Ding, Dong, the Oven's Gone!!

Once upon a time, a condo owner put a semi-decent oven range in a condo...and then never thought of it again. The range was used, abused, and never cleaned for at least three years.

(You think I'm prone to exaggeration?)

When a new owner-to-be came along, it was discovered that the poor oven didn't work...and then it was decided that the owner-to-be would get magical "cash on closing" to buy a new range.

And it was good.

The deal was done, the papers were signed. The new owner made arrangements for the gas to be turned off for a few hours, and for an ace gas/electric plumber to come in and disconnect the oven.

What they found when he pulled it out from the wall was...surprising.

Oven mitt, two pot holders, wooden spoon, a matchbox car,
two tiny plastic toy flutes, half a Hostess donut--hardened, but
not moldy--two pennies, a flip-flop, several toddler toys, way
more crumbs and dust bunnies than should be legal, and one
unemployment letter.

Admit it, you thought I was exaggerating again.

The picture of the "treasure trove" made it's social media and text message rounds. It was widely met with incredulous exclamations of "EW!" and "OMG!" and "HOW DID THEY NEVER BURN THE PLACE DOWN?!"

With the oven uninstalled and the gas line capped, the new owner was able to call in the junk removers...and for $68, they hauled it out of the condo and took it far, far away.

But first, they dropped it down half the stairs.

Yes, that is dried food on the side.

And the new owner set to the disgusting task of cleaning the now-empty space.

In every battle, there is a sacrifice. Much respect to the green
scrubbie that gave it's life.

Once New Owner had taken a scrub pad and a spackling knife to the grout, and a shop vac to the floor, the kitchen was considerably improved.

The End.

The Next Big Thing

I was thinking yesterday morning, and I realized that this week--Thursday, to be exact--marks the twelfth anniversary of this Little Pink Blog. Twelve years!! That means it's almost twelve years since I left for England, twenty-six years old and full of nervous excitement.

So many things can happen in twelve years. I've moved five times (more if you count the two moves in one summer, from Washington to Lincoln to Antioch in the space of a couple of months). I've had many jobs...no jobs for a period, there. I've lived in England, Washington State, and three distinct parts of California. 

Most of the last twelve years, I zipped around in a 2003 Mazda Protege I called Rosie, until I retired her last fall for Sylvie the Mazda 3. Those twelve years saw the addition of Harley Dude, and his untimely death at age four...and, of course, last year's loss of my fifteen-year-old soul mate, Millie Joyful.

Ups, downs, a roller coaster of living, traveling, experiencing. Figuring out that I'm not "too emotional," but rather anxious. Becoming a runner, losing a substantial amount of weight, taking control of my health, my career, and working damn hard in all of it.

Now, it's time for a new adventure.

This one doesn't involve airplanes or a new boss, but it does involve moving. 

This afternoon, I will sign the closing paperwork on a two-bedroom, two-bath condominium in the Sacramento community of Antelope...then I'll go to the nearest Wells Fargo and wire the whole of my savings account to a loan company. This afternoon, I will become a homeowner.

If you've been keeping track, you know it's almost exactly five years since I bit the bullet and moved back in with my parents. One year of total unemployment, one year of 20% contract, one year of 33%, and one year of 50%. Finally, this last school year, I was back to full-time. When I landed the job, I sat down with my parents and asked if I could impose on them for one more year. One year to throw a ton of money into my savings account so I could look at buying a home instead of renting. They loved the idea, and frankly, they've never really minded having me here. 

That said, they're keeping me for at least another couple of weeks. The condo is in a great community--large, well-kept, quiet--but it needs a little love before I move in. It has been a rental for several years and the most recent renters were...less than clean. While it's been cleaned since they vacated it, I still want to go back and put the Meg Touch on it. And they were hard on the walls, so those will need some Spackle and a fresh coat of paint. I'd have painted anyway, to make the place mine. Most importantly...it needs new floors--the whole thing. The living, dining and kitchen have laminate that has seen some better days, and the linoleum in the bathrooms is separating and peeling (and it's...ugly). But worst of all is the carpet in the two bedrooms...the tenants, you see, had ten guinea pigs. And a chinchilla. And a dog. 

I'm not exaggerating. I counted. I never saw the dog, but the neighbors told the selling realtor, and he told my realtor, and that's why I could smell pee on the balcony. (It's since been cleaned!!)

Anyway, the rodents, all eleven of them, lived in the two bedrooms, and the carpet is...less than nice. It's also really old and worn out, so I figure if I'm going to redo linoleum, and rip out carpet, and update the laminate, I might as well do the whole place in one go, before I even move a stick of furniture in. Lino in the bathrooms, laminate everywhere else. No carpet, just cute throw rugs. 

Some of you reading this have known for six weeks now that I'm doing this, and you've witnessed the...stress...I've had through parts of the process. It started in June, when my amazing realtor, Kristen, and I looked at three different condos, including one in this complex. I had seen the listing for my almost-home but we couldn't get into it that day, as the renter insisted on 24 hours of notice, and only allowed people to see it between the hours of 8:00 am and 9:15 am. 

Yeah.

Anyway, we saw it on June 13th--a Monday--and my initial reaction was, "Ugh...NO." But Kristen said, "Think about it--yes, their furniture is way too big for the place, and they are...gross. But you're going to paint whatever place you find anyway, and yeah, you'd need new floors...but think about it. Give this one a good think. It's a nice floor plan."

