Which Country am I in?

A Cali trip a month keeps the… oh, I don’t know what, probably keeps me insane.

In August, I flew down to San Diego to attend and present at the State Bar of California’s Annual Meeting.  As a speaker, I could get one complimentary room at the conference hotel, the beautiful downtown expensive fancy hotel on the water.  Not really wanting to stay there for the other 3 nights and feeling the State Bar keeping the couple hundred bucks was better than me moving back and forth during the week, I booked a room for myself at a nearby, less fancy hotel.

I knew it was fairly bare bones.  The room I booked was billed as “twin bed, no tv.”  But hey, I lived in a mud hut, I don’t need much.  Plus, all 4 nights at this place were the same as one night at the conference hotel.  I figured it’d be good enough.

And it was, for me.  But see the thing is, I had told Mr. Trizzle, “hey, if you want to come to this conference too, I already have a room.  Just let me know and I’ll change my reservation to a room for two people instead of one.”  Mr. Trizzle took me up on the offer and I upgraded to a room with a full size bed.

Thanks to some Southwest malarkey in Vegas, my flight was delayed.  Thank goodness it was!  Mr. Trizzle got to the hotel an hour before me and had some time to calm down before I got there.

You see this “hotel,” which was billed as “the oldest hotel in San Diego,” used to be a YMCA.  Basically, a homeless shelter.  We were on the fourth floor, up a beautiful grand staircase and then some extra flights of fire stairs.  Only one of the two elevators was working and it was so slow that I generally opted for the stairs.  There was a delightful patio area on the first floor and a full service kitchen severely lacking in any sort of cookware or dishes.

The room was about the size of a single dorm room.  The full size bed, which was pushed as far into the corner as it could with the radiator pipes sticking out under the window, left about 3 feet of room on one side and 3 feet at the foot.  There was no headboard or footboard.  On the side of the bed, most of the space was taken up by a large wooden wardrobe.  At the foot of the bed, most of the space was taken up by a small desk.  There was no chair.  There was no room for a chair.  There was free wifi. :)

The walls were cement, with an accent wall painted a sort of faded lime green.  The floors were covered in dark carpeting.  There was no air conditioning, but the large wooden window opened wide to reveal a screen-less bastion of airflow.  A ceiling fan hung above the bed.

The bathrooms were down the hall aways.  Quite a good number of them for the number of rooms on the floor.  And they weren’t shared bathrooms like at a hostel.  They were individual self-contained rooms with shower and toilet facilities, and there was soap, body wash and toilet paper provided in them.

I loved it!  With the hot humid air heaving in through the open window, the sounds of traffic below and the general surroundings, I felt like I was back in Africa.  And I was impressed that walking around on the carpeting barefoot didn’t turn my feet black.

Mr. Trizzle was less impressed, but he impressed me further by managing it alright for the full 4 nights, despite pining for a lotion bar and a hot in-room shower that did not have flies hanging out on the shower walls.  We went to CVS the first afternoon there and picked up some almost-fitting flip flops off the end of summer clearance rack for the showers.  That helped a lot.  And I put myself in charge of quietly killing any cockroaches I saw.  That would have been more helpful if he hadn’t seen one or two on his own.  They were so tiny compared to the ones in a Zambian pit latrine.

We were pretty well located, a beautiful walk to the conference hotel and an easy walk to the gaslight district restaurants.  I would definitely stay there again if I were to go back to San Diego.  Mr. Trizzle, probably less likely.

Where in the World is… oh, San Diego

This month, I’ve been impersonating Carmen San Diego.  And this time, my where in the world is – fittingly – San Diego.  Except, I keep forgetting I’m in America and keep feeling like I’m in Africa.

The weather is amazing and is probably the main reason I feel like I’m back on the continent.  It’s deliciously hot, but with a wonderful breeze.  There’s something in the air (probably humidity) that feels cozily familiar.  Plus, there’s palm trees all over the darn place.

The other reason that’s a potential contributor to my feelings of Africa may be the hotel I’m staying at.  You see, I’m in San Diego for the State Bar of California Annual Meeting, which is at the Hyatt.  As a speaker at the meeting, my travel and one night at the conference hotel could be covered by the Bar.  This is a wonderful bonus, and I’m very thankful.  However, I’m also a tad too poor for the rather pricey Hyatt the rest of the nights.  So, I got myself a simple room about a half-mile from the Hyatt.

I didn’t know how simple.  I think Mr. Trizzle – who also came for the conference – felt tricked.  We’re at a place called 500 West, supposedly the oldest hotel in San Diego.  It’s atop a YMCA and I believe it was part of the YMCA back when people could actually stay at the Y – like the Village People sing about doing.

Personally, I like the accommodations.  The bed is comfortable and there’s free wi-fi.  That’s all I need.  I love that there’s no air conditioning but instead a giant window that opens.  It doesn’t have a screen, which feels very African.  There’s a ceiling fan in the room.  I keep expecting the power to go out and am pleasantly surprised when it doesn’t, because I keep forgetting I’m not in Africa. 

The bathrooms are down the hall and are kept stocked with toilet paper, soap, shampoo and shower gel.  All things that also continue to pleasantly surprise me, and the toilet paper’s free!  There’s little flies in the shower that kind of look like botflies, but as far as I’m aware aren’t, because I’m not really in Africa.  Mr. Trizzle and I went to get flip flops our first night here.  I pretty much never wear flip flops in America, so my feet think they’re in Africa.  Somehow, I forgot to pack a citenge.  The hotel has towels though!  That was a nice surprise, as was discovering that my feet don’t turn black if I walk around the room barefoot.

There’s also a mini fridge, that actually works, and an ice bucket for the ice machine down on the second floor.  Mr. Trizzle and I have each killed a bug in the room (one of us far more calmly than the other; I’ll let you guess which), but I haven’t seen more than that.  And as far as I know, none of the bugs we have seen, in the room, shower or outside, are potentially lethal, so that’s always nice.  Lots of the other guests here speak languages other than English, perhaps foreign tourists.  That also adds to the feel of being in Africa.

I think I’d rather be in Africa, but that’s often the case, no hard feelings to San Diego.  Love the weather, and the conference has been pretty great, too.

Most of the room.  There’s about 3 feet to the side of the bed, including the wardrobe, and about 4 feet at the end of the bed, where there’s a desk w/o a chair, the mini-fridge and a very tiny television.

