My Own Personal Hell

DMV, Department of Motor Vehicles - the worst form of torture that exists.

I arrived at the San Francisco DMV yesterday at 8:50am. There was a line of people out and around the building, waiting to receive paperwork to begin the process of obtaining identification. Behind me was a guy who was kinda wacked out, missing some teeth; he wanted to "get his life back together", which meant getting a photo i.d. In front of me was an inpatient teenager and her annoying mother who chatted on the phone nonstop. Other line attendees included a short, angry Spanish man who had an affinity for the word "fuck", a woman who thought she was a stand-up comedian, and a young thug with ice in his ears who was trying to pass his permit test for the third time.

The majority of the people who arrived after me were just as baffled as the line, and thought it somehow didn't apply to them. I found myself thinking, why is everyone so surprised? It's the DMV - of course there is going to be a long wait. But I had no idea the hell that was brewing around me...

After an hour of waiting outside, I finally reached the desk and received paperwork to apply for a California Driver's License. Once I filled it out, I was given a number: G123. I looked at the current number in the G sections (there were also numbers beginning with E, H, I and J in the mix) - G034. Fuck. Bookless and ipodless, I wanted to go to my nearby apartment and wait it out for a while and come back with my number in an hour or so. But I stuck it out in fear I would miss my number being called. It was kind of nice to sit down for a while and raise my braced leg up on one of the chairs. But then my back and my ass started to hurt because I sat there for about two and a half hours.

When G123 was finally called, I gathered my belongings and locked my leg brace and marched up to the teller at counter #7. This is it, I thought! Done, finally! Wrong. After spending about five minutes with the teller filling out necessary paperwork, she pointed me in line to wait to get my photo taken. Another 15 minutes, not so bad. 1, 2, 3, smile, flash! Then I was pointed to wait in line to receive my written test. With only two people working the front desk and another at lunch. A mean woman was checking people's tests and giving them their temporary license, and an awkward man was providing paperwork and numbers to people arriving. There wasn't anyone to pass out tests to the people waiting, so our line was at a stand-still for the first 20 minutes I was standing in it. There was a lag in people checking in, so our line started to move about, then came to a halt again when the awkward man had to attend to the other line. In all, I waited 45 minutes in a line of 12 people to receive the written exam.

I got the exam, hobbled to a test taking counter and knocked it out in under four minutes. By then, the line inside the test-taking area to hand in your exam was about 25 people crammed into a 20x10 space with other people taking their tests. It was pretty cozy. I had been standing for over an hour at this point, and my leg was starting to stiff up. I told the person I was behind to save my place in line so I could rest at the handicap seat for a little bit. Just when I was starting to get the feeling back in my knee, I'm tapped on the shoulder by a woman with a Polish accent who looked about 7 1/2 months pregnant. "Ma'am, can you please stand up so I can sit down and finish taking my test?" (Earlier I had seen this woman cheat the system by demanding a lower number so that she could be seen quickly.) I was speechless. Did she see my leg brace? Did she understand I was more "handicap" than her? It's not my fault she got herself knocked up. You didn't see me cheating the system because I had a bum leg, I waited it out with all of the other able-bodied people. But of course, I got up and gave her a mean glare as if to say "I hope your baby looks like a monkey." No more than ten minutes later, the preggo woman gets up and marches to the counter, skipping everyone in line, and hands in her test. If I was running the DMV, I wouldn't have tolerated that bullshit. Even if the woman looked like this:

My total wait time: 5+ hours. Did I get my license? Yeah, and I got a 34/36 on the exam. I'm now the proud owner of a California state temporary driver's license. We'll see if they actually send the real one.

Makeover!

I was inspired to give my blog a makeover today when I came across the blog of my friend, Emily. I was getting kind of bored with the old orange layout, and I needed something that was more "Kelsey" - I think this is a pretty good fit.

This was a nice distraction from reading the California DMV handbook all day long. With the week off to recover from my knee surgery, I decided I would finally get my CA license tomorrow - after nearly three years of living here. Apparently it's illegal to drive in California with an out-of-state license if you've lived here longer than six months and are registered to vote. I'm hoping I can somehow keep my New York license for nostalgic reasons, but I have a feeling the DMV won't let me. I wonder what top I'm going to wear for my license photo....

