An Open Letter to the World of Beth

Dear World of Beth,

What am I going to DO with you people? You leave me no choice but to make a complete and utter cornball out of myself, folks.

To say "thank you" for all of the kind words and support and hilarious headbutting memories of Mrs. Puff just doesn't seem adequate - and yet, it's all I can do. Thank you for the calls and the emails and the text messages and the flowers and blog comments and strippergrams (okay, maybe not...)....thank you for just being there, and for Always Just Being There even when I am infuriating and difficult and distant and retreat from the world for weeks on end. Thank you for getting me through this. Thank you for making me realize that I am not utterly and completely alone. Thank you for supporting me through such an awful decision. Thank you for making me laugh even during tough times.

Thank you for being a friend (cue "Golden Girls" theme song....).

Seriously, you've all been so great. Headbutts and giant bellies for you all.

Murf,
Beth

A really awful, awful decision

Well World at Large, it's with an incredibly heavy and sniffly heart that I've made the decision to send Mrs. Puff to the Rainbow Bridge. We've got an appointment on Tuesday morning.

When I had to make this call with Thomas the Wonder Cat a few years ago, my decision was so much simpler - he had wasted away to just fur and bones and was a shell of his former self. I knew it was time and I was comforted that I had made the right decision for him.

It's not that clear cut with Puff. Where Thomas' decline lasted for several months (too long, I now realize) this has sprung up out suddenly, seemingly randomly, and in less than a month my apartment has been transformed into a 500 square foot pet hospital, filled with pills and special foods and Sub-Q equipment. It's so much to get my head and my heart around. How the hell did this happen?

The most heart-wrenching part is that, despite what the vet has called a "very guarded" prognosis, Puff's still very much her usual self. She's snuggly and alert and headbutting as usual. Still, we're likely talking a matter of weeks or months - they can't say at this point. But I'm enough of a realist to know that these "good days" will not last forever and the time will come when she'll waste away and stop "murfing" at me for food in the early morning and she'll hide under the bed and barf and be in pain all the time. And I can't have that - not for her and not for me, either.

There's a big part of me that feels selfish and cowardly for not doing everything in my power to help save Puff and give her the best care possible - second opinions, alternative treatments, etc. But in the end, the end result will always the same - this is, after all, a disease that can only be managed and treated but never cured. And I can't see her get sick like that, nor can I continue stuffing pills down her throat and making her miserable just to prolong her life. Instead I'd like to remember Puffster as she was....a cranky, opinionated, grossly obese cat with poor grooming skills and an endless appetite for snuggling close next to people while they're sleeping.

Think good Puff thoughts this week....

Update on Puffster

Hey kids.

Yeah, I know. Almost two months since lastt I blogged and boy have I heard about it. The fact is, there haven't been a lot of quirky amusing stories worth blogging about - the holidays came and were lovely....work is plugging along (stressful as always)....it's just same ol', same ol'.

But I've got an update on Mrs. Puff that I wanted to share since I've only told a few about this so far. The Puffster's got "kidney insufficiency." I took her to the emergency room last weekend because she wouldn't stop barfing, and they had to hospitalize her for two days. I took her back for a follow up visit with the vet today and they're really concerned that she's not eating or drinking normally. Despite the fact that her kidney levels are totally normal again, if she doesn't improve on the eating/drinking front in about 3-4 days, then we'll have to think about sending her to the Rainbow Bridge. That's when quality of life issues come into play and that's just not cool with me to play around with.

It sucks. This came out of nowhere and now I've got less than a week to see some improvement before having to make one of the biggest decisions ever. I strongly believe that your pet will "tell you" when it's time for them to go and I'm not getting of those signals yet. This is all just so sudden. Anyway. Just wanted to say hi and thanks for the blogger reminders/nags. More to come soon, I promise. Hopefully with a happier bent. Stay tuned and send good thoughts for Puffster.

And now, some audience questions

Q: Um, holy cow. That's an flippin' awesome tattoo. I mean, seriously.
A: Thanks, but that's not a question.

Q: Where did you GET that thing?
A: Millennium Tattoo, in Fort Collins. It was totally clean, legit, safe, non intimidating and staffed by alterna-hipsters, which is always a nice bonus. Ryan did mine and she was fanTAStic.