Fun and Versatile Easter Dress

I have this new thing I do now, I only buy or sew knit clothing.  Why?  It stretches.  I am darn tired of having to pass down some of my favorite outfits because they no longer fit over my shoulders, arms or thighs.  So that’s it, knit or nothing.

For Easter this year, I wanted something fun, bright, modestly styled and knit.  I picked out a great retro pattern from Butterick.  A 1946 dress with detail in the piecing of the dress.  It falls just below the knees and while isn’t form fitting, isn’t a potato sack either.

Fabric

It’s fully lined, which turned out to be a very good thing for the bright yellow jersey knit I chose.  I selected skin-tone dance fabric for the lining.  Super slippery, not the easiest to sew on, but the finished product looked right.  The dress has a belt that goes with it.  I made two, one in matching yellow, and one in a contrasting green so I have options. 

Between the jersey knit and the slippery dance fabric, my machine kept jamming, sucking fabric into the bobbin case.  Mommy had a great solution: paper.  I put scraps of paper between the fabric and the machine at the start of each seam.  The paper prevented the fabric from being sucked below deck, and then I just tore the paper off the seam when I was done.

Modifications

The dress is supposed to have snaps on the bodice where the left shoulder piece meets the bodice front.  I chose not to put the snaps because 1) I’m lazy, and 2) the snaps would either be only sewn to the lining, causing the bodice front to droop, or the snaps would have to be sewn through both layers, which would be ugly.  Instead, I choose a pin or broach from my collection when I wear the dress.  It gives me more options in accessorizing the dress.   The dress is also supposed to have a side zipper.  That’s one of the awesome benefits of doing everything in knit.  No zipper needed!

The hardest part of the  dress was trying to install the shoulder pads.  The dress really needed them, especially with how much the knit drapes.  But try as I might, I just could not get the foam dolman shoulder pads sewn in.  When I could get them set properly, the stitches would tear out of the foam.  My final solution, I tape them in with fabric tape when I wear the dress.  This actually has an added benefit.  The shoulder pads are hand-wash only.  Since they’re removable, I don’t have to hand wash the whole dress.

Variations

For Easter, I used a large gold and peachy-brown butterfly broach on the bodice and wore my green belt with green shoes.  On my birthday, I wore the yellow belt and used a pewter sun-hat pin with a red flower on it and wore my red pumps.

Pattern: Butterick B5281

Monkey Pants

Some people just don’t need much, and Mr. Trizzle is one of those people.  It’s a very noble way of life and one many of us wish we could better emulate, but it’s a pain in the butt for happy little present givers on Christmas and Birthdays.  What do you get for someone who doesn’t want anything?

Well, there’s one thing I know Mr. Trizzle loves, and that’s his lounge pants.  Now, I suppose it’s possible to have too many pairs of lounge pants, but I didn’t think Mr. Trizzle was there yet.  And when I saw this adorable monkey-covered flannel on sale at JoAnn’s, I knew exactly what Mr. Trizzle was getting for Christmas.

Lounge pants are one of my favorite things to make because they’re so quick and easy and there’s so many fun fabrics out there for them. I should start buying 1” elastic in bulk.  I have a great lounge/pj pants pattern that I’ve used before for other lounge pants and jammie shorts.  I seem to modify it a little every time in some way.  This time, I added pockets and fly flap.  Not my best fly flap, but I tried.  The pockets turned out great.   And Mr. Trizzle finds them nice and comfy, which is the most important part.

Pattern: Simplicity 2317

Pockets Away

We’ve all had it happen. We somehow missed that small piece of paper or that scrunched up tissue buried deep in a random pocket. If we’re lucky, we have only a few stray pieces of stringy tissue to pull off as we fold the laundry. If we’re extremely lucky, we found a $20 bill we didn’t know we had. But, if we’re very unlucky, we discover amongst the frayed remains of a note or printed receipt that some ink has run, leaving a clear “I was here” message in the vicinity of our pocket.

That’s exactly what had happened to a few of Mr. Trizzle’s dress shirts. Over the course of many months, I collected these shirts with intentions of seeing what I could do.  I’d been able to save one or two similarly situated shirts on a prior occasion by simply removing the pocket. The shirt fabric was not stained, so voila! a new shirt.

Four shirts, four pockets, four stains. A few of the stains were very small and light. Highlighter remnants it appeared, tucked just near the pocket edge on a French blue fabric. OxyClean couldn’t quite get the whole stain out of the pocket, but it was able to remove the little bit of highlighter from the shirt. This one could be saved that way, but the others could not.

Pockets Off!

My first step was to remove the four pockets.  I then deconstructed them in order to use them as patterns for new pockets. This was incredibly interesting because I had shirts from three different companies, Brooks Brothers, LL Bean and a more generic brand called Eighty Eight.  The Brooks Brothers and LL Bean shirts were clearly of a higher-quality construction than the other shirt. Their pockets were not just folded under before being top-stitched onto the shirts. The edges of their pockets were stay-stitched, pinked and adhered to the back of the pocket before being stitched to the shirt.

It was also neat to see how they had other slight differences. The LL Bean and Brooks Brothers were the more-difficult-to-sew rounded corner style, while the Eighty Eight shirt had a simple pointed bottom.  The Books Brothers and Eighty Eight shirt had a straight line for the pockets top hem, but the LL Bean shirts had a detailed V-line.

Pockets On!

One thing I have learned from my mother, among many, a good supply of scrap fabric is invaluable.  In my bin of stray pieces and old clothes, I was able to find fabrics that went fabulously with the three shirts needing new pockets.

For the pink, diagonal striped, Eighty Eight shirt, I found an old Victoria’s Secret blouse of mine that had been torn in the back. The pinks went perfectly. Using the blouse presented some extra challenges because I had to remove back darts from the stretch poplin fabric. Victoria’s Secret’s professional clothes are very tailored. After a few ironings, the dark stitch holes disappeared and all was well.

For the blue and white striped Books Brothers shirt, I matched another old shirt. This one had been my grandpa’s shirt, and from the looks of it, he had worn it a long, long time.  I couldn’t really tell if the short-sleeved dress shirt was white or off-white. By this point, it was basically sheer. But when I doubled the fabric over, it looked perfect with the blue shirt’s pinstripes.  Another great pocket.

