monday, discussed it, made an appointment on Tuesday, and showed up on Friday to fill out the 30-second form in street clothes.  There was nobody else in the office, aside from the person helping us, and we were done in 10 minutes.  Is this all that a marriage certificate feels like?  I always imagine it being a much more thorough process.  (Also, what do people do with their marriage certificates?  I've never seen them on display.  Why not?  Our domestic partnership is framed!)

Fourth, I can't stop calling our domestic partnership a 'gay marriage'.  I recognize that it is probably really offensive.  (Me? Offensive?)  It started as a way to continue to put into perspective that this process, that we aren't taking very seriously, is ALL that gay people get.  Annie hates it when I say that we got 'gay married', so I'm trying to stop using it.  It just flows so much better than 'domestic partnership' though.  Maybe in older times...

Lastly, we are already learning a bunch of the differences between marriage and domestic partnerships:

• Our partnership may not be recognized anywhere outside of Oakland.
• Hospitals and inheritances don't usually consider us legally bound.
• If Annie adopts a baby, I'm not the legal parent.  I'd have to also adopt it, afterwards.
• If we were married, my health insurance costs would come out pre-tax, but that is not the case for DPs.
• We're eligible for a Joint Membership to the University of Michigan Alumni Association (which means we'll probably become life members at the next renewal).  This was one of the big sellers for me, since I tried to make this happen 3 years ago.
• There's no real way to keep track of us if we move outside of Oakland, so I guess we're domestic partners in Oakland for life, or until we notify them otherwise.

Should you send gifts?  Probably, but save the big stuff for when we get married in 2025 (judging from how long it took her to get me to make this much of a commitment).

Expect to hear me talking like a cowboy frequently, because I hear John Wayne's voice in my head every time I say domestic partna',
~RoB

Return to Tailspin

It turns out that I may not be going to NY any more.  It also turns out that I have way more emotional problems than was once thought.  Why?  Given the opportunity, I've reverted immediately back to 'What the fuck am I doing with my life?'-mode.

For those of you that have been reading since the beginning, you have some idea of the chaos that was my life at the beginning of this year.  (Quitting school, peeing in bottles while driving, pooping myself, constant angst [go back to January and enjoy those posts]).  On Wednesday, Annie got a call that was supposed to solidify our plans in moving back east.  The call didn't go so well, and now it doesn't make sense for Annie to leave her current job.  So, she's likely staying in the Bay Area.

I am trying to settle on the fact that I no longer want to not be with Annie and Angel, so I'm planning on giving up the job I was offered in Schenectady.  It is not going to be easy, since it may complicate (or outright impede) any future attempts of getting a security clearance.  Also, I signed something, though I can't find it, so I can't wait to hear what the stipulations are for backing out.  Career search starts over, and now I return to the constant feeling of impending doom (at least I have a small income right now).

Why is being a real person so difficult and depressing?  (Real person means not-a-student, though grad school in L.A. was certainly difficult and depressing.)  I should just go back to UCLA and stick it out.

I can't go back to UCLA...

O.M.G.
~RoB

First Date w/ Annie

Today is the 20th Wedding Anniversary of my aunt and uncle.  I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to give you an unedited [though name-censored] look at my digital journal documenting my first date with Annie.  I wrote it exactly like this, the night it happened.  Don't worry, it doesn't go very well.  Crazy how things happen.  This whole incident happened the first weekend of November, in 2003 (yeah, 8 years ago).  Technically, that's the only date we can trace our relationship back to, since we never claimed we were dating until years later.  Enjoy my stream of consciousness, in all of its awkwardness:

Ok, so maybe I did like her.  Of course I am not going to admit it.  She’s cute, and she obviously has a taste in guys that’s a little out of my spectrum.  Well, I helped her with her homework… for every assignment in engin101.  We hung out almost every day.  It came down to just talking and playing cards.  One time I just sat with her while she studied and tried coloring.  I didn’t really need to color, and I suck at it, but it was a reason to ‘chill’ with her.  We started the stereotypical picking on each other.  It was like we were in middle school, but it was fun.  Still, I didn’t do anything.  I thought of her like Jill, a sister, and that I should keep it professional… hands off.  I tried so hard not to have feelings for her; I was not going to get burned again.  Last night when we were working on her assignment, she was chatting with her friend on AIM and she let me read everything.  I found out that she had already dated one of the drummers while being up here.  He is extremely good looking and she said that he turned out to be a real asshole.  Then she started talking about all of these other guys that would be nice to date.  At this point I am a platonic friend, so I listened, I even agreed and joked about it.  Actually, I was hurt.  I just wanted to leave.  I usually stayed with her studying until like 2, even though my regular bedtime is midnight.  Last night, I left at midnight.  I don’t even think that her homework was right.  Then comes tonight.
            Earlier in the week when we were hanging out, I invited her to trumpet progressive.  It’s this big trumpet section party.  I figured it would be fun to hang out with her, I knew she liked to drink.  I don’t drink, but if she wants to that’s cool.  Not that I would try and take advantage of her, but I might be able to find out if she likes me once she gets a little loose.  After all, her friends made it sound like she liked me.  I was walking up to her at dinner and Michelle whispered out of the side of her mouth “Here comes Rob” and smiled.  I am pretty sure that I shouldn’t know that, but I catch on to things like that.  Also, Terran knew the whole story about trumpet Prog before I even mentioned it.  Annie had already told everyone.  So we go to Prog.  Everyone keeps referring to her as my date.  I really didn’t mind, but being the gentleman that I am, I corrected everyone to make sure that it was clear that we were just friends and I was just her ticket to a good party.  So we make it to the final huge party.  Huge dance floor, and I know I can dance.  This was my chance, I knew I could get her to start dancing and have a blast.  Well, I knew she could dance since we swung dance together for like 2 hours a little less than a month ago.  However, she doesn’t really dance.  I was all over the floor; I love to dance.  She claims that she couldn’t dance.  One time she was out on the floor and I snuck up behind her and started freaking her.  It was all in fun, but she pulled away and kind of quit.  Ok, so she wasn’t comfortable, I gave up.  So we hung out every once in a while when she wasn’t drinking or hanging out with other people, but she stopped coming around more and more, and started hanging with Dave.  Dave Tenerelli the Italian Stallion, he is the amazing trumpet player and hot guy that got picked up by a junior girl in the first 2 weeks.  Ok, so they are hanging out, maybe they know each other outside of her.
            Next thing I remember, Annie and Dave freaking and necking out on the floor.  Too good for me, huh?  Must not be too good to dance, she hasn’t drank anything since she was out on the dance floor with me, but she seems to be fine freaking him.  Ok, I need to just stop watching.  It’s just one dance I’m overreacting.  So I tried having fun.  Didn’t happen, they disappeared.  I went outside to get some fresh air; I figured that would help.  Nope, they were out there with a group of people.  She walked back inside without saying anything.  I met up with some friends and headed off to go get some subs.  I asked her if she wanted to go or if she wanted anything.  She said no to both.  That’s cool, I was gone for like a half hour and came back.  The party had kind of cleared out, but they were sure out there on the dance floor freaking.  We waited around for like 10 minutes and decided that a bunch of us were going to leave.  Now, the terms of her coming were that she had to promise to leave with me.  I knew she was going to be drinking and I did not want feel responsible for leaving drunken Annie in the hands of a bunch of drunken trumpets.  So I went up and asked her if she wanted to leave with us.
She told me to hold on a second and stuck her first finger up in the air.  She walked away for a minute.  She came back into the room freaking Dave right in front of me… she managed to mouth “I’m staying” to me from where she was.  Obviously, she just got all too caught up in what was going on to walk over to me and talk to me.  What a bitch.

Retrospectively, I'm an 11-yr-old girl.

So Happy 20th Anniversary, aunt and uncle!  And Annie, way to be an ass from the beginning.
~RoB

Bridesmaids & Batteries

I told Annie that I was interested in seeing Bridesmaids when we first saw the poster a month ago.  I knew that it had something to do with a bakery (my cupcake blogs were abuzz), and I love the girls from SNL.  Well, the movie was a hit, but we didn't get to see it until last night.  It was truly hilarious and a highly recommended movie.  Hell, you've heard that all week.  However, I woke up this morning frustrated by unanswered questions that apparently haunted my sleep.  (IMDB this shit if you don't remember character names from 3 days ago anymore!)

1) Why can't they make anybody from the Midwest in movies sound like they're from the Midwest?  They had crazy accents flying around the whole movie, and not one sounded Milwaukeen.  I know people study accents.  Come on!
2) What was the pill/drink combo that Helen gave Annie, and why wasn't she ever caught purposefully giving her a concoction that would fuck her up?
3) Does Annie ever get back into baking professionally?
4) What was it that Helen said that convinced Rhodes to come reunite with Annie after the funeral?  And where, exactly, did he change from his uniform to the hipster suit?
5) How long can a butterfly survive enclosed in an envelope?

I guess I can't expect things to come full circle if the script is written entirely by women.  (Considering how popular yesterday's post was, I guess I have to keep things controversial.)  [I'm clearly joking.  Women are smarter than men.]  {I'm out of parenthetical enveloping symbols after this.}  <Except these, I guess.>

I figure that some of these questions were left unanswered to leave room for Bridesmaids 2 (where Annie and Rhodes get married) and Bridesmaids 3 (where Megan marries Air Marshall Jon) and, assuming Hollywood continues as it has, Bridesmaids 4 (where talking puppies get married) and Bridesmaids 5 (where one of Rita's 'sticky' boys grows up to marry Helen's step-daughter) and Bridesmaids 6 that I can't even pull out of my ass right now.

Moving on...

I stayed home yesterday to fix my car.  It was just the battery, though it was hard to diagnose.  The most physically intense part came where I had to try and jump start the car so I could drive to a store and replace the battery.  My car was parked in the car port under our apartment building, so the hood was inaccessible.  I turned the key (it didn't start if you've been keeping up), but I was able to put it in neutral and let it roll down the driveway.  However, I'd have to turn the car uphill in order for me to park it downhill (everything in the bay area is at some sort of angle).  There was some pretty crazy leg pressing going on as I pushed my car slightly uphill, jumped in, pulled the steering wheel with everything, and managed to depress the manual brakes before ramming Annie's gas-guzzling SUV.