Q: Where did you PUT that thing?
A: It's in the middle of my back - which means it passes the Yuppie Professional Dress Attire test plus avoids the whole Tramp Stamp issue. Win-win really.

Q: Does your mom know about this?
A: No. And I'd like it to stay that way, thanks.

Q: But...aren't you like 33 years old?
A: Yes, but....

Q: What, you afraid you'll get grounded or something?
A: Excuse me, have you MET my mom?

Q: I'm asking the questions here!
A: Siiiiigh.

Q: So evidently your mom didn't go with you. Who'd you go with for the tattoo?
A: My junior high co-horts Rena and Chrissy accompanied me. Nothing celebrates 20 years of friendship like a night of body modification.

Q: Did you have other images/ideas you thought about before ultimately deciding on the typewriter?
A: Yes, but they seem kind of embarrassing now in retrospect. I did really like the idea that Rena suggested in the waiting room at the tattoo studio of doing my first car (a '78 Chevette hatchback named Bessie that had pine green glitter paint), but I'll save that for another time maybe. The key was to get something I wouldn't regret 20 minutes later and more importantly 20 years later. The typewriter and the flowers are both very personal and meaningful to me - and the combination turned out much prettier than I could have imagined.

Q: I think I see a question coming from the back. Wait, is that your mom?
A: AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Ink Ink, Baby

Well kids, I know it's been a couple of weeks, so hope you all had a nice turkey day with the parental units or whatever form of friends and family you surround yourselves with.

I headed home, as per tradition, to the Mile High Suburbs, where I wandered around Southwest Plaza, made awkward conversation with my dad, ate way too much stuffing, enjoyed a lovely night in downtown Denver and, oh yes, GOT A FREAKIN' TATTOO. Get! Me! Beth is officially a bad-ass. Well, that is if you can call someone with an old-school typewriter tattoo a bad-ass.

I've been thinking seriously about a tattoo for over a year, but the question was always what to get and where to put it. Plus whatever I decided to get would have to pass the "80 year old Beth test" in which I would still find it cool at age 80 and not live with the regret of having Pooh Bear or Morrissey inked permanently on my body which would have been the case had I done this back in my college days without really giving it some real thought and plenty of time.

But the typewriter seemed like something that is just very....me. The pink flowers remind me of my first apartment in Seattle that had a Magnolia tree in the courtyard that bloomed every Spring.

I lurve it. I really do. It was totally worth the wait and the effort and the pain and the money. And now, let's open it up for questions from the audience.

Two words. Ham Soda.

After two years of sampling their spite-inducing seasonal variety packs, it looks like the folks at Jones Soda finally got an AP story written up about them. Go, Jones Soda, Go!

Let’s hope it drives more people to gather ‘round with friends and family to sip unusual and foul-tasting sodas into Dixie cups while airing their grievances. Perhaps I could shoot for Jones Soda to be the official sponsor of Spitesgiving?

Whaddya say, Jones Soda, are you down for it?

What's next, cell phones and email accounts?

In more “Beth Jumps on A Popular Tech Bandwagon WAAAAAY Too Late” news, I’ve created a Facebook page. Yeah, I realize the rest of you hipster young people were doing this years and years ago when you were in college, but I’m a little slower and older than y’all so cut me some slack. In all honesty, I can’t guarantee how often I’ll be updating my page….but I’m hope it will be more productive and current than my ill-fated MySpace page which I look at and udpate about once every….oh right, never.

Props to those of you who’ve poked me, thrown yams at me and written on my wall – nice to see old friends and familiar faces! Any tips on cool apps I need to check out and incorporate into my page?

Beth Gets Moxi-fied

In what has proven to be my most rewarding and smug moment to date in the Bay Area, I have found a new, brilliant hairstylist that was both achingly hip but still refreshingly approachable and down to earth. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Rebecca from Moxi. She is my new hair stylin’ BFF. No judgmental head-to-toe once overs and sneers about the condition of my hair color (you hear that, Cheyenne?). Instead, Rebecca made terrific recommendations for my cut (bangs, people, bangs!), made further edgy recommendations for my color the next time I visit (Beth’s going chestnut!), plus her assistant gave me a scalp massage that practically put me to sleep purring right in the styling chair.

I heart her.

Plus the fact that she actually used to train other Aveda stylists across the West Coast, including my old stylist Ruthie at Habitude, in Seattle, gives her all the more street cred in my mind.