Lastly, I had the blue LL Bean shirt. This one was tougher because blues can be so hard to match. I had some plain blue fabric left from making my bucket cover, but it was just off in terms of shade of light blue. (It would have been a great contrast pocket for the French blue shirt had that one needed a new pocket.)  I needed to find something that coordinated rather than matched perfectly.  And it just so happened that I had the perfect fabric in a scrap from another discarded article of Mr. Trizzle’s.  I’d been using this purple, blue and green striped fabric in a suit I’m making for myself, but there was enough of it left for a pocket.  The stripes and colors added a nice funky look to the shirt.

Four shirts, three new pockets, four new looks.

I was way more excited about the shirts than Mr. Trizzle. He’s still trying to figure out what to do with them. I have to admit, they aren’t really appropriate for professional suit-wearing anymore. But they sure are fun!

100 Trips to the Gym

How do you get the most value out of your gym membership? Go!

This past weekend I made my 100th trip to the gym.  As of that date, each trip to the gym cost me $2.99, and it’s only going down from there.

I purchased my two-year gym membership from Costco last Thanksgiving season, and the day after Christmas, headed to the gym with Mr. Trizzle to start on the adventurous path of the Stripped 5x5.

There’s lots of things I love about going to the gym.  It feels good; it’s fun; people don’t bother you because they’re too busy looking at themselves in the mirror (unlike on BART); and most of all, I can really see results.  I’ve dropped a size in clothing, but that’s not so exciting, it just means needing to buy new clothes.  And I can’t brag about weight loss because I’ve gained nearly 10 lbs.  But boy have I gotten stronger!

When I first began going to the gym eight months ago, I could barely bench press 30lbs and couldn’t deadlift enough to move an airline-weight-approved suitcase.  Now, I can bench press half my own weight and nearly deadlift Mr. Trizzle’s weight.   Mr. Trizzle’s doing even crazier things, nearly bench-pressing my weight, deadlifting two of me.  That’s fun to see, watching the numbers go up, watching the plates on the ends of the barbells get bigger, get more numerous.   But the really really great part is when I see the difference in everyday activities.

I can move through the BART trains without struggling with all my might to open the doors between the cars.  Sometimes, I can even open them one-handed now.  When I move heavy bankers boxes of files off of closet shelves or boxes of cds down from my storage unit, I can control the box and bring it down in one smooth movement, inside of momentarily hoisting and then sort of guiding its fall to the ground.  I can move the bookshelves, mattresses and tables in my apartment by picking them up instead of dragging them across the floor, which I bet my downstairs neighbors appreciate.  And the speed of my ball when I bowl has gone up to 16/17 mph.  That’s nice for making some fun strikes.

In fact, there’s really only one kinda downside to the gym.  Ok, two, and both are so worth the benefits.  One, I’m hungry all the time, even more than before, and not just oh-I-want-something-to-munch-on kind of hungry; I-need-protein-now kind of hungry.  That can be a bit tough sometimes, so I carry Cliff bars with me everywhere.  Two, my shoulders and arms are starting to not fit in my clothes.  I busted all the sleeve hem stitches out of a dress one week at bowling, and there’s another dress I love in which I can no longer raise my arms above my head.  But that’s easily dealt with; I love me some sweaters. Nice, stretchy sweaters.

I’m so glad Mr. Trizzle helped me get a visitors pass to his gym way back in November.  It was enough for me to get my own membership, and I love it.  The Stripped 5x5 has been a great starting workout, and I’m looking forward moving up to the next program.  And to watching my cost per gym visit continue to drop.

A Real Summer Day

The day after visiting Muir Woods, I was once again barreling up Hwy 1.  This is not a usual area for me to come to, so I was quite amused by my being there two days in a row.  I was also a bit concerned.  If you remember, it had been quite cold in Muir Woods the day before and this time I was headed along the same road but to the beach, Stinson Beach.

One of Mr. Trizzle’s friends had arranged the outing.  A nice group of people spending the day on the warm sand.  A cooler full of beer, snacks and a frisbee.  What more could you need?  Ok, we appreciated the beach towels, citenge cloth and suntan lotion, too.

It was a little cold when we first arrived, but the beach was still crawling with people.  The biggest attraction was the bubble man.  Dipping a long string tied to wire poles into some soap, the bubble man raised his arms to the sky inviting the wind.  Beautiful large bubbles floated through the sky, elongated rainbows that shifted shape as they glided overhead.  Children scrambled and ran after the small bubbles that trailed behind.

The sun warmed the sand and the crowd on the beach increased.  It didn’t take more than a few games of Frisbee to find my layers unnecessary, and soon I was laying out in my bathing suit.

It was interesting, the group, how different our concepts of hot and cold were.  While I was fabulously comfortable frolicking in my bathing suit, Mr. Trizzle lay on a chair, sleeping under a citenge cloth in jeans, a t, a long-sleeved t, and a sweatshirt.  One of his friends lay next to him on the sand, similarly clad.  Meanwhile, the friend who had arranged everything was far out into the Pacific Ocean, diving into waves in his swim trunks.  (I had gotten as far as standing on the sand where the waves had splashed up.  The sand alone was so frigid, I’d gone scampering back up the beach to our base.)

Whether sleeping, swimming or sunbathing, we all had a fabulous time.

 

Well,  I did have a fabulous time at the beach, but when I got home and saw where I’d missed with the suntan lotion, it was less fabulous.  The tops of my legs were tomato red.  Luckily, I’d had Mr. Trizzle help me with my back, so I only had one missed patch.  Interesting shape though; reminds me of a continent I once lived on…

My First NFL Game

Last Sunday, I got to go to my first ever live NFL game. It wasn’t a Packer game, but hey, we can’t all be Mommy.

I missed the tailgating, because the bell choir was playing in church.  We played Phantom of the Opera for the end of the service since it was Halloween.  I love that music!

Anyway, I got to the parking lot just as Mr. Trizzle and his friends were packing up to head into the stadium; perfect timing.  Our seats were way, way, way up top near the goal line.  It would have been perfect for watching marching band.  Wasn’t too bad for watching football either.  I had a lot of fun watching the game with Mr. Trizzle and his friends.