So I thought about it. And a couple hours later...

And so it began. I was excited that week, full of possibilities and already mentally decorating the place. Then, with the next week, came the anxiety--and I'm not being cute when I call it anxiety. I am talking about full-fledged, all-out panic. 

I hid tears from my parents, taking extra-long showers and hiding in my room with the TV on. I texted Sarah (who has been through this process twice now, with the same team, as John the mortgage broker is her uncle and Kristen the realtor is her aunt!), and she was amazing with her advice and wisdom. 

And I cried in Matt's gym twice that week--the second time when the poor man simply asked, "How's the condo stuff going?" To his credit, Matt didn't miss a beat, just jumped up to grab the tissue box, smiled encouragingly, let me get it all off my chest, and then said, "I know exactly what you're going through." (He bought his house in 2015.)

 As I navigated the mountain of paperwork, and all the new terminology, and the very real worry that I wouldn't have enough money to do any of this, I felt so overwhelmed and scared. I stressed to Summer via email, and to my duck ladies and my friends Shae and Nicki, in private groups on Facebook. It was a rough week. 

If my parents and my friends were saints, so, too, were John and Kristen through this whole process. Ever since my first phone call to John in March, and my first time meeting Kristen in May, both have treated me like family. I saw both of them at a graduation party for Sarah's daughter Julia in May, and both greeted me with hugs. Both have taken excellent care of me, making sure I understand everything, calming me when the stress got to me, and looking out for my best interest every single step of the way--no small feat, with this particular condo, and this particular set of people. (An...inexperienced?...selling realtor, a seller described as a "cantankerous older gentleman," and renters who don't flush toilets, lie about having a dog, and live with eleven rodents. Eleven rodents.)

The inspection went well--the male renter (it was a dude, his fiancee, and her teenage son) followed the inspector around when he wasn't following Kristen and I. The teenager was asleep when we got there for our previously-arranged time, so we saved his bedroom for last while he pulled his comforter over his head and pretended we weren't in his room. (Awkward!!!) One toilet was backed up, and the other one was un-flushed with a ring of mold about an inch thick. Still, by the time we did the inspection, I had worked through most of my anxiety, and seeing the place again made me excited...even if it was a pigsty. 

Aside from signing a lot of papers, most of this has been just a big waiting game. Once the tenants were out, the selling realtor, who had made an enormous error by putting "single-car garage" in the listing and then saying, "Ummmm, OOPS!" when we asked which garage was mine after the inspection, did a walk-through with the cleaners and was suddenly very understanding of just why Kristen had asked for so much from them in making the deal on the place. He even paid to have a new lock put on the front door because the existing one wasn't great and he figured I'd appreciate a new lock (and, indeed, one of my first plans for the place was to get a new dead bolt because heaven only knows who might have keys to the place). 

So...here I am! I made it through, and today, I sign. Then I wait, a few more days, for the county to officially file the papers, before I can get the keys and start Meg-ifying my new home. 

I got to see the place on Saturday--for the first time without the renters in it--and it made me even more excited. I have big plans for this place, and I told Kristen that next time she sees it, she won't recognize it at all. "I know!!" she replied. "You're going to make this place really cute." 

Galley kitchen--I'm getting a new oven, pronto, because this
one doesn't work. The floor looks okay bit is actually
damaged from a mishap with the dishwasher.

The kitchen from the day of the appraisal.

Saturday marked the first time I ever actually saw the dining
room, haha. It had always been one big mountain of boxes.

A pic from the appraisal of the dining area.

The living room--gas fireplace!! Nice-sized balcony with an open lot behind it.

From the dining area, looking past the kitchen to the Mistress bedroom. I have
a nice-sized pantry in the kitchen.

Dining area (my hutch will go on that wall), and the front door.

This is the second bedroom. You can just see a hole in the carpet (bottom
right of pic) where a few guinea pig cages and one chinchilla resided.

Second bedroom. It doesn't share a wall, so I can keep my piano in here and
sing myself silly.

A picture from the appraisal--the chinchilla lived in the big cage, some guinea
pigs in the top cage. 

Mistress Bathroom--that is some UGLY linoleum and
what you can't see is the duct-taped toilet seat. Yes, duct
tape. I'm replacing both toilet seats anyway, but especially
because of the DUCT TAPE.

Another of the living room. The tenants had the couch blocking the fireplace and
an ENORMOUS entertainment center on the opposite wall.

A photo of the living room from the appraisal. Oh, yeah, they had a fish tank,
too.

This is looking from the kitchen towards the second bathroom. The second
bedroom is to the right (behind the fireplace) and on the left is a laundry
closet. That is Kristen's arm. ;) 

I've been a terrible blogger the last few months--it's not that I have nothing to say, it's just that I'm busy, or, in the case of buying a home, sitting on the news until it's properly official before I put it out there. Now I'll be blogging the progress of my new home as I go--I want to have a really good record of what I've done to the place. 

Fasten your seatbelts...it's going to be Wild and Absolutely True. 

Adventure A'Comin'

I am not quite yet ready to reveal exactly what it is, but a new adventure is coming, and very soon. It is a big one, and a slightly scary one, and for once has nothing to do with my career, or travel. I can't wait to share it.

Details soon! Very soon!