Redecorating my blog was also a nice distraction from the mouse in my house that has been taunting me all day. Not only did it enter the corner of my room - TWICE - but it somehow managed to escape from a crevice in the bathroom that has not been plugged up with expanding foam. Tricky little bastards, aren't they? And what the hell is it doing in the bathroom? Shouldn't it be looking for food in the kitchen? Am I dealing with an anorexic mouse? My roommates are not fans of deadly mouse traps or extermination, so I've decided to take matters into my own hands. I placed a sticky trap on the floor of the spot that the mouse keeps returning to. I figure I can do what I want since it's my bedroom. The only downside is that I will have to dispose of the paper/mouse if I actually manage to catch it. Gross.

In any case, I hope you like the makeover!

Rehab

Yesterday was the date of my long-awaited ACL reconstruction surgery. It's hard to believe that it was a whole six months ago that the tear occurred while skiing in Lake Tahoe - and I've been walking around in boots and heels since then (no doubt, with a drunken fall here and there) with little to no pain. And now I am laying in a cozy bed in my mom's room at the Hotel Monaco with a huge brace over my leg, and Vicodin, Toradol, water and crackers by my bedside.

Those two nubs sticking out of the top of my brace are for the cold therapy unit that I use 6 hours a day, provided by Liberty Health Services. (The unit costs $200 and is not covered by insurance, so essentially I own it. I'm not sure if I'll find any use for this afterward, but I guess it's pretty cool - no pun intended.) I fill a cooler with ice and water, which is hooked up to a tube that clips into the openings under the nubs. The ice water is then dispensed into the packets surrounding my leg under the brace. It's basically a quick and easy way to provide continuous icing to the surgery location.

I also have to use a CPM machine 4 hours a day, also provided by Liberty Health Services and covered by my insurance plan with a small co-pay. I can use this at the same time as the cold therapy unit, or separately. The CPM helps move my knee, so I can gradually bend it from 40 degrees to 100 degrees. It's actually pretty comfy (though, very heavy), and was delivered directly to my mom's hotel room by a nice man named Chase.

By the way, the actual surgery went pretty smoothly! After checking in at the CPMC Outpatient Center, a young volunteer brought me into the pre-op room and told me, "I've never done this before so I'm not really sure what happens next." I think he was in high school, maybe. I told him he should probably refrain from telling his patients that he was clueless. After that a nice nurse named Mercy came in and taught me how to use my crutches (which I'm a pro at) and hooked me up to my IV. I was worried about my IV because in my wrist surgery two year ago, it took the nurse four tries to find a vein that was big enough to hold the IV. But Mercy got it in with one try in a vein below my left wrist.

At noon (my scheduled surgery time), a murse brought me to the OR area of the hospital. He brought me into a meeting room where I would discuss the procedure with my surgeons, and plugged a tube into my hospital gown that blew in hot air. My surgeon, Dr. Lesley Anderson came in and met with me and signed my left leg with her initials. Then the extremely good-looking anesthesiologist, Vince, came in and told me about the nerve blocking option in my femoral artery to alleviate pain after the surgery (I'm allergic to morphine). He was so good looking that I just agreed to whatever he suggested.

The last person to come meet me was Nurse Olivia. She brought me into the operating room, which was filled with bright lights, TV screens, lots of big machines, and 7 or 8 doctors. They started to hook me up to various machines and cover me up. Vince gave me what he called "an appetizer" through my IV - a small dose of pain meds that calms you down while they're poking and prodding you with needles. He numbed the crease in my upper thigh and shot me with the nerve block. He explained that I was going to have muscle spasms in my leg, and that meant it was working correctly. It definitely felt weird, but I was glad it was working. Meanwhile, Dr. Anderson was looking for a vein in my arm to draw blood for the allograft. Of course, she couldn't find one and so she decided to wait until I was asleep. Then Dr. Vince told me to think of my vacation spot - I obviously chose Bora Bora - and I was out before I knew it.

When I woke up, Nurse Susan was helping me manage my pain. She brought me down from a 7 to a 4 with a little bit of Demeral. We talked about the Yankees and Broadway as I drifted in and out of lucidness. Once my pain was managed, she brought me to the recovery room where my mom was waiting for me. They gave me some saltines, water, graham crackers and apple juice and after about an hour of rest, I was able to get up with my crutches and use the bathroom. Go me!

All in all, it was a very successful surgery and I feel much better than I thought I would. Although I can't move around all that much, I'm not complaining about being stuck in a hotel room with TV, room service and my mom.

Eating My Way Through NOLA

New Orleans: the city of bourbon, bistro, and Brandon!