By far, however, my most favorite-est part of my Moxi-infused morning was when the adorable receptionist asked me if she could (first) bring me some chocolate to go with my coffee (Hello? Is a foot rub by Colin Firth next?) and (second) if she could change the track on the music playing overhead because it made her want to “kick babies.” Something about that seemed hilarious to me. Apologies to those of you who actually HAVE babies, I don’t actually advocate that behavior, but it sure is ridiculously funny when someone says it out loud.

The Library Fetish Continues....

In a very typical Beth move, I can now say I am in proud possession of a San Francisco library card. This in itself isn’t all that amazing, but I don’t even have a California driver’s license or rental insurance yet so it’s a clear indication of where my priorities evidently are. Must! Access! Free! Dogeared! Books!

I’ll confess, San Fran’s libraries don’t seem to be able to compare to Seattle’s classy glassy hipster haven, but they seem to have their own old school charm. I even made my first visit to my neighborhood library branch in North Beach last week and can report that our little library is smack out of Mayberry – that is, if Mayberry had an impressive collection of Manga comics and Beatnik literature. Where else can one walk away with an old Garbage CD and an anthology of stories about being an only child?

And the people gathered. And there was a kitten. And they were all Very, Very Spiteful. Spitesgiving 2007!

It was with great bitterness and angst that the Friends of Beth kicked off this year’s third annual Spitesgiving gathering last weekend at the SSB casa in West Seattle. Good food, good friends, good wine and, um, did I mention there was a bebeh kitten there named Owen who was freakin’ ridiculous? And that SSB’s new house could substitute as a panda sanctuary with all of the bamboo growing around it?

Despite being delayed for five hours at the airport while the plane waited to fly in an auto pilot (see picture when he finally arrived), I made it back to Seattle for a whirlwind 40-hour Spitesfest. Seriously, the timing for Spitesgiving could not have come at a better time. I have been looking forward to this event for the past month – I needed Spitesgiving this year – and truly, it did not disappoint.

There were awesome souvenir coffee mugs. With turkeys on them. Really disgruntled, pissed-off turkeys.

There was a DVD of the first season of Beverly Hills 90210 airing almost constantly, which was fan-freakin-tastic.

There was Miss Spitesgiving 2007, i.e., Ginners, who made her first in-person appearance rather than phoning it in during the dinner hour.

There was the Ceremonial Tasting of Something Awful – which consisted this year of a Seattle Seahawks-themed collection of Jones Soda – including such spite-inducing flavors such as perspiration, turf, dirt, sports cream and finally sweet victory. The perspiration smelled and tasted sickeningly just like what you’d think it would, but strangely enough, the ointment flavored soda really wasn’t that bad (rather minty).

We then went into my absolute favorite part of Spitesgivng, which is the Airing of the Grievances. I kicked off with a two page list of things I am bitter about, including how noisy the street outside my apartment is, classic quotes from parental units, and the fact that the pigeons in San Francisco don’t move or fly away when you get close to them. They just stand there. Defiantly.

There was an amazing feast too, including turkey, Stove Top dressing, mashed sweet potato yumminess, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie.

And then it was over – just as soon as it began, it seemed. But we shall carry the spirit of Spitesgiving in our hearts all year.**

** Except for Eric, who gets a spiteful shout out because he was a wuss and didn’t make it this year. What. EVER.

Cheese! School! Cheese School!

Engh! Engh! Readers! Hey! (envision Arnold Horschack-esque sqirming and arm raising...)

Alert! There. Is. A. Cheese. SCHOOL. Two. Blocks. From. My. House. Where they teach you? About cheese? And how to eat cheese? And what to serve with cheese? And where you get to, again, eat really good cheese??? Head spinning. Palms sweating. Homer Simpson-like drooling beginning.

North Beach, you just earned another significant notch in your belt as being a cool place to live.

Chillin' smugly in my 'hood, yo

So get ME. My North Beach 'hood was recently recognized as one of the "10 Great Neighborhoods in America," in addition, notably, to the Pike Place Market area of Seattle. Can I pick 'em, or what?