Henrietta Hummingbird

Today marked the first day I've had both the weather and the time to sit on the patio with a book, so out I shuffled in my comfies, dragging a book, lunch, some tea, and a blanket (it's not cold, but I like to wrap up) for some good, hard, relaxin'. I ran this morning, spent a good hour running around the kitchen prepping food for the week, and I was ready to dig into my book and enjoy Mom's gorgeous garden.

I had been out there a little while when a hummingbird started buzzing around the patio area, which isn't unheard of in our yard--there's a feeder hanging from the patio cover, and Mom's flowers are very attractive to all manner of pollen-eating creatures. I was enjoying my book and idly looking up from time to time, when suddenly, the bird in question landed on top of one of the wind chimes and settled in.

Wait, what?

Sure enough, under her feathered bottom was a tiny nest, and she perched on it, perfectly still, gently swaying in the breeze with the wind chime.

I had to investigate.

Of course, I don't want to disturb her or make her feel threatened, so I walked around in a big arc to keep a respectful distance. My eyes were not deceiving me. She is, indeed, a nesting hummingbird, and she has chosen a wind chime in our back yard as her place to hatch her eggs.

Without dragging a ladder out, there's no good way of knowing if she's already laid eggs--it does appear she's still building, as she would sit for a while, then fly away and return with materials in her mouth every once in a while. But mostly she rests up there, sitting very still and not seeming to mind the big, lumbering human on the patio furniture about ten feet away.

I grabbed my camera and took a few pictures using the zoom lens.

I love hummingbirds, and I'm fascinated by this nest. No doubt I'll be poking out there every day or two to see what she's up to--but of course I won't get too close. I really do want to leave her be. In the meantime, I'm referring to her as Henrietta, and I looked up enough information to know that female hummingbirds take on all nesting duties, so, while Dad and I were thinking we might have Henrietta and Humbert, it turns out Humbert is off doing his own thing.

Isn't she marvelous?

The Wrong Foot

A week or two ago, during a workout with Matt, he had me take my shoes off to stand on a foam pad (added instability) while doing a single-leg exercise. He mentioned that day that I can feel free to wear shoes or not when working out in his place, and I found I actually like wearing only socks. So much so, that the last couple of workouts, I've changed from my favorite pair of ballet flats into a pair of boring white gym socks when I get there, then back into my shoes when I leave. Who needs clunky retired running shoes?

This wouldn't be very blog-worthy, but then, in Classic Meg Style, today happened.

Let me just preface this with a wee bit of self-defense: I'm tired. I'm seriously, truly tired. I mean, I am loving the new job, but my body is struggling with this whole get-up-before-the-rooster thing, and the commute, and being on my feet a good chunk of the day. I need another week or two to start settling into it, but meanwhile, I'm reallllly slow on the uptake and maybe a wee bit (a lot) irritable (see Saturday's post). And weepy (see yesterday's).

So when I went to put my right shoe back on after a great workout this afternoon, I was dismayed that it felt...weird. I stuck a finger in there, thinking maybe I had something in the shoe. Nope. I put the shoe back on, wiggled my toes. Still odd.

Then I put the left shoe on. Well, damn. That one felt odd, too! I had remarked to Matt during the process that my shoe felt weird on my foot...then I stopped, looked at him, and said, "Wait..."

"Oh my God, Matt. They're on the wrong feet."

Well, of course he laughed at me.

And that's okay. I laughed at me, too. We both just sat there laughing for a few minutes. Tears--the good, laughing kind--came to my eyes. My face turned bright red as I blushed.

"What I find funny is how long it took you to realize!"

Yup.

There you have it, folks. The State of Meg's Brain...for now. It's never boring, being me.

I'm still laughing a few hours later.

A Quail of a Tale

A couple of weeks ago, I had to stop to let a family of California quail--common in these parts--cross the street near my home.

All together now: AWWWWWWWWW!!!!!

I've seen the adults around plenty--it's rarer to see the babies, but they do come out, and I know they're native to the area and, as all wildlife, they are probably endangered in some form. I find them charming, and I know that we have encroached on their habitat enough already, so I do my best to leave them alone. But sometimes, they need assistance.

This morning, about half a mile into a soon-to-be-aborted run, I saw a tiny chick in the gutter.

Just compare it to the crack int he sidewalk. TINY.

Well, of course I stopped. Besides seeing a tiny, cute creature that needed to be photographed, I also sensed that this little bird needed some assistance. I couldn't see any sign of Mom or Dad.

A moment later, I saw another baby...and another minute or two after that, I found a third. I could hear some chirping from nearby bushes, and I figured that the problem was that these tiny chicks followed Mom and Dad across the road...but then couldn't get up onto the sidewalk.

Within the neighborhood, the curbs are rounded, and easier for baby birds to climb. On this main road, however, the curbs are squared, and these frantic little chicks were just too small to hoist themselves up.

I had to help.

While I danced around, trying to figure out a plan, one wee bird approached me.

"Are you my mommy?"

Well, that melted me into one big pile of goo. I hatched (pun intended) a plan. Using the bandanna I tie around my hydration belt for sweat-wiping and nose-blowing, I would carefully scoop each baby up onto the sidewalk.

Only problem is, they're quick little buggers!!

But finally, I managed to get one baby cornered between my hands and the curb, and before I could properly pick it up, it had used my bandanna as a sort of elevator, and was toddling through grass as tall as it's little body towards the sidewalk, and the bushes beyond.

Find your parents, little bird!!