I have no real tools at my apartment, but I managed to do it all by myself.  It required using a random-ass assortment of tools available at the local auto parts store.  While struggling to get the battery out in the parking lot, there were some great moments.  One African American guy walked by (and into the store) shirtless, openly smoking a joint.  He didn't seem to give a f*ck.  Also, two Hispanic guys climbed out the back of a semi trailer and asked me what the price of some tires sitting outside were, as if I gave a f*ck.  I'm out $100, but that's way better than I thought it would be in the middle of my freakout.  I then went home and made chili in a crock pot, and I took the rest of the day off work for some macho time watching Bill Burr's first HBO Special.  Once again, I had one of those days where my pimpmones were flowin'!

Can I even talk about bridesmaids and pimpmones in the same post?
~RoB

Is This Ironic, Alanis?

On Saturday, Annie, myself, my college roommate, and his girlfriend all went to a wine tasting event in Alameda (a little island next to Oakland).  If Annie doesn't write about this event in her blog, I'll try and talk about it later this week (Holla to my new friends from the back room... you know who you are!).  Annie 'went to bed a little early' after the event, which meant she got up an hour or two before me on Sunday morning.

She had plans to travel with one of her friends to the Alameda Flea Market.  I had no interest, since flea markets are dirty.  I know, I've heard several times that this one is fancy.  All I can think of is Gibraltar Trade Center, though (only Michigan natives might know what I'm talking about).  Maybe one day I'll scrounge up a picture of young ~RoB in a t-shirt with his name airbrushed across the front.  Nothing like some good ol' redneck flea market merch!

Anyway, I woke up and made plans to play tennis.  When I got down to my car, I realized Annie was parked behind me.  Problem: Annie took her keys to get back in the apartment later.  So I called her, and her phone was off.  I had to cancel tennis (Annie's spare car key is currently at her grandfather's).  Finally, I got a hold of her and she said that she had thoughtfully removed her car keys from her oversized keychain and left them on the table.  They should have been on the key hooks, avoiding the whole situation, but I'm not going to complain when she obviously thought this through before leaving.

So, I called and rescheduled tennis.  I drove Annie's car to take Angel to a dog park near the courts, met my friend, and played tennis.  We played for 2 hours or so.  When we were finally worn out, and I was pulling all of my stuff out of my tennis bag, I saw that my phone had 24 missed calls, 5 voicemails, and a plethora of text messages.  Here's how those texts went:

It is amazing how much of her increasing frustration you can feel as the anger crescendos and eventually peaks, jumps off a cliff, and leaves a defeated, raving psychopath with nothing left but soft-spoken hatred.

It turns out that when I drove away in her car, I did to her what I had accused her of doing to me merely minutes before.  I had her car, and my apartment keys have my car key on them.  (Our apartment has collectively lost my spare car key.)  Her soccer match started at 1pm.  She was supposed to be the 3rd girl, otherwise her team would have to forfeit.  She wasn't very happy to see me, even though I raced home to pick her up and drive her to her match.

When I told this story to our roommate, I said that it was 'ironic that I did to Annie what I accused her of doing to me'.  Is that ironic, though?  At least cosmic irony?  Alanis Morissette seriously screwed up my definition of the word ironic, after it was once explained to me that not a single incident in her song (titled the same) is technically ironic.

Isn't the fact that a whole songs was written about a word, yet the word was inappropriately used... well isn't that ironic?
~RoB

HTDE Power Couple

Faithful readers of ~RtL probably know way more about Annie and I than you ever cared to.  Well, this might make you happy, since you feel so close to us now.

Annie and I were coined the 'first HTDE power couple' by the people who run the How to Do Everything facebook page.  Why, you ask?  We were both featured on this week's podcast episode, Episode 7.  I sent the following email to Ian and Mike regarding Pandora:

---------- Forwarded message ----------

From: Rob Reed <roberree@xxxxxxxx>
Date: Tue, Mar 15, 2011 at 9:12 AM
Subject: Pandora
To: howto@npr.org

Hey guys,
I love your new podcast.  I can't tell you how often I think about the
'nuclear option for hiccups'.  I am half-tempted to buy a coke (they
always give me hiccups) and blog about rather it really works or not.

Anyway, my question is regarding Pandora.  Is it better to 'thumb up'
or 'thumb down' every song, or if you're feeling apathetic toward a
song, just to let it play out?  I know Pandora records songs that you
'up' or 'down', but there are always songs that I'm on the fence
about.  I just wonder if the station will be more perfect for me if I
decided that I had to vote every song either 'up' or 'down'.

Thanks, and I'm already addicted,
~RoB
-----------------------------------------

They quoted my question (15:03) on their podcast and had it answered by the chief technologist of Pandora.  (By the way, Pandora keeps track of thumb-ing, skipping, and listening to songs.)

The episode also had a shoutout to Annie (9:06) for being the person directly in front of Blythe Haaga in their March Madness bracket pool.  (I was the one that sent Annie the link and convinced her to join the pool).  Anyway, the person in front of Blythe at the end has to go on the podcast and "insult Blythe".  Ian Chillag (the Ian Chillag that Peter Sagal says at the end of every Wait Wait Don't Tell Me!) just sent Annie a message saying that she better prepare herself, because it looks like she is going to be the one to do it.  Annie is the least offensive person I know, so this is going to be so awkwardly amazing!!