I was surprised how few Raiders fans were in costumes.  On tv, it looks like the fans always come dressed up, and this was Halloween!  There certainly were a lot of people in Raider’s jerseys, even old Jamarcus Russell jerseys.  The oddest thing to me, being from Wisconsin, was that there were open seats, and lots of them, in nearly every section.  Now that’s something you’ll never see at Packer game.

It was the Raiders vs. the Seahawks and the Raiders were playing really well.  Not as well as the week before when they set a scoring record and completely creamed Denver, but good enough that it wasn’t a very close game.

But the game wasn’t the most interesting thing to watch.  The most interesting thing was the birds, filthy birds.  Seagulls had swarmed over the parking lot as the tailgaters left their vehicles.  By the middle of the third quarter, the seagulls were starting to migrate to the field.

They perched on the scoreboard at the end of the field.  They swarmed around the outer edges of the field.  And then, they began to swoop down into the stands.  Soon, there were flocks of seagulls everywhere you looked.  Worst of all, they were exactly where you didn’t want to look.  Up.

By the fourth quarter, the seagulls had lost all fear.  They came low, they came often.  They were landing and resting on empty seats not far from people.  And they had started dropping presents.

Mr. Trizzle got a small present on his trouser leg.  Being the big, tough man he is, he got a napkin and took care of it.  The people four rows in front of us fled after one guy got two presents.  Then more people started to flee.  I was getting scared.  Cleaning goo out of long hair is not as easy as wiping it off a pant leg.  But  I was sticking it out.  More people fled.  We fled.

The game wasn’t over.  There was a minute and half or something like that left.  We traipsed down the long, winding ramps to a lower level and ducked under a covered area with open seats.  The Raiders got another touch down, right before we ducked into the viewing area.  We did get to see the extra point, though. 

The Seahawks may have lost, but the seagulls sure won.

Roller Coaster Friday

Up, Up, Up

The corsage and boutonnière were in the fridge, the ticket was on the printer, my newly-made earrings lay on the table, and I was in the middle of making a garter to match my dress and earrings.  All the bustle and excitement were keeping me thoroughly distracted from the impending 6pm Bar results.

And then, a phone call.  So long to the grown-up prom.  We weren’t going.

Down, Down, Down

My heart sank.  I was soooo looking forward to this night.  I love getting dressed up.  I love my senior prom dress.  I love that my senior prom dress still fits.  And I love dancing the night away in the arms of a handsome man.

Oh well.  You see, I couldn’t be that upset.  Mr. Trizzle didn’t back out of the prom because he didn’t want to go or anything like that.  No, we weren’t going to the prom because there was something else fun and exciting to do: a birthday party in Napa.

Mr. Trizzle is very good friends with one particular family in the Bay Area, the whole family.  As in he’ll go hang out with the parents, even without their son, who’s Mr. Trizzle’s age, around.  And it was the daughter of this family’s birthday.  There was no way I could ask Mr. Trizzle to skip that, and he had invited me along.

Admittedly, I wasn’t as excited about this prospect as I was about the prom.  It involved no dressing up, no dancing, and presumably a lot of Berkeley liberal talk that, quite frankly, I can do without.  But, I’d also never been to Napa and a trip to a birthday in a fancy house seemed like a nice way to experience it.

Up, Up, Again

Then Mr. Trizzle came up with a brilliant idea.  We could rent a Harley and ride up to the birthday party in Napa!  There’s a place in Oakland that rents Harley’s for – per their website – taking your significant other to Napa for the weekend.  Mr. Trizzle has a motorcycle license.  I’m from Milwaukee (so liking Harley’s is in my blood.)  It was a perfect plan.

I was so excited, I ran to my closet and got out my Florence, KY Harley Davidson shirt sent by my Harley-riding aunt from Kentucky.  I pulled out my Timbaland boots and my heaviest jacket, my CHS letter jacket.   I started packing super light, not caring about much more than getting to ride on a Harley out to a party in Napa.  “Wow,” I thought, “Now I’ll have a great story to tell my wine-loving uncle in Daly City and my Harley-loving aunt & uncle in Kentucky.”  Then there was another phone call.

Down, Once More

Mr. Trizzle came back to his normal self.  Rational logic taking over.  I hate when that happens.  But, he had some good points. 

He never ridden a real motorcycle before, not by Milwaukee standards.  He’d learned to ride on what we back home disparagingly call crotch-rockets.  He’d also never ridden with a person on the back of the bike.  Add to that the fact that it would be dark before we got to the house in Napa and the whole rent-a-Harley thing didn’t seem like such a good idea.

I was crushed, but he was right.  So, I started repacking, and I repacked in true goldenrail style.  Four pairs of shoes, including my pink high-heeled feathered marabou slippers, two swimsuits, glamorous nightgown, laptop, book and work file, a one-night stay.  Yes, I wore all the shoes.

Up, a Bit

No prom, no Harley, but we still did celebrate my Bar passage a bit.  Mr. Trizzle took me out for dinner at my favorite area restaurant, Mayflower.  They have more vegetarian options than you can shake a stick at.  And I got to have my special treat of orange veggie-chicken.  It’s one of the more expensive dishes, so I only get it on special occasions.

Oh, and don’t worry, we didn’t let the beautiful white rose corsage and boutonnière go to waste.  We wore them to dinner, despite not being dressed up.

Up, Up, a Bit More

The stay in Napa was absolutely wonderful.  We didn’t see any wineries, thought I did help Daddy Bunny plant some grapes on his Farmville farm while in Napa, but we had a lot of fun.

We sat around and talked; we went swimming; we laid out by the pool in the warm sunshine; I made bacon for the non-veggies in the group; and we all went out for real good ‘ol American barbeque. 

It was a walk-up shack with outdoor seating and picnic benches.  A line of Harley’s rested to the side of the eating area, waiting for their matching riders to finish tearing into saucy pork cuts.  I felt hundreds of miles away from Berkeley, not an hour and a half.

The cornbread was excellent, though the three-bean salad could have used a little work.  The meal worked out perfectly for Jack Spratt and I.  He wanted the BBQ, but not any of the sides on offer.  I wanted the sides and no BBQ.  One meal with two pieces of cornbread and we were both very happy.

Riding High

Mr. Trizzle and I came back from that trip so relaxed and refreshed, it was amazing.  We felt like we’d been away for a whole week in a far off land, not away for 24 hours a relatively short drive from home.  It wasn’t the prom, but it was a great time.