One down, two to go! They hadn't stayed together, so I had to step carefully and look hard. But there was the second birdie, looking exhausted and scared, so I walked over and carefully repeated the process. Believe me, I was terrified of handling the chicks--they're so tiny and fragile! But a quick scoop and a quick release had them toddling back towards home.

By this time, I'd lost sight of Number 3, who I will christen Trouble. Trouble, you see, quickly showed a disturbing habit of running into the road. The people in the houses that back up to this road, if they happened to be enjoying breakfast on the patio or any such thing, could probably hear a high-pitched voice, and spy a short woman in bright turquoise running shoes hopping around a somewhat-busy road through the neighborhood, saying things like, "Oh no! You get out of the street! Other way! I'm not watching you get run over by a car!!" 

But Trouble is not the type to listen, and made it all the way to the other side of the road, with me dancing a little two-step behind it the whole way. Finally, I cornered it in the gutter and carried it back across the road, cupped between my hands so only it's little beak poked out. I wasn't taking any chances with this one!

It's all's well that ends well. Trouble, before I could gently set it down on the grass, took a flying leap out of my hands and waddled it's way to the bushes. Quail are ground-nesters, and I know Mom and Dad had to be nearby, and would be able to find their lost and wayward children. 

At the time, I was pretty sure they were quail, and a quick Google search up on arriving home convinced me:

Picture Credit: Tony Willis, Wikipedia. 

They're cute little birdies, and they are the California State Bird (here are some Cool Facts about them), so I was happy to help them out. 

I like to think Woodstock would be proud.

Alarmed

Last night, I played on my phone a bit before bed, but I was definitely nodding off by about 10:15. At about 10:25 (I know because I looked as I shut my phone off), I turned the lights out and settled in to sleep. I was out in no time.

Later, I was jarred out of sleep by the smoke detectors--all of the smoke detectors. Of course, my immediate thought was, "Is the house on fire?!" as I jumped out of bed and grabbed my pajama pants off my desk chair. I was still pulling them up as I emerged from my room to find Dad turning lights on in the living room and hallway. 

We couldn't smell any smoke, and there was no sign of anything amiss; however, those alarms were wailing and the cats were running for cover. After a few minutes, they turned off, and we all headed back to our respective beds...and then they started again.

This time, Dad called the fire department, and told them what was going on. Within ten minutes, a truck pulled up outside our house to find my parents and I in bathrobes (I was in a hoodie) on the driveway, hugging our arms to ourselves and hopping around to keep warm. There were two guys on board, and they weren't in full gear, knowing that we had no smoke or fire present. The suspected a bad alarm, and they were right. A few minutes poking around our house, and they found the bad one (in the hallway right outside my bedroom) and even climbed up on our ladder to take it down for us. 

Bella and Duchess were found, a few minutes later, cowering under Mom and Dad's bed, bodies touching, eyes wide. Millie, however, came out after the noise stopped, and walked right up to the action. I picked her up before she could start flirting with the nearest fireman; I figure they have better things to do than deal with a flirtatious fifteen-year-old cat who farts and has bad breath. 

So it was an exciting night, and explains why we've just installed five new smoke detectors. It turns out, according to the firemen last night, that it's recommended that smoke detectors be replaced every 10 years. Our house is about ten years old, so it was definitely time.

It's all's well that ends well--thankfully, our house was not on fire, we were never in danger, and it's sorted now. Though maybe I ought to have let Millie get the phone numbers of those cute firemen before the left...

A Letter To Myself, Ten Years Ago

Dear Meg,

Oh my God!! The day is here!

Today, you are leaving for England, and you are nervous, excited, oh, hell, you're bloody terrified. And you don't use "bloody" in your vocabulary yet, as it's not a word you really picked up in London Semester. But you will, even ten years from now as you write yourself a letter on the Little Pink Blog.

You don't call it the Little Pink Blog yet; you just started it last month, as a place to document your stories as you move to England. You're actually moving to England!

It's going to be a crazy year. Crazy-good, crazy-bad. Your students will give you fits, and the management of the school will leave you baffled. But you will fall in love with Burnham-on-Crouch, with the whole country. It's going to be hard to leave...and yes, you're going to leave.

You see, you're going to find that adventure is grand, but there's no place like home...and it's going to take a while to determine where this "home" is, exactly. You're going to Washington next year--yes, I said Washington--and that, too, will be a fun adventure. And then you're going to land back in California. Sorry, hon, I know you said you will never come back, that you are sooo over California...but you will be back. And guess what? You're going to fall in love with your home state, and come to find that it's exactly where you're meant to be.

This year, in England, you're not going to meet the British man of your dreams (but you will meet Kevin Spacey and make him chuckle, so dine out on that for a while!). You'll kiss a boy or two, you'll make some nice friends. You'll see Ireland, Paris, the D-Day beaches. You'll finally visit York, as you intended to on Spring Break in 1999. It's nice.

And you will agonize over your decision to stay or go. Burnham will beg you to stay, with its calming river and it's quaint streets, with your adorable (and, sadly, married) colleague and the familiar, lovely places that will become your favorites. It will break your heart, a little, to leave this town that hasn't quite caught up with modern England. It will break your heart to fly away from London, even though you'll be excited to explore a new part of the world in Washington.