While you're listening, you should find out what I'm referring to as the 'nuclear option for hiccups' in their old podcasts and enjoy the mental image of me doing the experiment for the knowledge of my devoted readers,
~RoB

Geez, Wash Your Hands!

Annie: "Chick? Why do you call all women chicks?  The lady was like 60 years old!"
It was this morning.  I was still making fun of Annie for the story she told me last night.
~RoB: "Wait.  You know who it was?"

...backup...

Annie: "I walked out of the stall and over to the sink, I turned on the water, and I ran my hands under it."  Mimics wiping her hands together.  "Then I walked out.  She was making pretty loud noises... body noises... and I just don't think she heard the sink."
Annie was elaborating on the initial story while we rode BART.
~RoB: "Wait, you didn't use soap?"

...backup...

Annie: "I either can't wear my new rain boots for at least 3 weeks, or I'm going to have to buy everyone in my office a pair of them."
She was finishing off her story, not wanting to be recognized by the only thing the sanitary citizen could see from her stall.

...backup...

Annie: "As I was walking out of the bathroom, someone shouted 'Geez, Wash Your Hands!'"
She told me in front of her coworker, who had stopped by on the way to her volleyball class in Oakland.

...backup...

Annie never washes her hands.  She'd be lying if she said she even did it every time she poops.  (Girls are always sneaking little poops out while they're peeing.)  It took much convincing, and a line of Bath & Body Works Aromatherapy soaps that smell amazing, just to get her to do it sometimes, when I'm watching.  She claims she's made progress at work and regularly washes them.  This anonymous stall-lady disagrees.

Ewww.


Hope you enjoyed the Quentin Tarantino version of the story.

Washes his hands with soap every time he's in the bathroom, and usually looks at his junk in the mirror,
~RoB

St. Patty's Day in San Francisco

Let me start off by saying that I was never one to go over-the-top in my participation in St. Patrick's Day.  I don't drink beer, and I was really good about going to class to learn, not to make a drunken fool of myself.  However, this was my first year since turning 21 that I was not a college student.  It was time for me to let my hair down and party with everyone else, which I certainly managed.

I started by bringing a dozen mini-cupcakes to work.  I ordered them from one of my favorite cupcakeries from the SF Cupcake Challenge.  Annie and I each took a dozen to work, so we split an order of Peppermint Patty cupcakes and Guinness & Bailey's cupcakes.  I meant to take a picture of how cute they were, but I ate them too fast.  Peppermint patties do have a close place to my heart on St. Patty's Day, since I used to roam around with peppermint schnapps and chocolate syrup and make people get on their kneees for peppermint patty shots.  That kind of debauchery hasn't happened in years, though.

Skip ahead to the end of the work day.  Annie and I met at home, grabbed a bus to BART, and took off into the city.  We didn't have any specific plans, but we had heard that parts of the city get crazy, and we were just going to join the crowds.  We knew that we wanted to go by the Irish Bank, since it would be the epicenter of the Irish foolishness, but we didn't really expect to wait in line to get in only to wait for drinks while touching 30 other drunken frat boys.  And we didn't.  It was indeed crazy, so we walked around the corner to our first pub of the night, Rickhouse (though I called it Mickhouse until looking it up today).

Rickhouse: Irish flag means it's legit!

They had some crazy Irish whiskey concoction, so I ordered two, grabbed Annie a Guinness, and we found somewhere to stand while listening to Irish folk music.  Our bartender, though arguably drunk himself, had the cutest little Irish gettup on, complete with a bow tie and suspenders.  We finished and decided to progress somewhere else.  We got in line and walked into another Irish pub across the street.  It was so dense with people that we immediately walked back out.  (I'm gonna count this as the second place in our pub crawl, even though we didn't drink anything.  We drank enough later to make up for it.)

Annie had once played trivia at a place called Elephant & Castle, so we used our Smartphones to wander in that direction.  There were points where we thought of just following drunken groups of people, in hopes of catching up on the festivities, but they always walked too slow or got sidetracked.  Elephant & Castle is probably my new favorite bar, since it was huge and, for some reason, made me feel like I was back at Michigan.  (Not that it matters since I rarely go to the bar.)  Here's where things got interesting.  I just went for straight Jameson on the rocks, and Annie and I did shots of Jameson.  This place had March Madness on, so we were able to check up on scores and watch UCLA finish off State ('If you can't get into college...').

We might have done more shots, I'm not sure, but we then took off to find the Royal Exchange.

Royal Exchange Block Party

Apparently, the Royal Exchange gets a whole street blocked off (not just alleys like the Irish Bank).  It must have already been too much for SF denizens, because cops were there lining the streets.  Oh well, it looked fun, even though we couldn't find anywhere to get a drink.  We instead walked across the street to Embarcadero Center and found a bar on the 3rd floor where Annie once watched a Michigan hockey game.  (Strange that Annie sounds way more like an alcoholic at the end of this.)  What was important is that we ate here, but also drank more whiskey and beer, respectively.

Finally, our bar crawl ended at a place called the White Horse, where we found our roomie!  I got Jack on the rocks (I was sick of Irish whiskey), but I feel like people kept rotating drinks around so that I wouldn't realize that I wasn't drinking much of it.  I had a crazy craving for Mozzarella Sticks (good ol' Midwestern boy comes out), and took off by myself to find a diner.  The diner across the street was closed, so I went off to find another.  I remember walking in one diner, where there was a line, asking for something to sign my name on (meaning get on the wait list), but responded to the funny faces I was getting by leaving.  I eventually found a diner, ordered mozzarella sticks, and enjoyed them with ranch and a strawberry shake.

