Floss Daily

All in a Day's Frustration

I try not to post about work too much.  But sometimes I can't help myself. Here's a list of things I've experienced over the course of the last several work weeks:

1. Have someone do a full 360 in front of me, and ask if I notice anything different about her. After several revolutions, I'm still not sure. A dramatic head toss and shake is my clue that it's the hair... something about the hair. Ahhhhh. It seems I had failed to notice the clip-in extensions in her already hugely abundant hair. Seriously. You could thatch a building with that hair, and you're wearing clip-ins that you expect me to notice? (Not to mention how this makes me feel about my own wispy, baby's ass hair.)

2. Hearing "expecially" more than once in a meeting.

3. Help someone draft a letter to the INS about her stepmother's pending residency status, a letter that was required to provide concrete evidence of marriage, NONE OF WHICH EXISTS.

4. Have to listen to a painful diatribe that began with "Isn't history fascinating?!!," followed by the declaration that OUR generation will only be remembered for the dot com boom and the fact that our president got a blow job from an intern. I guess 9/11, the war in Iraq, Rwanda, Darfur and more things than I can list here are just piddling trifles.

5. Participate in a group discussion in which Darth Vader becomes "Dark" Vader and in which there is musing about why George Lucas created a movie from the TV series Star Trek.

And the frightening thing? Every one of these came from the SAME PERSON. I'm not sure how much longer I can take it. Somewhere in the world, there are GIANT rocks,and people really do live under them.

Latest Celebrity Sighting

I forgot to mention that on my last trip to Gelsons, I rounded the corner of the meat aisle and found myself face to face with Michael Emerson (Henry Gale from Lost). He is not nearly as creepy in the flesh, and the woman with him was cute and stylish with a sassy short haircut and beautiful boots.

North. South.

Sorry posting has been so light. We got back from a long weekend in San Francisco yesterday. Could that damn city have been any more glorious this weekend? No, I don't think so. Balmy evenings when just a long-sleeved t-shirt or light jacket is all you need; beautiful days when every building seems to glow under a perfect, golden light. Everyone was sick of me by Monday morning. Even on a walk through Alamo Square on our way to dinner, when the icy fog started to roll in, I was waxing lyrical about how fresh and wonderful that cold, damp air felt. We didn't get to see everybody, but spent a lot of time with the family, including a long-anticipated visit to the new downtown shopping mecca, which boasts a sparkly, shiny Bloomingdale's (San Francisco's first), as well as a Bristol Farms (another first). My niece took me to Ruehl, designed to resemble a NYC brownstone from the outside, and a dark, multi-roomed dance club on the inside. Then there was Hollister. Same thing, just more California than New York. Lots of surfing paraphernalia, and a big screen with live footage of the waves at Huntington Beach. I was the old lady searching for some light to read the price tags, or find my size in the odd hoodie or t-shirt I thought I might be able to get away with, in spite of my being far beyond the demographic catered to within.

And then it was time to go back South. It wasn't easy driving in from Burbank airport.  The rusty downtown L.A. skyline loomed ahead, and I felt nothing but gloom. But strangely enough, turning into our pretty tree-lined street, looking up into the remarkably unhazy hills, I felt very much at home. Not to mention the satisfaction of using our leaf blower to clean up the patio, and watering the parched plants. The San Francisco soul in me wouldn't know what to do with a patio, let alone a leaf-blower.

Late to the Runway. Again

So I finally saw this week's Project Runway. My money is now on Laura. I loved her collection, her home is fabulous, her closet is one I would kill for, and who knew she was married to Albert Einstein?

Denise Rants

I've now watched both episodes of Nigella Feasts on the Food Network. I  actually like her recipes (I'll definitely be making the sake salmon I saw today), but I've always found her a bit annoying, and I've finally figured out why. The woman does NOT know when to stop with the metaphors and colorful adjectives. I get that she needs to fill the time, and of course she should sound enthusiastic about the food she's making, but she is so pretentious, in spite of her midnight snacking on pork rinds from the fridge.

Zabaglione is "ethereal" and "blissfully frothy"; salmon is a "juicy coral", "oaky-brown", "bronze-edged" and "coral-bellied". Standing over a pot of something simmering is either "blissfully relaxing" or it's an "aperitif vapeuse" (whatever that is). A chocolate cake waiting to be glazed is never just that. It's a "patient, delicious brown disk". The liquid that's being poured over it is not just "golden" or "amber" once, it is those things several times, as well as "burnished" and "coppery".

I know I am a cantankerous grouch, but does anyone else find this annoying? I mean can't she pick just a few good descriptors for each dish and leave it at that?  I also wish she'd tone down on the seduction act. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she worked pole dancing into an upcoming episode.