This past weekend I went to visit my close friend, Brandon at his new home in New Orleans. Brandon moved to NOLA from SF a few months ago, and I've missed him dearly. When Brandon was living here, we spent most of our time together shopping at the farmers market, cooking dinners, drinking wine, and exploring new hot spots in San Francisco. I have not since found a foodie friend to replace him, and I am currently accepting applicants.

The last time I had visited New Orleans was when I was seventeen-years-old - a senior in high school - visiting my older friend at Tulane as a prospective student. Needless to say, this time around was an entirely new experience. Not only was it my first visit since Hurricane Katrina, but saw the city from the perspective of someone who lives in the French Quarter, dines with local farmers in mind, prefers Trefethen s.i.n. Rose to Pat O'Brien's Hurricanes, and has a car.

I arrived at New Orleans airport at approximately 11:15pm. This was after two legs of flight in first class (thanks to American Airline miles), 3 large glasses of wine, and a vodka cocktail. Read: I was pretty drunk already. Brandon picked me up and we drove back to his spacious and beautiful studio apartment on Royal Street. After changing into something more appropriate for the thick 90 degree heat, we opted for a drink at the Carousel Bar in Hotel Monteleone. One drink was clearly enough, as I was already drunk and the room was spinning (literally, the bar spins in a slow circle as you're served drinks), and it was a Thursday night so Brandon had to wake up early for lunch.

The next day I was on my own for the morning. With a key to the apartment, a flowing skirt and tank top and a mission to shop, I was off in the French Quarter!

I didn't get very far down Royal Street before Brandon called me to tell me to grab an umbrella before meeting him for lunch since the sky looked like it was about to open up and release buckets of rain. Before heading back to the apartment, I did manage to purchase a few small items like spices, a magnet, measuring spoons and some Hanky Panky thongs (my favorite). I met Brandon on the corner of Canal and St. Charles and he whisked me away to lunch at one of his favorite spots, Cochon Butcher. We stood in a long line waiting to order, then took our seats at the bar - according to Brandon, "we would get better service" at the bar. We sipped on homemade iced tea and waited for our lunches to arrive, about 5 minutes after we ordered. While he delved into the brisket special, I feasted on the pastrami sandwich - a Creole take on the Ruben. YUM!

Brandon told me that this place was the kid brother restaurant to the larger and more fancy Cochon next store. Both use practice sustainability and specialize in Cajun dishes. And Brandon was right, we did get better service at the bar. We exchanged stories of the East Coast with the servers and talked about food in New Orleans. It was a lovely first meal experience in NOLA for me!

Later that evening, Brandon took me on a drive through New Orleans' Garden District and pointed out the homes of Sandra Bullock and John Goodman, as well as some other historical mansions. We had dinner at Lilette, a new-ish Creole Restaurant on Magazine Street, and one of Brandon's favorite spots to dine. We shared a bottle of Grüner Veltliner - my pick - and ordered some appetizers to start. Brandon got the beef short ribs with cucumber and lime-ginger vinaigrette, and I ordered the Braised veal cheeks with baby greens and horseradish vinaigrette. Both were delicious, but my entree took the cake: Paneed red snapper with Israeli cous cous, leeks, tomato and ver jus mussel butter. Even Brandon was drooling over it, though his grilled Mahi Mahi with braised escerole, leek puree and satsuma-basil butter was almost as perfect as mine. We happily agreed to skip dessert because we were so pleasantly full, and to outsource the calories on the many bevvies that were to come.

Our next stop was Columns Hotel, an old Bed & Breakfast that boasts various large rooms with high ceilings and tables outside and inside to sit and enjoy a drink. We waited for his friend to meet us, and the three of us had three rounds of drinks consisting of mint juleps, bourbon and coke, and vodka and soda. We decided it was time to hit the next spot just a few meters away at Delachaise. I ordered a whopping double vodka and soda and we sat outside on the patio, making plans for the rest of the weekend. We headed back downtown where we separated from Brandon's friend and made one more stop at Bar Tonique, which was a near split image to one of my favorite bars in San Francisco, Alembic. I nursed a strong gin drink called The Last Word (gin, lime juice, green chartreuse, and maraschino liqueur) while Brandon sipped on a Pimm's Cup. A delicious end to a delectable night.