Somehow, when I walked outside, Annie and our roomie were there.  There might have been some texting involved.  They dragged me off to BART.  Here's how that went:

This is what I felt like.

This is apparently what I looked like (complete with a vest to look like a Leprechaun).

And these pictures pretty much sum up the rest of the BART ride (except our roomie got digits from a drunk guy playing mandolin [who also plays fiddle]).

Our roomie's friend was sober and picked us up at the BART station in Oakland to drive us home.  I may have offered to blow him in repayment of his transportation services...  Oh.  Though I don't remember it, Annie claims that at one point I was laying on the platform on my back, sprawled out, at the Powell St. BART Station.  If so, that's simultaneously disturbing and embarrassing (albeit awesome).

Hope you don't remember your entire St. Patty's Day either,
~RoB

P.S. Made it to work the next morning on time.  I felt great when I woke up.  Almost TOO great...

Peanut Allergy

Ever lied to your girlfriend for 5 years?  Ever lied to your friends for a decade?
I have.  I'm a darn good liar, too.

I've long told everyone that I'm allergic to peanuts.  I try to clarify that I won't die, so that they don't go to extreme measures to avoid them around me, but I try to make it like there's potential for big drama.  Why would I lie about such a thing?  I hate peanuts that much.  I hate peanuts more than Charlie Sheen hates Baby Jesus (hoping to monopolize Google searches with those keywords).  I hate the smell of them, I hate the taste of them, and I absolutely hate peanut breath.

I had convinced everyone around me: family, friends, coworkers, girlfriend's family, etc. of this allergy.  Suddenly, 3 years ago, as a result of one of those chain Facebook notes where you say things about yourself that others don't know, the secret was slipped.  An ex-girlfriend, one who Annie already dislikes from her name alone, made a point to emphasize that she already knew it.  This sent Annie over the edge.  Apparently her family had been going out of her way to avoid peanuts at family functions while not notifying me so that I didn't feel awkward.  (I doubt that they actually did this, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt.)

Anyway, if you don't lie, people will say things like "but it's so good you have to try it" or "you can't even taste the peanut butter" which is always, always a lie.  So, lies were required to keep my life sane, and the lies came so frequently that they appeared to be true.  Now, I wonder if I would actually have a reaction to peanuts if exposed, as a self-fulfilling prophecy curse for being a jerk.

YUCK!

Peanut free since 1988 (when I was force-fed and threw up?),
~RoB

Annob's Drunken Books

Annie and I have long discussed the small business we intend to open when we get older (or when we can't stand being engineers anymore).  It will be a used book store, with a wine bar in the back.  We're going to call it Annob's Drunken Books.  I'm not positive that the word Drunken can be in the name of a store that sells alcohol, but we're going to try real hard.  (The word Annob is described here.)

We have most of it planned out: I'll be in charge of wine.  Annie is going to be in charge of cheese plates at the wine bar.  She'll most likely run the finances and pricing for the store (we think she might get an MBA in the future), but we'll make most of the decisions together.  We want a screen that we can roll down and project onto for hosting Michigan Football parties.  We'd like to have some maize and blue photographs/paintings, but we'd also like to have a local artist use our wall-space as a gallery for selling their art.  We'll each have sections of books that we choose/specialize in (I'm a Fantasy/ Sci-Fi guy).

There are a few things that we still haven't agreed upon: I want the bar in the back, but Annie pictures a circular bar in the center.  We also have no fucking idea where we are going to open it.  (We don't really know where we'll settle down.  Ann Arbor?)

This week, we've hit a snag with our plans.  What if people don't read paper books anymore?  It sounds ridiculous, but is it that ridiculous?  We've debated that books are more timeless than items like records, since you don't need any special equipment to read them.  People still buy records, regardless.  However, our generation, in general, is really into the next big techie thing.  What if people have no interest in paper books in the future?

It's kind of mind blowing to think about.  At least, for those of us that still read regularly.

Forever reading paper books (please don't let me sell out),
~RoB

Food & Sex

I'm always the moody one.  I have really severe mood swings sometimes.  I even spent a few sessions with a psychologist exploring rather or not I am bipolar (I took an online quiz through my medical center, and it said to do just that).  I'm pretty good at controlling myself in public, but I usually let it fly when I'm home.  Two things are the reasons for 90%+ of my tantrums: food & sex.  If I'm deprived of either for too long, I turn into a monster.  I'd like to say that it happens slowly, but that'd be a lie.  Something clicks, and I crave misery in every human being around me.  I've never actually been violent or anything, but I certainly have crazy scenarios flashing in my head.  Wow, that sounds so sociopathic (word?), I should probably delete it.

Last night, Annie pulled one on me.  Driving home from TJ's, I hit a turn that knocked over our single bag of groceries, that she had just paid for.  A carton of eggs topped the bag, and she was infuriated at my inability to either pack it securely or drive appropriately.  She was convinced the eggs were broken, and she got all Italian on me: yelling, hand motions going crazy, slamming the door, general craziness.  When she got out, I drove away and left her in the rain.  (I had the keys, since I was driving.)