As I'm spending more time wandering around North Beach, I'm finding my attitude about my neighborhood greatly improving - award or no award. When I first moved here I was all crinkly-faced and crabby because, after all, I do live one block away from this cheese-laden tourist fest and that's maybe not, well, the greatest thing. But as I'm starting to check out more of the surrounding areas, I'm realizing that North Beach is packed to the gills with charm and color and cuteness. I mean, where else can you have a church that resides at 666 Filbert Street that's just a few blocks from Kerouac Alley?

Next to-do is to explore some of the restaurants and bakeries in the area.

Open Letter to the movie"The Notebook"

Dear the movie "The Notebook,"

One might think that because you were only $10 at Target this weekend, that it would be okay for you to come home with me. The fact that I've become deeply crushy on Ryan Gosling lately made you all the more appealing - I mean seriously, look at him. Who wouldn't spend ten bucks on that?

And yet. Not since I went on that weird emotional Hallmark/Lifetime Movie Of The Week Tivo marathon last Christmas have I experienced such mindless, saccharin pablum. You, the movie "The Notebook," were awful. As in, You-had-me-at-hello/Bridges of Madison County cheese-coated awful.

Where to even begin here? Was it the utter lack of subtlety inherent in any Nicolas Sparks movie, or the total lack of sophistication and coherence that disappointed me most? You're telling me the best that a dark, brooding soul like Ryan Gosling can do on a first date is take his girl to Small Town Main Street and tell her how he used to lay down smack in the middle of the street at night and watch the traffic lights switch from red to green? He is supposed to be borderline retarded?

Remind me to write an open letter to James Gartner about his work in this movie and then roll it up and whap him upside the head with it. Ryan Gosling, we have to talk about this. Do you hear me, young man? Joan Allen and Sam Shepherd, don't think you're getting off easy, either.

Feeling like I could have just spend the $10 on more Method cleaning products and been a lot happier,

Beth

Well? Don't 'Cha?

God Bless You, Internet.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Don't ask me how or why I found this link, but are you aware that Richard Simmons sells dolls on his website? Dolls. On his Website. Seriously. Not only that, but the dolls are terrifying? This one here is Webby Debby. She looks like she's forgotten to take some of her pills that keep the devils away. What's up with the blue fingernail polish?

On the other hand, he also sells keychains, which somehow manage to have an ironic (and much less terrifying) charm to them. Who wouldn't laugh or smile when they pulled out their keys with Richard Simmons on them? Only the truly dead inside, that's who.

As for how I found his Website in the first place, let's just chock this up to looking for some fitness resources online and that no Web surfing experience around fitness would be complete without Richard Simmons. Isn't that right, Webby Debby? You love the Internet, don't you! What's that, Webby Debby? NO! No the devils DON'T want you to kill me. Put the knife down, Debby! Stop!

Open letter to my new dentist in San Francisco

Dear New San Francisco Dentist,

Look, you seem like a nice guy. You came highly recommended from not just one, but several of my co-workers. Your office has some fantastic city views. Also, may I mention that you look an awful lot like Stanley Tucci (pictured here) and that endeared me to you almost instantly.

And yet.

I feel like we have to talk about the absolutely ridiculous sales job you did on me during my "consultation" visit where you tried to convince me to spend $4,000 on veneers and "power whitening." If I may, sir, are you on CRACK? Four GRAND? ARE YOU HIGH?

Look, I get that you probably have French Impressionist paintings to pay off and kids to put through private school and all of that, I do. But to recommend a "treatment plan" that incorporated tooth bleaching before you've so much as looked at my chompers was a pretty giant red flag. Also, the fact that your financial assistant tried to pass FOUR GRAND off as being "very affordable" was hilarious at best and a little offensive at worst.

Piece of advice, if I may, sir? Wait until after my first cleaning and after you've taken a gander at my gums and teeth before going straight into the cosmetic dentistry sales job. Prove yourself as a dentist before you enter the world of Extreme Makeovers and FOR GOD'S SAKE don't go asking people for FOUR GRAND on the first date. That's just bad manners.

Ideally I'd like to go back to you for many years to come - provided I can get the bad taste out of my mouth from our initial consultation.

Cavity Free,

Beth

Three Days To Go....

Seriously, World at Large, I feel like a giant weight is starting to come off of my shoulders. I am decompressing. I am relaxing. I am taking naps every afternoon. I. Freakin'. Love. Vacation!

I still have three days left during my time off and now I'm starting to make a list of the things I haven't seen yet. Still, it's been a busy week so far:

Drove around town with my dad and stepmom. Reverted to being the same awkward, sulky 13-year-old girl I've always been when I'm around them.