Ina Garten needs to teach a class on how to not be an annoying cooking show host. She's quickly becoming the only one I can stand to watch. And the America's Test Kitchen chefs of course. They never annoy me.

Please, Please Don't Call it Frisco

Today at work I had to listen to an exchange in which a man we like to call Herman (as in Munster) referred to my previous home as "Frisco". He was talking about Craigslist and how it started up "really small in Frisco".

I believe he said it twice. I always knew it irritated native Bay-Areans. And not that I am one, but I didn't really get just how annoying it is until today.

The Remarkably Unproductive Day

At work yesterday I managed to dislodge a contact lens while staring blankly at a somewhat negative research statistic I was supposed to be coming up with a positive spin for. I kept blinking and waiting for it to pop out onto my cheek, like it usually does when it gets misplaced; but with each blink it felt like it was folding itself up and traveling further into the far reaches of my eye sockets. I took myself off to the women's restroom where I could forage around in my now furiously red, watery eye in peace. After that turned out to be no help at all, I returned to my desk, convinced that it must have popped out en route to the bathroom, in which case I would never find it because it was probably stuck to the bottom of someone's shoe.

All day, I walked around with one good eye, its usefulness greatly enhanced when I shut the other eye (I felt like George Costanza with his inadvertent wink), all the while knowing that flimsy little sucker was still in there. At 3:30 I couldn't take it anymore and had to go home. 5 hours of lopsided vision had left me cranky and sorry for myself. And of course my wild imagination was putting the lens in a place I would never find it, even though I had been assured that was pretty much impossible.

All I wanted was the couch, and the stuff waiting for me on TiVo. Finally, during a particularly heartfelt rerun of Everwood that caused me to well up a bit, that thing floated right out, completely torn down the middle. Lessons learned: Everwood has wonderfully therapeutic qualities, in spite of its occasional preachy-ness; my eyes snap into submission when there is TV to be watched, and thank god that was my last sample pair of delicate daily disposables, because I will never wear them again.

But I did get all caught up on TV, and I had a lot to get through. So here goes:

Project Runway: Reunion shows are often a bit boring, but this one had some pretty good stuff. We got even closer to Vincent's brand of Crazy, and hearing Heidi Klum saying "hoochie" twice in succession while reminiscing about one of Angela's outfits was most enjoyable.

Studio 60: I share the opinion of many bloggers who've covered the show this week. The sketch comedy scenes are awful. The "Science, Schmience" skit was remarkably unfunny and excruciatingly unwatchable. But Matthew Perry and Amanda Peet are making it worthwhile. I love both of them in their roles.

Six Degrees: This one is starting to reel me in, even though the pilot left me skeptical. I had forgotten how attractive Campbell Scott is.

Grey's Anatomy: This week's episode had some great lines (none of which I can remember now) and I never thought I'd see the day, but Dr. McDreamy is starting to feel like Dr. McCreepy to me. I can't put my finger on it, but sometimes he's a little smarmy. Is it just me?

Lost: I missed the recap show so spent most of the season premiere completely baffled. There was too much Jack flashback. And Kate reminds me just how much I need to get my ass back on the Pilates mat.

Still have to watch Ugly Betty. Then I'm all caught up.

(And yes, I am watching EVERY rerun of Everwood to see what I missed before I started watching two and a half seasons into it. It's the best gift ABC Family could have given me.)

And They're Out

What a gift the week of my birthday, to hear that all too familiar squeak of packing tape running over a moving box, interspersed with utterances of "I hate moving!", and "Moving-Schmooving!" The day I have waited for has come. The girls next door are vacating the premises. Well, at least one of them is, but I have a feeling they move as a pack. And just a few weeks before that, the slightly less obnoxious make-up artist that lived above them moved out too. Now, I don't have a whole lot of faith in their landlord's ability to pick tenants, given what we've had to put up with over the past year, but a girl can keep her fingers crossed. Of course this would happen right around the time we're thinking about moving ourselves, but I'm sure we've got at least a few more months here.

A Very Happy Birthday

A year ago today (actually yesterday - it's after midnight as I write this), the only person (aside from David) who wished me a happy birthday in person was the guy at the Beverly Hills Library who was astute enough to notice that the day I was joining this fine facility of the borrowed book, happened to be the same day I came into this world. Close to three months early (I am VERY impatient). This year, in addition to the wonderful roses, brioche, e-cards, sweet emails and phone calls from near and far, I had a wonderful lunch with people I can't believe I didn't know a year ago, and then dinner and drinks with some extra special people that I am pretty sure will be in my life for a very long time. Dinner reservations at a surprise destination this weekend when my beau can celebrate with me fully. Birthday week is on!