I got mad at her anger, and it only got worse as I realized that she snapped... just like I do sometimes.  There's absolutely no room for introspection in this damn blog, so here's a crazy simple cake recipe, passed down from Annie's grandfather's lady-friend.  I made it yesterday (used up all the eggs), and it was pretty good.

Triple Chocolate Cake
1 pkg Chocolate Cake Mix (I prefer Duncan Hines Devils Food)
1 c Chocolate Chips (Nestle Toll House, as if there were others worth buying)
3.9 oz. pkg Instant Chocolate Pudding (Jell-O)
1/2 c Oil (I use Canola, Safflower, or Olive, in that order)
4 Eggs
1-1/4 c Water (I hold no allegiance to any water)
Bake in a preheated oven at 350 for 40-45 minutes (I did 45 mins).

I served it with Chocolate Cabernet Sauce drizzled over it, making it Quadruple Chocolate Cake, and certainly crossing the threshold of appropriate chocolate consumption.  Crossing lines.  That's what I do.

No eggs were actually harmed in the making of this post; she was wrong,
~RoB

Annob's Valenbirthday Wine Weekend

Annie and I went on a little wine trip for my birthday, mostly, and Valentine's Day, coincidentally.  We stayed at Old World Inn, a B & B in downtown Napa.  Our plan was to walk downtown Napa so that we could taste a lot and not worry about driving.  That is exactly what we did.  We had initially planned to buy the tasting card, but our innkeeper gave us enough complimentary passes to deter us from that itinerary.  The Old World Inn was everything that's great about B&Bs without the grandma decor; the evening chocolates were the best (cake and chocolate covered strawberries set out for late night snacking).

Annie will probably provide a more detailed listing of the day on her blog in the upcoming days, but I would like to give a shout out to the lady that made my day, Trisha from Mason Cellars.  We were the only ones in her tasting room for about 30 minutes, so we talked for a while.  She gave us wonderful advice, the tasting was complimentary, and the wines were dirt cheap for Napa standards yet really good.  She explained the rise and fall of Copia (which we had toured years before) and even offered to drive any wine we bought that day (from any winery nearby) back to our hotel and drop it off for us.  We took her up on her offer, and she ended up dropping off almost an entire case of wine to our B&B (we only bought 4 bottles of Mason wine)!!

The juicy part: skip ahead 5 hours and 6 tasting rooms.  We decided to head back to our B&B for wine/cheese hour, and we thought it would be a good time to drop off our freshly purchased cabernet chocolate sauce from Ceja (amazing) and the other bottle of wine we bought there.  The wine hour wasn't all that interesting (I blame the clientele), so we went back to our room to prepare ourselves for more tastings, and eventually dinner.

Annie immediately passed out on the bed.  She woke up 30 minutes later and ran to the bathroom to throw up.  She didn't actually throw up, but laid down for a little na-na and waved her glasses around until I grabbed them and set them on the dresser.  She laid around for a while, so I snapped a few pictures of her on her fancy, new HTC Incredible.  Those of you lucky enough to catch them posted on facebook know exactly what they looked like.  She deleted them as soon as she got her shit together around 11pm.  I also snapped another picture that made it to twitter (and gmail), but that got deleted even faster.  Needless to say, we slept through our dinner reservation and didn't eat anything substantial until our amazing breakfast at the B&B the next morning.

Sunday took us on a little tour of Napa & Sonoma Valleys.  I'm hoping to write another post specifically regarding Bottle Shock, so I'll save the details for that future post.  We made one stop at Dry Creek Olive Co, where I am a member and receive regular shipments of fresh, amazing olive oil.  The day ended at Hook & Ladder, a favorite winery from our trip back in May.  I've long considered joining their wine club, since I loved so many of their wines from their last vintage.  As soon as we started tasting yesterday (a new vintage), I immediately filled out their wine club membership application.  I consistently love their wines.  They are the first wine club I've ever joined, and I'm super excited.

(Annob is what are closest friends called the two of us in college, cuz she followed me around like a lost puppy.  I made up Valenbirthday just now.)

Cheers!
~RoB

Container Store

I walked into the Container Store for the first time today.  Annie had been shopping around online for solutions to her shoe predicament.  She came across some things from the Container Store that she got really excited about.  So, we drove 30 mins to Walnut Creek to find one.

The Container Store is the most ridiculous store I've ever been in.  Wrapping paper getting out of hand?  How about a wrapping paper organizer!  Been looking for shoe racks/shelves/hooks?  We've got aisles of 'em!  'You won't be able to Contain Yourself!'

I was surrounded by millions of pretty boxes, 5 fat cashiers, and 2 gay guys.  I felt like someone there should have burped up a purse like Kurt on gLee.  Meanwhile, Annie is running around like a sugar-high toddler in an orange grove.  At one point she dropped a heavy box off to me, then I saw her head poke out of a few aisles from across the store, as she gallivanted around finding things she suddenly needed.  We showed up for 2 things, and they didn't have one of them.  We still spent an hour there.  Awesome.

Also, we were apparently bickering in front of our other roommate this evening.  So much so that our roommate asked Annie if she was ok after I went out to jog with Angel.  It's funny that I don't even notice when we're going at it anymore.  It's a hobby.  First thing wrong: Annie is the mean one.  People should be checking my feelings after we argue.  Second thing wrong: we've been dating forever, so we are fully aware of everything that's wrong with each other.  We point it out regularly.  Nothing is for serious.  We reserve door-slamming, yelling, and crying for real fights.