• Saw the very impressive murals at Coit Tower
  
• Saw the California Palace of the Legion of Honor and ate a very fancy flank steak salad.

Ate dim sum in Chinatown

Had a drink at the Top of the Mark

Had a drink at the Bubble Lounge

Starting reading "Tales of the City"

Posed for ridiculous pictures at the Fairmont with my very fancy friends Jenny and Mark

Developed a full-on addiction with Grey's Anatomy. Seriously, where has this been my entire life?

Napped daily in addition to sleeping in

Watched documentaries on Frieda Kahlo and Diego Rivera and starting getting a little obsessed

Spent way too much on a new skin care line, bought from a woman with no eyebrows and neon green eyeshadow

Vacation: Or, how I learned to stop worrying and love San Francisco

I'll tell you why I'm learning to love this city:

Because in this random-ass store in North Beach you can (apparently) buy USED SKULLS. Used. Skulls. Cheaper/better than new skulls? How used are they, exactly? Human skulls, or more like cat/moose/monkey skulls? Can you buy them in bulk? How do I know these are quality skulls and not some cheap knock off?

Used. Skulls. 'Nuff said.

Vacation Lessons Learned the Hard Way

Lessons learned after spending two-and-a-half days with my dad and stepmom in San Francisco:

1.) If you're uncomfortable spending a mere 3 hours with your family during the holidays, you might want to reconsider spending TWO AND HALF STRAIGHT DAYS with them. Just sayin'.

2.) If you get talked into driving along the 49-mile Scenic Drive with your family while they visit you in San Francisco, you might want reconsider your plans. Strike that. You might want to run screaming into the Bay and drown yourself immediately. Reference Lesson Learned Number One and realize that being with family in small, enclosed places like rental cars is NOT SMART.

3.) Index cards of Topics to Avoid are helpful to bring along during long car trips with parents, including: "Why I'm Not Married Yet"; "How I Got To Be Such A Liberal, Feminist Democrat"; "The Gays;" "The Denver Broncos"; "What Exactly 'Public Relations' Is"; and "Where All of My Money Goes."

4.) Whatever you do, resist the urge to open the rental car door and tumble out onto the highway while the car is moving in a frantic attempt to escape the never-ending bickering over city traffic, narrow streets, the cost/scarcity of decent parking in San Francisco, and the lackluster map directions for the 49-mile Scenic Drive. Instead, channel your inner 13-year-old teenage girl and stare vacantly out the window for the remainder of the trip.

5.) Recognize that you're not a 13-year-old girl and HELL YES you will have a second glass of wine at dinner because, after all, your parents are paying for that dinner.

6.) Remember that Family Is Forever.

Reflections on Work and Change

Le sigh. More than a month has gone by since my last posting – how does that happen? I’ll tell you how, World at Large, I’ve been hella busy, that’s how. You look good – have you lost a little weight? Is that a new shirt? What’s shakin’?

So where to begin. Oh yes, there’s this workaholism THING. I’ve been working at an absolutely dizzying pace for the past two months. A migraine and carpal tunnel-inducing pace to be precise. The pace, the demands, the responsibility, the constant pressure to prove myself, and the unceasing fear that I’m going to f*ck something up have kept me up every night since I got here. I can safely say that I’ve never felt so overwhelmed, frustrated, disorganized, terrified, out of my element, and put to the test as I have these past two months.

Unfortunately work has been almost all I’ve done since I’ve arrived. I feel like I’m on the world’s longest business trip, where I go to work and then come back to my sterile hotel room to do some more work and eat room service and then go back into the office the next day in my little rental car for more work.

But, lest this turn into a virtual pity party for the local yuppie, let me acknowledge publicly that I do see a silver lining among all of these workaholic-fueled clouds. I haven’t lived in a new city for almost a dozen years. The last time I packed up and moved I was a baby bunny rabbit of 22. It’s been waaaay too long since I made any sort of life-altering decision and those sort of events don’t come easy, or often.

So, yes, it sucks right now. It’s hard and scary and gritty and all uphill. But I need to hold on to the part of me that knows that it won’t always be that way.

Back to – ahem – work for now. Did I mention I’m on vacation for 11 days starting next week? Did I mention that that thought makes me grin ear to ear?