Saturday we slept until 10am and got dressed for brunch in the Bywater district. Brandon took me to Satsuma, a hippy-dippy organic place with five staffers, a small but affordable menu, an assortment of tables outside and inside, and of course free wifi. Are we in San Francisco? Brandon later explained to me that this neighborhood was in fact the more Bohemian area of the city, with brightly painted houses and small cafes and shops, and if you turn the corner you may find yourself in the Ghetto - a lot like the Mission district in San Francisco. After brunch, Brandon gave me a tour of the Lower Ninth Ward, the area of the city that suffered the most devastation after Hurricane Katrina hit five years ago. First he took me to the Doullut Steamboat Houses, two very special and historic homes in New Orleans, one of which Brandon's friend owns and lives in.

We then drove through the area that Brad Pitt's company has been rebuilding. The houses were very modern and interesting looking, all on stilts to protect them from floods. While the seemed to solve the issues of flooding, they don't look very much like typical New Orleans homes. But kudos to Brad for using his money and fame to make better homes for people in need!

By this point, it was so damn hot outside and Brandon's car AC only worked when we drove fast, so we decided we best sneak inside one of the hotel roof deck pools in his neighborhood for an afternoon swim. I was so worried that we would get caught, but we slowly realized that nearly everyone who was sitting by the pool were locals who must have got their bright and early to claim the pool deck chairs. We even met one girl who claimed she was "not a fan" of San Francisco, and the people were "snobby and uptight." Mmm hmm. Go back to your Rickys and Ronnies. We left the pool shortly after to dine on some creole tomatoes, mozzarella and fresh basil from Brandon's balcony planters - and of course the Trefethen Rose that I trekked across country. Our buzz and heat exhaustion called for a much-needed nap. When I awoke, it was pouring rain with thunder and lightening. This lasted about 30 minutes, and then the sun came back out. At least I got to witness at least one of NOLA's infamous summer afternoon storms.

Later that evening, after we were well-rested, showered, and dressed for dinner, we headed back to Magazine Street to eat at Bistro Daisy, a small American bistro restaurant featuring seasonal and local dishes. I ordered a heaping glass of Duckhorn Decoy Zinfandel and we selected our appetizers. For me, jumbo lump crab and gulf shrimp in aioli with artichokes, new potatoes, petite croutons and chives; for Brandon, grilled sweetbreads with lemon supremes, fried capers and toasted pinenuts in a browned butter. Both were fantastically prepared, with all of the flavors melding together in every bite. For my entree, I chose the lamb with risotto and tomato-mint reduction while Brandon dined on the fish special (which I can't remember because I was so immersed in my lamb and Zinfandel). We again opted to skip dessert, but were pleasantly surprised when we were brought a dish of homemade ice cream - for free! It was literally the icing on the cake.

After dinner, we went back to Brandon's house to change into our evening clothes. After enjoying some bourbon and coke drinks at the apartment, we took to the streets to enjoy some live music and Bourbon Street entertainment. We stopped at DBA and Mimi's, and from here it gets kind of fuzzy - in true New Orleans fashion. We finished off the night with a stop at a taco stand, a five block cab ride back to Brandon's house (apparently I refused to walk), and an expensive faux New York hot dog that lead us to loudly imitate/mock the New Jersey accent for the next 30 minutes or so.

Fortunately my flight on Sunday wasn't until late in the afternoon, so we were able to nurse our hangovers and enjoy a homemade breakfast while watching one of our favorite movies, Sleepy Hollow. Once we were motivated enough to leave the house, we spent some more time walking around the French Quarter doing window shopping at antique stores, history shops, jewelers and a very small but entertaining sex shop. To ease the beads of sweat dripping down our face, we stopped at a small Popsicle shop owned by a woman from Nashville. I highly recommend stopping in this place if you find yourself in the French Quarter on a hot day.

I could not have asked for a more pleasurable experience during this trip. Not only did I get to spend time with one of my best friends, but I got to see a side of New Orleans that I didn't know existed. Special thanks to Brandon for one of the best weekends this summer will bring me!

Since I've Been Gone

Every week for the last two months, I have thought to myself: "ACK! I really need to write a blog post this week... I'll get to it later tonight, after I browse the Internet for a few hours, go for a swim, attend a few office events, exercise, do some work for AsiaWheeling, watch my favorite TV shows, have dinner with my boyfriend... shit it's 1am and I have to go to bed. There's no time to blog!"

I know, I know. I could have made time. But here is what I was doing instead....