This year in England is really where your adult life is going to begin, Young Meg. You're going to learn a lot about yourself, and you're going to take that knowledge with you through the ups and downs of the next ten years. You're going to have some failures...it's inevitable. And you're going to have some successes. I guarantee you, the Meg who boards a London-bound 747 today is not the same Meg who is writing this letter ten years later.

(And guess what, girl? You look fabulous in ten years.)

I know it's odd to you, to think that eventually you'll be back in California. To think that you'll get that high school choir job...and hate it. Then later, get another high school choir job, and know it's exactly where you're meant to be. It's weird, but you're going to become a runner. A runner! You're going to try running one night in Burnham, but it's not going to last long. And then, ten years from now, you'll be a 10K finisher, a regular runner, with muscles and good eating habits. Life is strange, Young Meg. Life is very strange.

And don't worry, Millie's going to be okay. She'll miss you, and some days, you'll sob into your pillow, wishing you could just cuddle her, and not one of the wonderful cats your landlady has on hand. But Millie is fine, and when you see her again, she'll pout a little, but then be so happy her mama is home, she won't leave you alone. You won't leave her again, and ten years from today, she's a happy, feisty old lady, almost 15 years old.

Your parents will never stop telling people that their daughter taught in England, and neither will you. New friends will be intrigued, potential employers will be impressed. It shows that you are willing to take big chances, that you are not satisfied with the status quo, you want to better yourself at every opportunity. I know, though, that right at this moment, you're wondering just how you'll survive all this craziness. You'll survive, hon. More than survive.

Go load your suitcases in the car, Young Meg, and give Millie a last tearful cuddle. Yes, it hurts to leave, but you've got a life to live, an adventure to have. A Wild and Absolutely True Adventure, and it's going to shape your world view forever. Great things are coming, Young Meg.

Just get on that airplane.

Love,

You...in ten years.

Things I Said This Week

I've just come off of one of those weeks where I barely spent any time at home, didn't get enough sleep any night, and had the added bonus of moving furniture out of my room, and then back in.

It's no wonder my brain turned to mush by Wednesday.

The upside to all of this exhaustion is that it gives me great blog fodder. Without further ado, here are some highlights, spoken by Yours Truly, in the week that was.

1. On Wednesday, I addressed a small problem I'd seen on Tuesday in choir--a lack of confidence among some of my students, who feel we'll never be prepared for our upcoming concert on time. One song, in particular, was of concern to a couple of them, and as I addressed them on Wednesday, I reminded them that while it is written in four parts (SATB), it is, essentially, a two-part song, because the tenor line doubles the soprano line, and the bass line doubles the alto line. I gazed out at my students, and told them, "This song is totally putable togetherable." I stopped, and my jaw dropped a little. A couple of small giggles erupted in the peanut gallery. "Wow," I said slowly. "That is a new level of gibberish, even for me." More giggles escaped, including from me. Really, who wouldn't laugh? I think I lost a good five minutes of teaching time for that one.
2. By Thursday, I was pretty much staring at the ceiling and making "bbbbbbbb" sounds with my lips. Tired doesn't even begin to cover it. Adding to my discomfort: a ripped contact lense in my dominant eye. Out came the lense, and bring on the lopsided vision. At the beginning of class, I stood at my conductor's podium, and let my kids know I felt a little loopy, wearing only one contact. Students who also wear them nodded understandingly, and a few supportive comments were made. So I sat at the piano to lead warm-ups, and found that looking out at my students was uncomfortable. Between exercises, I looked up and said, "I know I'm staring at my hands a lot today, but looking at you all is just painful." Again, my jaw dropped. I was met with silence. "Um. Yeah, that did not come out as I intended it to." A few giggles, a few eye rolls, an apology from the teacher, and, "Please, if you do tell your parents I said that in class today...can you also give them the context?" 
3. I lost track of how many times I told my kids to "have a seat" when they were already sitting, and to please stand up when they were already standing.
4. And then there was Thursday morning, as I got ready to leave for another long-ass day, and Mom said, "Have a good day!" and I responded by starting to cry.

The good news is that I'm sitting here in my bedroom. The floors are done, my furniture is all put back, and I have a nice new desk, which Dad and I put together today. It's 8:30 and I'm going to bed in a few minutes because finally, finally, I'm at home to go to bed at a decent hour (I haven't been home before 10:00 any night this week).

Buenos noches, my friends.

Discombobulated

My dresser is in my bathroom.

My pillows are on my piano...in the living room.

The contents of my bookcases are in boxes...in the kitchen.

I'm not entirely sure where I left my shoes.

I'm sitting here typing this at the dining room table. My view if I look up is my TV, some tall cabinets from Mom's craft room, and other assorted odds and ends. Millie has been wandering around with a semi-panicked look on her face, meowing at me. I know what she's saying: "Oh, shit. We're moving again, aren't we?" I keep telling her, "It's temporary, sweetie. Now get out of the way so I can move this dresser into the bathroom."

Tomorrow, the well-worn carpet in my bedroom and Mom's craft room is getting ripped out, and not a moment too soon. When Mom and Dad moved here in 2006, most of the house (even the bathrooms, ew) was carpeted with a not-great quality carpet...in a light color. One of the first things they did was replace it in the great room, master bedroom, and bathrooms. There's wood flooring in most of the house, and linoleum in the bathrooms.

They kept the two smaller bedrooms carpeted, though, and now, 8 years later, it is showing its age...and the traffic patterns. Recently, they decided it was time to take it out and put wood in the two small rooms, and I, for one, am excited to no longer have to deal with the carpet.