The Wait

I sat there, just staring at the computer screen, my four digit number-typed in, the arrow hovering over the submit button, waiting.  6pm Pacific Time, 6pm the results would be released, the results that would decide the next year of my life, the results to the California Bar Exam.  6pm.  It was after 6pm.

I was waiting, not for the clock to reach a certain hour, but for Mr. Trizzle to get off the phone.  For some strange reason, he decided that 5:45pm on Friday, the Friday, was a good time to start shopping for new auto insurance.  He’s haggling over $50 and I’m sitting there, just staring at that submit button.

Finally, I could click submit.  Text popped up on the screen.  Mr. Trizzle threw his arms around me and hugged me so hard I couldn’t read the screen.  Mr. Trizzle was clearly excited (he never voluntarily hugs me), but I had no idea what was going on because I couldn’t read the screen.  I forgot, if you don’t pass, nothing comes up.

The Examination Room is Ready

Last night Mr. Trizzle and Short Artichoke came over to my place to practice examination techniques.  I wasn’t really involved in this whole deal, but my place is pretty much half-way between the two of them and they’re both my friends, so it seemed an ideal place to meet.

Short Artichoke wanted some help with her cross and direct examination skills.  Mr. Trizzle’s done nearly a dozen trials himself already and Short Artichoke, well, like most attorneys, Short Artichoke has done zero.  It makes good sense that Mr. Trizzle would help her out with some pointers.

Being the good little friend that I am (and very silly), I decided I would help Mr. Trizzle and Short Artichoke by setting up a court room for them.

I pulled out the long plastic folding table Mr. Trizzle’s currently letting me borrow and set it up as counsel’s table with a nice chair behind it.  On the other side of the room, off from center a bit, I put a stall stool to be the witness stand.  Even put a Bible on it.  The Bible’s in Greek, but that hardly matters.

In the center of the front of the room sat the judge.  A very proud and regal judge, dressed in a black robe, sitting high atop his bench.  Ok, it was Daddy Bunny wearing a black bag and sitting on a table, but it looked very judicial.  And on the side of the room opposite the witness stand sat the jury.  It was a very diverse jury, complete with alternate jurors.

Turned out, they didn’t need the court room.  Short Artichoke is doing an agency hearing.  Oh well.

 

 

While the two attorneys worked in the kitchen, I sat curled up in my comfy large chair, hemming the pants on Mr. Trizzle’s newest suit and listening to their banter.  I learned a lot just by sitting in the next room.  I also laughed a lot.

When Mr. Trizzle went into Attorney Trizzle mode and started role-playing the cross-examining attorney to Short Artichoke’s witness, I couldn’t help but giggle.  He sounded just like he does when we get into an argument: short, yes or no, leading questions that give you no chance to explain and twist everything around to sound bad.

“You bought a pair of black shoes today?”  “Yes.”  “Isn’t it true you already have 50 pairs of shoes?”  “Yes, but…”  “Isn’t it true you already have several pairs of black shoes?”  “Yes, but…”  “Aren’t you not supposed to be spending money?”  “Yes, but…”  “And don’t shoes cost money?”  “Yes, but…”  And by the time he’s done, you feel like you’ve done the worst thing in the world when all you’ve really done is bought a pair of black stilettos to replace the pair that broke yesterday and you couldn’t even explain that it doesn’t matter if you have another pair of black shoes if they aren’t dress shoes and that although it costs money to buy shoes, you need them to get a job and wear to work and besides, they were on sale anyway.  whew…

When they switched roles so Short Artichoke could play attorney and Mr. Trizzle was the witness, I really cracked up.  Poor Mr. Trizzle has spent too much time in Richmond.  The minute he went into witness mode, he became so ghetto: ebonics accent, short and casual answers - “You’re the head of this company?” “Yup.”  Poor Short Artichoke!  She kept shaking her head and saying, but my witness isn’t going to answer like that.

The best part was when Short Artichoke asked a question, “Did you do x?” And Mr. Trizzle says “Yup.”  And Short Artichoke vigorously  shakes her head no at him, and he vigorously shakes his head yes back at her.  And she explains, the real answer based on the facts is “no.”  He looks at her, cocks his head and says “Impeach me.”

The court room, Honorable Judge D.B. presiding.

Eggs, Friends and a New Dress; What Else Does a Girl Need?

It’s only Saturday night, Mr. Trizzle isn’t even here yet, and I’ve already had one of the most amazing weekends ever!

But that’s not what I want to tell you about today.  Today, I want to tell you about Easter.  Easter is my favorite holiday, absolute favorite.  Everything about it is my favorite.  My favorite season, my favorite church hymns, my favorite Bible stories, my favorite candies, my favorite dresses, my favorite shoes, everything.

Easter morning started out perfectly.  Mr. Trizzle and I got dressed up and went to church together.  The service was beautiful, well I thought the service was beautiful.  Mr. Trizzle referred to it as “boring white people church” or something like that.  Although, he did agree the bell choir was amazing.  Those Methodists, they can really play their bells!

I shouldn’t complain.  Mr. Trizzle comes to church with me on Easter because he knows how important it is to me.  This is the fourth Easter since Mr. Trizzle and I met.  Of those four Easters, there was only one where we didn’t go to church together.  Last year, he was living out here and I was in Nashville.  I spent Easter at home with Mommy & Daddy and Daddy Bunny in Milwaukee.

After church, we had a big brunch, hung out with Mr. Trizzle’s mom and The Legend and looked for our Easter baskets.  Mr. Trizzle, his mom and The Legend took a little while to find their baskets, but eventually did.  Looking for mine wasn’t that fun.  Somehow, I seemed to know exactly where it was.  Maybe I have a telepathic connection with the Easter Bunny.

Our baskets were filled with goodies: our favorite candies, plastic eggs, hardboiled eggs colored all pretty, chapstick and Pez dispensers.  Well, most of us got Pez dispensers.  Not The Legend.  He got a set of 10 forks.  Now maybe I’ll be able to find more than 1 fork in the kitchen at any given time.

After brunch and basket hunting, Mr. Trizzle, his mom and I hung out and played dominos.  (The Legend had gone off to the City with his own mother.)  It was a lot of fun.