SHN, the company I work for, began Peter Pan performances on April 27 and we had the official opening for the show on May 12. Combined with the three or four other shows I was working on, along with the 10/11 Season marketing campaign, I had little to no time at work to accomplish anything that wasn't work-related - Facebook being the only exception because that actually counts as work.

When I wasn't working or attending fancy events for work - like the opening of the Birth of Impressionism Exhibit at the DeYoung Museum - I had several visitors coming to town. Three of my closest girlfriends from college cam to San Francisco for Bay to Breakers weekend. Also joining them were two other friends of mine from college and although one opted to stay at a hotel downtown, the other four made a home out of my living room for the weekend. There was lots of fun had, lots of pizza eaten, lots of booze drank - and one very cute clay mate. A couple weeks later my best friend, Lucy came for a visit! We accomplished pretty much everything on out list of activities: brunch at Park Chalet, semi-matching tattoos behind our ears, Sex and the City 2 (loved it), spoonful of happiness at Sushi Koo, fancy hotel party at W, mucho bar hopping, Napa Valley wine tasting, late night burritos, celebrating the 21st birthday of one very drunk boy, and a near-disaster ride to the airport. Ahh, the joys of hosting.

As some of you know, I tore my ACL back in January when I was skiing in Lake Tahoe. I didn't find out it was torn until March when a MRI was finally ordered. Since then I have been working to strengthen the muscles in my legs to prepare for the surgery on July 8. I've been biking more, doing physical therapy exercises, some moderate elliptical and upper body strengthening, and swimming! Swimming is my new favorite form of exercise. I swam when I was a little girl, and my boyfriend got me back into it when he started to dabble with training for a triathlon (side note: he has since decided to first run the San Francisco Marathon). I've found that swimming is really the only form of exercise where I am completely relaxed, yet the level of adrenaline that surges through me is incomparable to anything I have experienced at the gym. The first day I swam, I did 6 laps (12 legs) - which was more than I expected! Now I am swimming 30 laps (60 legs) combined with 10 laps (20 legs) of kick boarding interspersed between every 10 laps of freestyle. In short, I feel great! I recommend swimming to anyone who is looking for a new and easy way to exercise.

Because of my ACL tear, I was unable to play on my softball league this spring - but that didn't stop me from being a part of the team, the one and only Master Batters. I started Master Batters (which is part of a social/beer league in San Francisco) last year when I was looking for something to activate my social life. I took on the role of Captain/Manager/Coach and played catcher for two straight seasons. But this year when I was sidelined, I took my Coaching role much more seriously and with the help of my team, developed some new strategies and recruited some new players. Though we only won two games this season (one was a forfeit from the other team), we managed to make it to the B League playoffs. After clobbering the #1 seeded team in the first round of playoffs, we were sent to round 2 to play the #4 seed. The Master Batters beat them pretty badly, and we were sent to the finals on the next field over where we were to play the #2 seeded team. And wadaya know, we beat them too! WINNERS OF THE GOLDEN GATE SPORTS AND SOCIAL CLUB SOFTBALL CHAMPIONSHIP! A true Cinderella story for you, folks. Just goes to show that teamwork and enthusiasm always make a winning combination (a good bat makes a difference too). And the icing on the cake? We won the championship on the night of my 25th birthday.


Yes, that's right. I turned 25 this year. I'm a quarter-century old. I had a short-lived, but intense, panic attack two days before my birthday. Some may call it a quarter life crisis. There was hyperventilating, crying, incapacity... some may have even mistaken me for a hobo as I laid on the grass outside of the Civic Center listening to Bob Marley to try and cool off. I did, and I continued to draw out my birthday celebrations for an entire week; including, but not limited to, dining out every night of the week, indulging in expensive wine, taking off work for my birthday and spending the night in a hotel downtown, and of course an elaborate party filled with friends and blackout punch. Thank you to all my friends and family who provided me with such a wonderful birthday celebration! Same time next year?

Some other minor highlights:

• I got a haircut.
• I purchased a few new pairs of jeggings.
• I've been doing freelance marketing for this great adventure-travel blog called AsiaWheeling (check it out!)
• I quit smoking.... cigarettes, that is.
  
• I learned how to cook scallops.
• I visited New Orleans and had a fabulous time!
  
• I didn't get iced.
  

The World of Johnnie Walker

Last night I attended a whiskey tasting with some friends. We heard about it through our softball team, and we agreed it would be an excellent way to spend a Monday night - especially with a mere $5 donation fee.