But of course, it's leaving me discombobulated.

It's only for a few days, but what a few days. I've been running around playing clarinet for the musical, teaching, doing my normal stuff, and running around, literally (three miles yesterday). It's exhausting and I can get a little cranky, but mostly, I'm just dealing. At least I get to sleep in my bed tonight and tomorrow night (Friday is questionable, as the new wood floors will have to set).

At this point, I've got one eye permanently affixed to June 1st on the calendar--it's a Sunday, it's the day after graduation, and it's a day on which I might go for a long run, but will definitely, definitely spend some time prone on my bed, admiring my new wood flooring, watching movies and sipping a margarita.

This Happened

And there are SO MANY stories for later, including the long version of this one, but it's midnight and I'm still in charge of this tour.

But this happened, and I had to share it.

Best. Swimmy. Pic.

EVER.

Diva Moment

Right, so, I'm not proud of the total Diva Moment I pulled in a Subway restaurant last night, but in retrospect, it is the stuff of comedy.

Before I share the story, you have to understand something about the week leading up to this weekend: it was insane. Not bad, not even difficult, just insane in that I spent way too many hours away from the house and I didn't get my optimal amount of "me" time in there, because any time I got at home was spent getting ready for another 12-hour day. My workouts were minimal this week, which I did deliberately because I was busy and because I was long overdue for a few days off from pushing myself. Still, lack of "proper" workouts (read: dripping sweat, breathing hard, feeling like I just slayed the troll in the Hogwart's loo) left me feeling sluggish and cranky.

So by Saturday, when I had one hour to scrounge up some dinner between a Sac Choral rehearsal and the concert, and I was already feeling tired, you can imagine that Cranky Meg was starting to emerge. She was vaguely amused by the Comic Con costumes she saw as she walked a few blocks from the theater to Subway, but she was also hungry, tired, and in a hurry.

The Subway was about to close for the day, but they had about four people behind the counter helping a line of about six people. Despite having all these people, they were slower than molasses ("Do you want this toasted?" "No." A moment later: "Do you want this toasted?" "Um, no.") and I was glancing at the clock on my phone with some dismay.

Finally, I was next to pay. The lady behind the register sloooowly rang up the lady in front of me, dawdled a bit, and then kept talking to her even as she walked away and I opened my mouth to ask for the meal deal.

I managed to get it paid for, and I grabbed my cup, thinking, "Great! A cool drink." Only to turn around and find...they'd turned the drinks machine off for the day.

Okay. I get it, you're closing. But there were still several people behind me, who would, one assumes, want a drink as well. And I was standing there, thinking, "I really need to get back to the theater so I can SIT for five minutes and read my book and hide from other human beings and all I want is a bloody drink. Is that too much to ask?"

And that's when my Diva Moment happened. I sighed--loudly--and walked back to the counter. I set my cup down with a thunk and said, "You know what? Never mind. I have a call time. Can I get out of here?" You see, to prevent other people coming in and getting in line, they had locked the door. And there was no one on hand to open it. A manager rushed to let the crazy lady (*ahem* me...) out, and I flounced out, clutching my choir folder in one hand an a sandwich and chips (but no drink) in the other. I might even have sighed loudly again.

I"m not proud of myself--I wasn't very reasonable and I was a little a lot rude--but this morning, I have to laugh a little. It's really not how I normally behave, and while my exhaustion doesn't excuse it, it does give some explanation.

I relayed the story to another singer and his wife last night, and both laughed uproariously, and allowed that every so often, we're allowed our Diva Moments. 

Unfamiliar

I was scrolling through my old profile pictures on Facebook tonight, just for grins, and as I moved down the page, the strangest thing happened to me.

It felt like I was staring at a stranger, this overweight, very blonde woman in back pictures. My face looked so completely different then--rounder, a double chin, framed by blonde layers rather than longer, darker hair.

There was this moment of complete non-recognition. I honestly couldn't believe those pictures were of me. It wasn't a proud feeling, or even a feeling of self-loathing that I was ever in that state. It was, plain and simple, like looking at a stranger and trying to find something in her that you know.

It scared me.

The fact is, that Meg did exist. And she was just as smart and funny and beautiful as the Meg that stares back at me from the mirror today. It feels strange to lose her face from my head, even though I'm glad of the changes I've made in my life. I thought, "If someone who didn't know me then scrolled through these pictures, would they even believe that's me?"

It was. It is.

Bob the Blob

Once upon a time, a thirty-something woman named Meg discovered a small bump on her thumb and wondered what it might be. It didn't hurt, it wasn't bleeding, it was just a wee bump, and she figured it might go away.

A week or so later, there was a small cut on it, which eventually opened and bled (okay, okay, there may have been a bit of help in this from Meg). Meg wrapped it in a Band-Aid and went about her life, wondering what it was but not too concerned, really.

"Maybe it's a wart," said Meg's father.

"Eww...maybe," Meg replied.

So wart treatment was tried...but nothing. The bump with a cut became more of a blob--not a painful blob, but certainly an ugly one. Meg vowed to keep an eye on it, because she was starting a new job and, anyway, doesn't have health insurance.