Ok, ok, now for the most important part (second-most, after the whole resurrection thing): the dress.

 (Full-length picture with the requisite Mr.Trizzle looking-as-though-he-is-only-in-the-picture-for-compliance-reasons look, which is true.)

This year’s Easter dress was a Regency gown.  Mr. Trizzle’s my Mr. Darcy, so it’s only fitting I look like Elizabeth, right? ;)  I had basically made the dress a number of months ago, but it wasn’t quite finished.  Just before Palm Sunday, I added the button-holes and laces on the back of the dress.  And on Easter, like years of Easter dresses before it, it made it’s debut.

I’d had the fabric for a long time but never knew what to make with it.  Light beige, almost ivory, with little shoes all over it.  By sheer coincidence, Mr. Trizzle had chosen a similar colored tie with shoes on it.  We matched!

The dress has removable sleeves, just like an original.  I decided to forgo the sleeves when one came unbuttoned and I couldn’t reattach it with the dress on.  To stay warm, I opted for my short sweater, styled very similar to Regency gown jackets.  No new Easter shoes this year.  I wore my high-heeled Timberland boots that I absolutely love.  Figured they were period-appropriate.  I like the dress a lot and hope to wear it again as soon as I get around to doing the laundry.

He’s Back!

In the three years I have known Mr. Trizzle, I have helped him move five times.  And I wasn’t even around every time he moved.  That’s a lot of moving!  Luckily for Mr. Trizzle’s very nice friends, he doesn’t have a lot of stuff.  He also takes people out for breakfast/lunch/dinner when they help him, so it’s a fun time.

This past weekend, The Legend, Berkeley-Boy, B-B’s girl and I helped Mr. Trizzle move back to the Yay.  We were all pretty happy he’s come back.  We’ve missed him!

For those who don’t remember, Mr. Trizzle moved to Merced in November for a new job.  Well, now he’s got another new job.  Sort of.  It’s actually his old job, but this time it’s real, not liable to disappear any day.  He is so happy to be back.

I’m a little sad, in a way.  I liked Merced.  It reminded me of home, at least more than the Yay does.  The houses were still way too big for their lots and only a foot or two away from each other.  But, the streets were wide, with abundant parking.  There was grass all over the place and sidewalks big enough for two people to walk next to each other.  Bumper stickers were friendly; people were friendly.  You could go out and it would just be chill, no pretentions, no guest lists, no cover charges.   And there were seasons.  Cold enough in Winter to actually need an ice scraper.  Hot enough in Summer to wear a sun dress – or so I’m told, Mr. Trizzle wasn’t there for summer.  I think I’m going to miss Merced, probably more than Mr. Trizzle.

But, it is good to have Mr. Trizzle back in the area.  His mom’s happy.  I’m happy.  B-B and The Legend are happy.  But no one, no one’s as happy as Mr. Trizzle himself.

Church! Finally. Sort of…

I finally made it to a church service today. It was wonderful. I really need that. However, it wasn’t the El Cerrito United Methodist Church that I’ve been trying to go to for about a month or so. But, it was a United Methodist Church. Let me tell you the story…

Mr. Trizzle and I decided to go bowling in Atwater. It’s a little town about 10 minutes from his town and is his nearest bowling alley. It’s also cheaper than bowling around where I live. We decided to meet at the bowling alley at 11.

Once I knew what time we were meeting for bowling, I was able to look for a church. It just had to be somewhere between El Cerrito and Atwater and get out at a time that allowed me to get to Atwater’s bowling alley by 11. Atwater United Methodist Church just happens to be directly across the street from the bowling alley and have a 10 am service. Perfect!

The church was really nice and everyone was extremely welcoming. The congregation was small, but more diverse than I expected. People were dressed up for church and the old ladies had short permed hair like old ladies are supposed to have.

Today was a special service for Veterans’ Day on the 11th. Atwater used to be home to Castle Military Base. Half the population was associated with the base. When it closed, the town was devastated. It’s rebounding a bit now, but is still very much a military town. Even the pastor of the church is retired military, 20 years.

The pastor asked people who had served in the military to stand. Most of the men and a few of the younger women stood. Then he asked spouses of people who had served to stand. About half the congregation was standing. Then he asked parents of those who had served to stand. By that point, there were about 3 or 4 of us left sitting.

The special service was really neat. It was a singing w/ narration type deal. They sang the usual patriotic songs, including the Star Spangled Banner, for which everyone stood, and recited portions of “The Gettysburg Address” the “Declaration of Independence “ and a newer speech I didn’t recognize. One soprano cracked trying to reach the really high note at the end of God Bless America, but it didn’t matter. It was still all very beautiful.

The service actually ended a little early so I had plenty of time to change out of church clothes, into jeans, and head to the bowling alley. Bowling was lots of fun. We hadn’t bowled in several months, so we only played 3 games. As usual, I won one and Mr. Trizzle won the rest.

Then we headed into Merced for lunch. Mr. Trizzle is still exploring the town and finding good places to eat. This time it was a cute little diner. Pretty good food. After that, I helped him unpack some things and got to assemble a shoe rack for him. It’s nice to be good at something.

It was a really fun day. Nice weather, a great time with a good friend and an uplifting church service. That nice Sunday dose of God and patriotism may be just enough to get me through my two scheduled visits to Berkeley this week.

Hallo Weeeeeeee Een

I wasn’t expecting to have a very fun or exciting Halloween.  After all, Mr. Trizzle was moving away that weekend, and there’s nothing fun about that.  But life is always full of surprises, and Halloween weekend turned out to be pretty great. …even with the depressing move.

Mr. Trizzle’s friend, The L E G E N ol (who, for sake of typing ease I’m just calling The Legend) needed help with his Halloween costume.  At the suggestion of Mr. Trizzle (who’s too good/lazy/busy for Halloween costumes), The Legend was dressing up as Rick Ross.

This is Rick Ross –> 

He’s a rapper from Miami. 

As you can see, The Legend needed a giant chain of his/Rick Ross’s face.  Enter goldenrail and a trip to Jo-Ann Fabrics.  (You know I’m always looking for excuses to go there.)

Several days and two bags of rhinestones later, Rick Ross appeared in our apartment.