I only wore an undershirt for my short run, but the nips were burning again,
~RoB

Super Bowl Sunday Food

I've mentioned I'm a little bit of a foodie.  I like to consider myself a budding chef.  I cook a lot for Annie (I told her that she should have a segment on her blog called "Things Rob Puts in My Mouth".  She didn't think that was an appropriate food segment title.)  Anyway, in celebration of the big day, I thought I'd let you all in on my menu:

The day started off with Monte Cristos: thick-sliced bacon with cream cheese and Mary Ellen's pure boysenberry jam on two thick slices of french toast, freshly sliced from a large french loaf.  My french toast egg-wash is made with eggs, buttermilk, vanilla, and cinnamon.  After the sandwiches were pressed together, I topped them with cinnamon/brown sugar and powdered sugar.  So good!

On the menu for the big game are:

• Spicy/Cheesy Guacamole, a recipe from Tamarindo, Annie's favorite Mexican restaurant in Oakland.
• Chili Cheese Dip: bottom layer of cream cheese, a layer of Hormel No Bean Chili, and top layer of a blend of shredded Mexican cheeses all melted in the oven.  Tortilla chips help scoop this deliciousness in your mouth.  Ritz work, too!
• Speaking of Ritz, we're making two recipes from Guy Fieri's Super Bowl Ritz Recipes.  I was really excited for the southern Chicken 'n Slaw Ritz.
• Annie really wanted to try the Asian Zing Shrimp Ritz.
• Cream Puffs (These are store-bought, frozen, but they're good.  Best with hot fudge and confectioner's sugar.)

I'm sure the food will more than live up to this big day.  I hope you all will get to enjoy great food, too.  Have a good one!

Cheering for the (Fudge) Packers cuz they're not the Steelers, and they're reppin' NFC North,
~RoB

Shoes

I've mentioned that I've been seriously cleaning Annie's place.  My decision to move in created a giant mess.  Now that things are all tidied up, we're having that fight that's been done on too many shitty sitcoms to mention.  However:

She's got TOO MANY SHOES.

I'm not very manly (a post I'm working on for later), and she's not super girly.  We apparently hover in some comfortable androgynous zone.  Whatever.  Then--- you move a piece of furniture--- and BAM!  Heels and flats and tennis shoes and sandals and flip flops and boots all get scared and scurry.

I sarcastically told her that her '35 pairs' of shoes are going to disappear.  She told me not to be ridiculous.  She counted 19 pairs.  Much like when a guy measure's his penis, you have to add a few.  You know she overlooked some cuz they're still hiding... or she didn't want to consider 'flip-flops' as a pair of 'shoes'.  Regardless, 2 dozen pairs of shoes covers enough surface area to repave a Walmart parking lot.

Picture a cute, tiny, little apartment.  Picture two people trying to shove their lives together in the same small bedroom.   Now picture those people (bed, dressers, nightstand, and all) floating on shoes.  That's us.

What's up ladies?,
~RoB

That Damn Cake

I told y'all that I was making a Sweet Potato Cake.  Annie got some yams from the farmers' market last Friday, and I wanted to use them.  I'm on a baking kick right now, and I had never had a cake like that before, so I tried it.

I mixed up the batter (used olive oil instead of vegetable oil to combine 2 favorite savory flavors [yams the 2nd]... like Cupcake Wars!), poured it in the bundt pan, and threw it in a preheated oven.  Since I'm always nervous about homogenous cooking, I threw aluminum foil on the top so that heat was distributed as well as it would be through my thick bundt.  After about 45 minutes, I pulled off the foil so it would brown.  I'm so smart.

The recipe said to bake it for 1h15m, but I only baked it an hour.  Burnt cake sucks, and so does dry cake.  Err on the side of undercooked.  I pulled it out, and pressed on it.  It sprang back.  I considered that good enough.  No toothpick; I am fancy pants after all.

Turns out it tastes good, but it didn't cook thoroughly.  It looks great, but when Annie was eating a piece this morning, she let me know that there's a small layer of batter still hanging out in there.  It's edible, but that pisses me off.

Damn me not letting it go 15 more minutes w/o the foil.

I threw it back in the oven for 25 minutes today.  The outside just got crunchier, but the inside didn't finish cooking.

Did I really apply to be a baker?
~RoB

Life Update (and a package of bacon)

I finally hooked up my computer, and I seem to be over the cold that had me all fucked up this weekend, so expect more of this... at least until I get a job.

Haven't heard much more about granny.  She's currently in a rehab center, which is a step up from the hospital.  She had a small stroke.  Add that to the lung cancer, and now a diagnosis of severe diabetes, and she's surprisingly alive.  Since the last time she went home, she ended up back in ICU, the doctors thought it would be best to have her in a supervised facility before sending her home to rest up for cancer treatment.  My mom is staying there, so it didn't seem logistical to fly there and plug up the house.

One of my favorite people of all time happened to be in town this weekend.  We went out to dinner at Waterbar on Saturday night.  It was so fun to see him and meet his fiance!!  He said they've planned the wedding in Omaha, Nebraska, so I totally want to make it there over Labor Day.  I didn't hear how traveling back to Chicago went, considering the Snowpocalypse, but I hope he's ok!!