The blob, wrapped in one Angry Birds Band-Aid after another, didn't get better--but it also didn't get worse. Still, it was ugly, and occasionally, if Meg wasn't careful, it would burst and bleed like a head wound. Tired of mopping up blood from the bathroom sink, Meg consulted the school nurse, who said, "Well, maybe it's a wart? I've never really seen anything like it..." before giving Meg a fancier bandage and advising that if it wasn't better in a week, maybe go to a "doc-in-a-box" clinic and have it looked at.

A week went by and Meg went through a lot of gauze and sticky wrap bandaging. The blob, now called  Bob, did not get worse...but--you guessed it--he also did not get any better. So finally, as Meg sat in her office on Friday afternoon, cursing quietly as Bob started bleeding all over her desk during a mid-afternoon bandage change, it was decided that a trip to the clinic was in order.

The clinic was one of those dubious places where the nurse couldn't say if Meg's blood pressure was healthy or not ("Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you, I'm not allowed!"). Still, Meg had paid $125 to see a doctor, so see a doctor she would. Finally, he came in the room and asked what was going on. Meg unwrapped her bandaging and proudly thrust Bob the Blob under the doc's nose.

"Oh!" exclaimed the doc. Then he launched into fifteen minutes of repeating the same three basic things:

1. "Well, it's not a wart, those are viral...I could give you an antibiotic but it wouldn't help this...this needs a dermatologist."
2. "Oh, don't worry, it's not serious, like a tumor or anything. I can't remember what it's called...something like hypoderma granu...oh, I don't know. But you need to see a dermatologist."
3. "Yeah, see, even if it was a wart, I couldn't really remove it for you, you'd have to see a dermatologist. Because warts are viral, so I'd give you an antibiotic, but in this case, that wouldn't help you."

Meg smiled patiently and eyed Bob the Blob, wishing she could run like hell...and get her money back. Finally, the doc left the room, and mentioned coming back with a dermatologist referral. "I'll wrap your thumb for you when I return..." he promised vaguely, leaving Meg to wait several minutes and play with her iPhone, taking an Instagram picture of Bob for posterity.

Finally, the doc returned and told Meg to go back to the front for her referral, then wandered off without wrapping Bob the Blob in a protective layer of gauze as promised. Fortunately, Meg has been carrying a Zip-Loc baggie of gauze, wrappy stuff, and Neosporin in her purse for a week, so she got the job done in the waiting room.

Finally, the referral (with Bob's location listed as "right thumb" when he is, in fact, on Meg's left thumb) was given, and Meg hot-footed it to her car, lighter in her bank account and rolling her eyes at this strange place. Fortunately, Bob the Blob, while ugly and slightly inconvenient (try, sometime, playing a piano for a choir class with a thumb wrapped in gauze and wrappy stuff) is not dangerous, just gross. What Meg walked away with is the doctor's assertion that Bob is merely the result of a healthy immune system overreacting to an irritant in the skin, "which the dermatologist can help you with." Excellent.

So, from here, Meg lives with Bob the Blob a little longer, until she can figure out how to pay to see a dermatologist (she might bite the bullet and just get some affordable health insurance because she's going to have to soon, anyway). She will keep him clean, keep him wrapped up, and hopefully soon have him fully removed so her thumb can get back to normal.

In the mean time...

What. A. Day.

I was talking to a friend at the gym today when I looked at someone else standing nearby and said, by way of explaining a comment I'd just made, "I'm a high school teacher."

Wait.

Holy.

I'm a high school teacher.

There are so many things to say about today, but I am ready for bed--so ready for bed, gah, I'm so tired!--and I have another full, crazy, hectic day tomorrow, so I'll just say that it was fantastic. My kids seem pretty great, and I danced with other staff members at the rally--which included our best booty-shaking to "Baby Got Back" and prompted huge roars of approval from the 2,000+ kids packed into the gym. (I figure if I want this program to grow, I have to be willing to be ridiculous in front of the kids, and they have to know that I exist in this school.)

My choir president greeted me at the beginning of class with a big hug and, "I told everyone how cool you are!!" I told the kids I'm a lifelong music nerd, "and proud of it," and received a few, "Oh yeah!!" responses. 

I saw two meteors this morning in a before-dawn walk I took to help Perseid celebrate my birthday. I flirted with a darling waiter at Chevy's while waiting for my margarita--courtesy of my friend Sarah--to arrive. I had far too much ice cream, and a cupcake that my parents bought me...and I even found time to lift weights and do cardio at the gym this afternoon.

My day started at about 4:30, when my eyes popped open in a mix of excitement and nerves, and ends now, shortly after 9:00, as I slump in front of my computer, sipping water to hydrate and eying to cats (Millie and Mom's Bella) who are waiting for some cuddles and thinking my happily exhausted body really out to be horizontal. So, off I go. It's been a hell of a birthday. : )

Blog Update

I have so much to write about and not enough time/energy to write it.

Tonight, anyway. My day involved shelf-hauling, box-lifting, working out, sorting, office organizing, music filing, syllabus-writing, voice lesson-teaching, grocery shopping, garden watering, litter box scooping, and I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't truly showered at all today. I hopped in when I got home tonight and within one minute, my parents called (they're out of town) and then dinner-making trumped shower-finishing. I just schlepped some fresh deodorant on...and then had a one-woman dance party in the living room and got sweaty again.

In other words, I'm disgusting, but wholly satisfied with my lot in life.

I'll definitely shower tomorrow. After the gym.

But for now...Zzzzzzzzz...

Today's List of Adventures

What did I get up to today? Let's see...