Upon arrival, we were checked in by some beautiful (well, more like "hot") women in short black dresses and high black heals. When I first saw them, I wondered if there was some kind of sultry dress code, but we would later learn that these were the Johnnie Walker Women. After checking our IDs and asking survey questions like "Is Johnnie Walker your favorite Whiskey?" or "How many alcoholic beverages have you consumed in the last 4 weeks?" (the highest option was 16-30, which is what we all chose), we were ushered into a warehouse-like event space, of the typical SOMA variety.

After escalating 3 flights of stairs, we reached a roof deck and a reception room. We were each given a gold token to use to receive a complementary Johnnie Walker whiskey beverage of our choice: Black Label on the rocks, Red Label with Ginger Ale, or Black Label with bitters and an orange twist. I opted for the Ginger Whiskey drink, as I'm only a beginning when it comes to whiskey. We noshed on some Mediterranean themed food and stepped outside to the patio to enjoy our refreshments. We became a bit concerned when we realized that we only received one coin, and we wondered if this was in fact the "tasting" it was advertised to be. After consulting with one of the Johnnie Walker Women, we were told that there would be a sixty minute presentation and tasting in the downstairs area following the reception. They were very vague about what this meant exactly, so we were eager to see what the deal was.

The five of us were some of the first people to be ushered into the downstairs room, so we had front-row seats for this supposed presentation. Upon sitting down, we were delighted to see three shot glasses filled with Black Label, Red Label and Green Label, a bowl of strawberries, ice water, ice cubes, an eye dropper, black pepper, a business card case, and a pin of the Johnnie Walker logo. We were however disappointed that there was nothing in place on the menu for the Gold and Blue Labels. Little did we know what we were in store for.

Once everyone settled in (about 75 people), we were shown a promotional video which I found to be very enticing and well made. Then a well-dressed and confident man came out and introduced himself as one of the Johnnie Walker Whiskey Tastemakers. He told us we would be tasting and talking about whiskey for the next hour, and he was quite a brilliant sense of humor about himself and the event in general. Needless to say, we were excited.

We started off with the tasting with the Black Label variety. After smelling it and discussing the various hints in the nose - grass, vanilla, honey, smoke - we took our first baby sip. Then we added a droplet of water into the shot glass, and tasted it again. Then an ice cube. The colder and more diluted it got, the better it tasted (to me). People like the Black Label because it's dependable and affordable (compared to the others) and easy to find. I liked it, but I was eager to try the rest.

Before tasting the Red Label, we were told to take a bite out of one of the strawberries. Yum. Then we were told to dip it in the black pepper and eat another bite. It sounded gross and weird, but it was actually tasty and complex and it's safe to say I will be eating pepper and strawberries again in this lifetime. We did this to get our pallet ready for the peppery sweet taste that we would experience in the Red Label brand. After taking a nice cool sip of water to restore our taste buds, we took our first sip of the Red Label - which would prove to be my favorite of the evening. The Tastemaker said that Red Label was good for making mix drinks, such as the Ginger Whiskey that was being served upstairs. "Did anyone try that?" he said. "Yes, I liked it very much" I said right next to him, "but I prefer my whiskey with apple juice." He smiled and said "Really? Apple juice? I've never tried that. What kind?" I replied, "Martinelli's. Just buy one of those little bottles, drink half of it, and pour whiskey in the rest." The Tastemaker and the rest of the crowd seemed pleased with my suggestion, and he asked me my name to give me credit to the room. I certainly felt "special" in a room full of suited business men and whiskey connoisseurs.

Before trying the Green Label that was sitting on our menu of Whiskeys, the Johnnie Walker Women came out carrying chilled shots of the Gold Label. The Tastemaker told us this was the celebratory whiskey and when drank cold, it becomes thicker and "more viscous" - he encouraged us to use the word viscous at least once this week because it's fun to say. We toasted and consumed our Gold Label in it's chilled form - quite delicious if you ask me. We then moved on to the Green Label, which is a single-malt whiskey and made up of all the best whiskeys in Scotland - or something. Before tasting it, we poured a drop into our palm and rubbed our hands together (as we were told). We were then urged to sniff our hands, sniff our neighbors hands, get a good nose of that earthy scent that was wafting from our palms. The Green Label wasn't sweet at all, and probably my least favorite. But I can see where an expert would find it interesting and enjoyable.