As it turned out, Mr. Trizzle and I got to be Rick  Ross’s entourage for an exclusive party Friday night.  Neither of us had costumes, but that didn’t matter.  Mr. Trizzle just claimed Recession Halloween and my cute owls were festive enough.

But Halloween weekend didn’t just involve parties and moving boxes; it also included that staple of all Halloweens: pumpkin carving!!!!

On Saturday afternoon, my new friend came over to carve pumpkins.  He’s from Nigeria, so he’d never carved a pumpkin before.  (Pumpkins are food over there, not decorations.  Interestingly enough, that’s two years in a row I’ve had a Nigerian pumpkin carving day.)

He did one, and I did two, one for me and one for Daddy Bunny.  Daddy Bunny’s Grandma suggested he join in, but then remembered pumpkin carving is very messy and he doesn’t bath well.  So, Daddy Bunny designed his vampire bunny pumpkin, and I helped him out by carving it for him.  Here are our finished pumpkins.  (Unfortunately, since it was day time, you can’t tell they’re lit up.)

Sunday was moving day all day.  That wasn’t bad.  Though it was sad to say goodbye to Mr. Trizzle, I got to drive his car (with his awesome stereo) the two hours to Merced while he drove the moving truck.  Woo hoo for subwoofers!  Mr. Trizzle’s getting settled in now and we’re all excited for him and his new job.

 

 

photo credits: Rick Ross cc-by adroed availble at:  http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/g4Pn-KiGXT8h_0rxmZ47Kg)

The Legend as Rick Ross and Carved Pumpkins cc-by goldenrail

Group picture courtesy of The Legend’s facebook.

 

Hip Hip Hooray For the New DA!

Now that he’s been able to tell all the people he needed to tell in person, I can announce the good news here – and we can all celebrate. Mr. Trizzle got a new job!!!

He’s still going to be a DA, which is good because he’s a really good DA. But he’s going to a new office, a new county: Merced.

Merced is way……….. over……… here.

It seems like a nice place, based on what Mr. Trizzle’s told me and the things he’s showed me on the internet. And it seemed really cute when we went out there to find him a new home. It’s really cheap. Cheap compared to the Bay (what isn’t?); cheap compared to Nashville; probably on par with Milwaukee. Mr. Trizzle was looking at housing options the other day. He could rent a 3 bedroom house for less than our 2 bedroom apartment!

Of course, this is great news. He’s going to get to keep doing work he loves, and actually get paid properly for it. He’ll have a salary and vacation days and insurance and all that sort of stuff grown-ups are supposed to have.

I have to admit, I am a bit jealous. He gets to leave the Bay before me. It’s not too far away, a couple of hours only, but it sounds so different. So much closer to America. With real people who don’t have 8 gazillion degrees and aren’t trying to save everyone and everything except themselves. (Sorry, I went into Berkeley the other day and it hasn’t worn off yet. El Cerrito’s actually quite nice.) And, he gets a gigantic bedroom with huge windows and sliding doors out to a patio and high ceilings and a mammoth walk-in closet, and I'm left here in this tiny apartment I never would have chosen because it doesn't have enough windows and has stuccoed ceilings. I hope I get to visit someday.

Anyway, we all have to celebrate this wonderful news. A toast! To Mr. Trizzle and his fabulous new job! *clinck clinck* HOORAY!

The Ride

I wake early in the morning, before Mr. Trizzle because I want to make sure I’m ready when he' leaves.  If I’m ready when he’s leaving, I get a ride to the bus stop.  Mr. Trizzle probably thinks I try to be ready because I’m lazy and don’t want to walk to the bus stop.  That isn’t it at all.  The bus stop is only a few short blocks away, and it’s usually a very pleasant walk.  No, I try to be ready not because I am lazy, but because that short ride is one of my favorite parts of the day.

Three minutes.  That’s about how long it lasts.  But those are three wonderful minutes, in my favorite place, the passenger seat of Mr. Trizzle’s car.  He has a big SUV and I feel special sitting up high above the world, the loud bass from his subwoofers rattling the car and letting everyone know we’re coming.  It’s usually a song we both know, something we can sing along with, riding down the street in our stunna shades, each in our own little worlds right next to each other.

It’s only three minutes, but that’s three minutes of just us, no laptops, no work, no books, nothing.  Just us.  And we talk.  It’s the only conversation likely to happen in the morning. Inside, we’re both rushing around, hurrying to get ready.  Him to not be late, me to get to ride along.  In the car, we’re relaxed and we have time.  Just enough time to say ‘hey, what are you planning for the day?’  Just enough time for a friend.  I’m going to miss those three minutes.

Summer PJ’s

It was late August, the beginning of the Bay Area’s warm season, when Mr. Trizzle came home with new doctor’s orders: sleepwear must include long sleeves and long pants.  He had some long underwear shirts and flannel pajama pants.  Neither of those would do for warm nights.

goldenrail to the rescue!  (Ok, so it’s really not a rescue at all, and, as he likes to point out daily, Mr. Trizzle can get along fine without me.  However, I like to feel useful, so just humor me, ok?)  I headed to my favorite little getaway, the Jo-Ann store two blocks away, and set to work finding what I needed to execute my plan.

The basic pajama set pattern was pretty easy to find, but the fabric proved more difficult.  I wanted a nice gauze, in a color that would look good on Mr. Trizzle.  I sort of had my heart set on white.  Unfortunately, the bolt of white obviously didn’t have enough for the whole outfit.

“Maybe I can get the shirt out of white and use something else for the pants,” I thought to myself.  So I took the white and grabbed some beige and headed to the cutting table.  The white was a quarter yard short for the shirt, and in two pieces.  I took it anyway.  I could tell this project was going to be more interesting then I planned.

Getting the front and back out of the large piece of white wasn’t too difficult.  Both were nice cut-on-the-fold pieces and I managed to make more folds by doing the old fold-both-sides-into-the middle-instead-of-folding-in-half trick.  But the other piece was shorter than the sleeves.  Dognabit!

Then I found a nice surprise in my shopping bag.  Less beige than I needed.  The cutting table lady cut it shorter than I asked.  Splendid.  Well, I do love a challenge, and this was turning into quite the challenge. 