I'm pretty much finished cleaning and decorating Annie's apartment.  It's pretty snazzy.  The bathroom, though less functional, is probably my favorite room.  I've also been cooking like crazy: blueberry muffins, monte cristos, vegetarian chili, burgers (2 kinds), and bananas foster were all things that I made from scratch last week (not counting everything else that I cooked that wasn't entirely 'from scratch').  Annie and I polished off a whole package of bacon between Bacon Blue Cheeseburgers and Monte Cristos on Sunday, which I don't even feel guilty about, though it definitely lowered our life expectancies.  I'm planning on making a sweet potato cake tonight, as soon as I grab some eggs from the store.

I emailed out my official counter-offer today, and I didn't get my new, fake ACT scores back yet.

I'll bring the funny later,
~RoB

Depositing $1 & ACT round 2

Annie transferred N dollars to my bank account today, to pay one of my credit card bills.  That's the number that I told her, even though it was actually N dollars and 60 cents.  Since I'm too pathetic to have enough money in my account to cover that 60 cents, I had to deposit $1 into an ATM today.  "Is your broke ass seriously depositing $1 in me right now?" says the ATM.  Fuck you, ATM.

Ever wonder how well you'd do if you got to take those standardized, high school tests again?  It just so happens that I got to retake the English/Reading section of the ACT today.  I went to an interview at a tutoring place.  They specialize in ACT/SAT tutoring, but also teach classes in the subjects.  I went there to be a math tutor, but they asked if I was comfortable teaching the english/verbal skills, also, since it would get me more hours.  They offered to give me an old test, to see how I would do now.  I agreed, and took it on the spot.  I'll get the score on Monday.  Let's hope I at least score better than 17-yr-old RoB.  I highly doubt that I'll take the tutoring position, since they want me to give up the rest of my weekends through June.  No thanks.

While walking to pick up Annie, I saw a homeless lady in a fur coat wrestle away a cane from a fellow homeless man.  He looked like he could really use the cane afterward.  I thought I was done with funny homeless incidents after moving out of homeless alley in L.A.  Apparently not.

Awesome,
~RoB

Post #10: Finished I-5 Checklist & Last of the Potty Stories

There were 3 things that I had urges to do after driving I-5 from L.A. to S.F. and back so many times:
1) Eat at Andersen's Pea Soup
2) Eat at Taste of India
3) Stop at the Vista Point and see why it's there.

Today, I checked off the last of those.  I stopped at the Vista Point on the way down.  Honestly, not so spectacular.  There's a little plaque there about the aqueduct, but, as I suspected, you can't see much more than you can see while driving.  I think there's one more on the northbound side.  Maybe I'll try it, too, on the way back.  If you've ever driven I-5, you would understand the interest in both Andersen's and the sketch Indian place.  Both were nothing special.  Andersen's kinda sucked; it smelled like a Port-a-Potty.

I received a great comment in my email today referring to the post "Continue to Fall Apart".  I have to share it:

the worst thing about shitting your pants is you never ever get over it.  for the rest of your life you don't trust a single fart or a relaxation of the sphincter.  it's like... oh damn did i just...? no.. ok, that one was safe, phew.  Post Pantsshitting Stress disorder, i think it should be named.

Hopefully, the following can be the last two disgusting stories for a while.  Maybe it helps that they will involve a dog.  First of all, Angel (our dog) took a poop yesterday and commenced to act really weird and bite at his butt.  When I lifted up  his butt fur and looked back there, he had grassy poop hanging out.  I had to use the plastic bag that I would be cleaning the poop up with to pull it out of his ass.  If this were a regular occurrence, I'd probably give him to the humane society.

A related story.  Annie's birthday is just a few days before Christmas.  Her sister just graduated college, so it turned out that only her father, her, and I were together for her actual birthday.  I tried to make her a layered funfetti cake with glass pie plates (all I could find), and it turned out a mess.  Skip forward a few weeks, and I decided to make fancy funfetti cupcakes with cute frosting and candles.  I arranged them all cutesy on our little dining room table.  It was technically for her roommate's birthday, but it was going to be my way of making up for the shitty birthday cake.  While out for her roommate's birthday dinner (sushi!), Angel hopped up on the table and ate everything!  Every single cupcake, all the wrappers, all the frosting, and all the candles.  When we got home, he was laying on the floor moaning.  He was the fattest I've ever seen him.  We commenced to making him throw up (hydrogen peroxide ingestion) until there were huge piles of cake batter all over our lawn.  It was the best smelling puke I'll ever clean up!

Starting to get phone calls about tutoring jobs in the bay.  I'll return those tomorrow.  Also posted a craigslist ad with a bunch of stuff I'd like to get rid of before returning to the Bay this weekend.  If you're interested:
http://losangeles.craigslist.org/wst/gms/2171654611.html
http://losangeles.craigslist.org/wst/gms/2171665261.html
http://losangeles.craigslist.org/wst/gms/2171674167.html
http://losangeles.craigslist.org/wst/gms/2171679026.html

I managed to make it all the way to L.A. without peeing in a bottle, so let's hope that the potty stories are over for a while.

No promises,
~RoB