Last but certainly not least was the high-end Blue Label, which was carried out to us by the Johnnie Walker Women in small Brandy snifters. We sniffed it, diluted it with water and ice, and took down our fifth and final taste of whiskey. It was probably the favorite of most people in the room, my friends included. But as I said before, I'm a Red Label girl.

Not only did I thoroughly enjoy my evening of Johnnie Walker whiskey tasting, but I learned a fare share about how it's made, how to distinguish different varieties, and how to dilute it to make it taste different. It was an enlightening experience, indeed! I recommend attending before they leave SF, or if they come to a city near you!

Fore more information on the Johnnie Walker Tasting experience, visit their website.

Silly Rabbit, Tricks Are For Kids!

Yesterday was April 1st; a day we always seem to forget is going to bite us in the ass until it actually happens. There are two scenarios here:
Scenario A - you wake up and don't realize that it's April Fools Day until something silly stumbles upon your life, and you tell your self "Ah ha! I won't be fooled today, but instead I will come up with a practical joke that all of my gullible friends will fall for! Muah Ha Ha!"
Scenario B - you wake up and don't realize that it's April Fools Day... all day.

I'm always a Scenario A person. I don't tend to plan tricks ahead of time on April Fools Day. They usually come to me mid-morning, like an epiphany, and I let it last through the rest of the afternoon until the guilt sinks in and I start to pity my friends for their unbelievable faith in my honesty. I too am pretty gullible, but this is the one day of the year where I don't let anything slip by me. But be warned, I will trick you, and you will like it.

Two years ago, I changed my relationship status to "engaged" on Facebook and fooled many people into thinking I was going to marry my then boyfriend. Last year I couldn't think of anything to top that (see last year's post, Everybody Plays the Fool), so I took a little holiday from my favorite holiday. But this year I wasn't going to let that happen again. No, sirree.

After perusing the far-fetched farces that people were posting on their Facebook wall, I decided mine would have to be utterly believable; something that people who really knew me could see the truth in. At 10am, it came to me:

"AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Just got a job offer in Melbourn!!!!!!!!! I start May 1st!!!!! Look out Australia, here I come :)"

Within minutes, my friend's mother commented asking what the job was. I replied that I would be working for a company that does marketing and distribution for Australian wines. Brilliant. Anyone who knows me knows that's my dream job, and that I would probably drop anything to do it. After that, the comments started flooding my wall with "CONGRATS!" and "I'LL MISS YOU" and "WHEN DO YOU LEAVE?" There was the occasional, "haha, very funny, April Fools" which I deleted immediately so I could keep up my scam. Friends of my parents were falling for it too! Before I knew it, there were 20 responses, and by the end of the day, there were 40!

People were contacting me in messages and in Gmail, telling me that they would be in Australia this summer and we should meet up, or that they have a cousin who just moved there who could help me get acquainted. In Gchat conversations with close friends, I made up even more lies: I have 24 hours to accept the job, and if I take it then I leave in two weeks. After a few minutes, the date would sink in and people would realize I was pulling their leg and they would kick themselves for falling for yet another one of my April Fools Day gems.

I could tell that this might get out of hand soon. So I sent a text to my boyfriend and said, "don't be alarmed by my Facebook status," but he was too smart for me. He knew immediately that it was a prank, and I was sort of glad. I told him to watch out and not to get fooled, but it was too late. Hours later someone (not me) would post his car for sale for $1200 on Craigslist, complete with a photo and a phone number (his cell) where he could be reached. A half hour after it was posted, calls/texts/voicemails were coming in by the dozens. Every minute someone else was contacting him, some offering cash, some asking if they could pick the car up that night, some even offering more than the listing price! It was insanity - and hilarity. I still don't know who this brilliant prankster was, but I have to hand it to them. Craigslist is an equally, if not better, venue for April Fools Day. But I digress...

Only one person noticed that I spelled Melbourne wrong in my status update - and he never believed me to begin with. You'd think if I can't even spell the name of the city I'm moving to, then I must be fooling you, right? Wrong. People will believe anything you tell them, especially if it's something that brings joy to your life. They want to be happy for you, they want to congratulate you.

Truth be told, if someone offered me my dream job right now with only a month to say goodbye to San Francisco, I would probably turn them down. Because timing is everything. I know someday it will be my time to take the leap and do something BIG, but for now I am happy in my cozy yet exciting city of San Francisco. And if you REALLY knew me, you would know that too.