With some interesting finagling of the pattern pieces, I managed to just barely squeeze out the four pants pieces.   Then the real fun began.  I cut a long strip from the remainder of the beige and sewed it onto the bottom of the too-short white piece.  The gauze lines on the white went vertical and those of the brown horizontal.  Perfect.  Then I laid out the sleeve piece, which now fit, and I cut.  Final result, the sleeves look like they have neat little beige cuffs, perfectly coordinated with the pants.

I added a drawstring to the waistband (not part of the pattern, but a rather essential pajama pant piece) and made it white to coordinate with the top.  There, a beautiful, light-weight, long-sleeved, long-pants pajama outfit.  Mr. Trizzle must like it a lot, because he wears it every night.  He said he feels sort of like an African king in it.  He does kind of look like one in it. :)

 

Here’s a better shot of the sleeve “cuff.”  It looks like it’s a different color because Mr. Trizzle (who doesn’t need a woman to help him with the laundry) accidentally bleached the shirt, which changed the beige into a sort of greenish tinged color.

That was one of the most fun sewing adventures I’d had all summer.  But then, making something for someone else is always the most fun, especially when it’s a surprise.  :D

Forget Xzibit, I’ve got Mr. Trizzle!

We all have things we’re good at and things we’re not so good at.  Sometimes I pick on Mr. Trizzle for the things he’s not so good at, like laundry.  (Mommy thinks it’s bad that Daddy washes all the laundry  on cold; well, Mr. Trizzle washes everything on warm!  If I had to choose, I go with Daddy.)   But, if there’s one thing Mr. Trizzle is super good at, it’s computers.

He’s totally pimped our house out.  Check this: I can sit in the back room, and with my laptop not plugged into anything (except the wall if I want) I can play music on the stereo in the living room, print on the printer in the living room or access any of the hundreds of GB of files on our home server.  It’s so cool!

Can you do that in your house? Huh, huh?  Didn’t think so.

He set it up during the brief period he had a Mac Book, so he actually used three different operating systems to do it.  Mac OS, Windows and Ubuntu.  He handled all the techie stuff, I was in charge of making it look pretty – but I had plenty of input from him on that.  (Our router looks like a flying spaceship sliding up the wall; it’s neat!  And all the different components, modem, server, print server, external drive, are mixed in with the books so you don’t notice them, except for the blinking lights.)

He did it something like this – I’m not a techie, so this my approximation of what he tried to explain to me – :  There’s a special computer that sits on top of a speaker.  It runs Ubuntu and doesn’t have a “C” key.  Mr. Trizzle put some type of program on the computer that allows you to run the machine virtually. 

Then he put other programs on the other machines that tap into this virtual program through the wireless network and let you move the mouse and type on the Ubuntu machine, no matter where you are.  [The Mac program was called Chicken of the VLC, which I thought was hilarious.  The icon was a chicken in a tuna can.  Mr. Trizzle is not familiar with Chicken of the Sea, so he didn’t get it.]  These virtual thingies open in windows on our laptops, just like any other window, except that window shows the entire Ubuntu desktop.

I think those pieces were the easy part and that the hard part was getting the Ubuntu machine to access the Windows-based home server, but I could be wrong about that.  The Ubuntu machine is hardwired to the stereo, so as long as the stereo is on, and on “Monitor,” the system will play.  We can listen to Pandora on the web, or play music from our music files, or anything else we want.

There’s still some work to do with the server to get it to play nicer with the external hard drive, but the whole system’s still pretty cool.   Thank you, Mr. Trizzle for pimping our apartment.

 

P.S. In case you’re wondering, there are other things Mr. Trizzle is good at too, like parallel parking and pushing the status quo.

Birthday Boy’s Birthday Party

Last night was The Legend’s birthday party.  In a big improvement from last year, he actually showed up.  He arranged a fun night out at a club in San Francisco.  The party was small, but it was a good group of people.

It was a lot of fun.  Up until about midnight, maybe 12:30.  By then, people were starting to crash, hard and I had had it with being pushed, shoved, stepped on and generally assaulted.  (And Mr. Trizzle, don’t even give me the ‘battery vs. assault’ lecture.  I mean the word in the general everyday way, not the legal way.)

This club was very different from any I’d ever been to before in two ways.  First, I’ve never been in a club that packed.  Clubs with packed dance floors, yes.  But clubs where the whole place is so packed you can hardly stand still without being jostled, let alone wiggle a little bit, no.  I was starting to think Kunte Kinta had more personal space on the Lord Ligonier.

Second, I don’t think I have ever been in a club with so many white people!  Ok, maybe that’s not quite accurate because I’ve been in bigger clubs.  I guess what I mean is I don’t think I’ve ever been in a club with such a high percentage of white people.  Now, in general, a club full of dancing white people really isn’t a big deal.  However, this club was too full. 

You see, white people have this thing, especially common when the DJ plays their favorite hip hop songs, where they just have to do whatever is being talked about on the song.  This results in most of the room attempting to “back that *vampire* up,” “drop it,” or throw their arms up and jump at the same time.  Suddenly, all these people are taking up twice as much space as they were before because they’re bent over, squatting down or flailing around like maniacs.  Splendid.  Cuz I wasn’t getting shoved or pushed enough before.  Mr. Trizzle reprimanded me for throwing ‘bows, but 8ft-Red agreed it was a good move.

And yes, the DJ played quite a number of songs from that favorites list linked above.  He did a lot of weird stuff too, like playing the Beatles “Come Together” split up with Biggie’s “Hypnotize” so that it altered between the two.  He also took out the good dance beat in “Grillz” and replaced it with some weird electronica beat that did not match the cadence of the rap at all, but he left on the beat for “A Milli”!  That is the worst beat ever in the history of Lil Wayne and hip hop, and you sure as heck can’t dance to it.

Luckily, it seems The Legend doesn’t mind being bumped against or whatever.  (And I’m convinced guys really don’t know how annoying it is because they have almost no bare skin in the clubs, unlike girls.  So when that fat, sweaty girl brushes against their arms, they don’t even realize their shirt is all wet, whereas I’m left with a greasy arm and an overwhelming nausea caused by the gross violation of my body.)  The Legend was having tons of fun, chatting it up (in a club, I have no idea how!), dancing with girls, buying drinks for girls… oh wait, for himself because she disappeared… and generally having fun.  He was having so much fun, he didn’t even seem ready to leave when the club closed.  And that’s good, cuz it was his birthday.  Happy Birthday! :)