1. I started with a trip to the gym, where I kicked a little butt on the Stair Master, did some push-ups into T-stands on the BOSU (unstable surface), step-ups, jump-ups, and some uphill sprints on the treadmill. Then I showered wearing flip-flops (gym showers, ugh) and blow-dried my hair while managing to keep a towel wrapped around my body in a public locker room.
2. Once at Petite School, I taped a bunch of "grass" cut out from construction paper to the front of the stage, then watched in awe as our school's art teacher created an Enchanted Forest out of butcher paper and tempura paint. Genius.
3. I worked with a small group of my characters from the musical on some music stuff they needed brushing up on, then sent them off to lunch.
4. After lunch, I watched in awe as the guy from the sound rental place set up my system for me, and as one of our school security/hall monitors helped him and then had fun playing with it. He's gone to school for sound engineering and worked some gigs before, and he's totally happy to help me with the show tomorrow. A HUGE weight off my shoulders.
5. Oh, and he was willing to climb up a fifteen-foot ladder to fix the back curtain on the stage, which was flapping down and showing off a huge collection of crap the temple we rent space from has stored back there. I had to help him maneuver said ladder from a back corner and across the stage, which was a second workout for the day.
6. Worked with my third and fourth grade classes briefly to reassure both teachers that their kids know the songs and can stay with the music, especially with me conducting them. 
7. Then we ran our first dress rehearsal, with full costumes and sound set-up. It was a bit chaotic, and mistakes were made, but the kids got a sense of how it's going to sound, and they had fun, which is the most important part.

I finally made it home at about 6:30, where my awesome mom had dinner waiting and the electric kettle hot and ready for me to pour a cup of tea.

Tomorrow's the big day! Exciting, nerve-wracking, exhausting. Wild and Absolutely True.

Would I give you anything else?

Wild, True, and Absolutely Moronic

Production week for my musical is here, and with it comes an absolute inability, on my part, to hold one thought in my head for more than three seconds at a time. It's part of my charm.

I got up early this morning (5:30) and had my healthy breakfast. I managed, even, to get a couple miles of running in. Then I showered and headed off to Petite School.

My first task was to get my sound system paid for--I reserved equipment last week, but needed to call the rental place with payment information. I did that, then called a local costume place to see if they have pig noses for sale...in my haste to get everything on my To Do List done, I missed one important factor. My play has three pigs in it, and I had one pig nose. Problem! With little time for an Amazon order, my best bet was Evangeline's in Old Sacramento, and sure enough, when I called, they had pig noses in stock. (Really, if Evangeline's didn't have pig noses, no one in Sacramento would.)

Petite School is just south of downtown and Old Sac, so it was easy enough to pop over that way to buy a couple of pig noses--let me just say that this is what I do for a living, people. I buy pig noses. Anyway, I was kind of tickled to have a brief outing to Old Sac, and I had my iPhone out and Instagram ready for this photogenic little slice of Sacramento. I found my pig noses in good time, then wandered the long way 'round back to my car in the parking garage. I reached in my pocket for the little ticket to pay...and, oh. Shit.

I've never lost a parking garage ticket before. Turns out the fine for losing a scrap of paper the size of a credit card, after only parking there for 30 minutes, is $29. They'll take check or cash at the garage, or you can mail a check. Of course, I only had my debit card and about $5 in cash.

I had to pull into a parking spot at the exit to get my little "bill" or whatever, and as I backed up, I banged--rather loudly--into a cement pillar. Gah!! Proving that Mazdas are awesome, Rosie, the poor beat-up girl, doesn't even have a dent in the bumper. I managed only to scratch a part that had recently been scratched in an incident at the Mazda dealership (their fault, not mine). I love this car.

Still, it was loud, it was embarrassing, and it heightened my already too-high feeling of being a dumbass.


I handed over my driver's license to the attendant on hand. He looked up, grinned, and said, "This doesn't even look at you!" I grinned in response. "Thanks! Ninety pounds!"

"Nice! I lost a hundred twenty-five."

"Go you!"

We chatted while he filled out my paperwork and gave me the envelope to conveniently mail my fine in (for parking, people, parking!!!) and finally, I was on my way. As I cruised down I-5 towards Petite School, the hilarity of the whole situation struck me and I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. Parking citations! Cement pillars! Weight loss conversations with random parking garage attendants! Only in my world, friends.

The rest of the day passed with little drama. I pulled a few kids out of class, hollered at my little chorus singers (again) to listen to me and try not to waste time by chatting incessantly. I ran the after-school rehearsal with minimal problems and took notes on the last-minute stuff we need to work on. I had Dr. Principal laughing when I told her a couple of my chorus girls have to leave early tomorrow and, "honestly? I'm okay with that, because I'm really, really sick of the talking!"

In all of this, my colleagues are amazing. They are supportive, quick to offer support and advice, quick to reassure me that I'm doing a good job. A truly great school community is one where teachers band together like that, and Petite School (obviously, this is not its real name) is one of the best I've worked for.

Day one is under wraps. Tomorrow, I get my sound system, have the final dress rehearsal, and gear up for Thursday, the big day.

At the end of all this, there's a very large margarita with my name on it.

Huh?

The last few days have been so bloomin' hectic, I'm not even sure I know right from left anymore.

And...because I'm exhausted, let me just lay out how my week has gone so far in the most boring blog post I've ever written.

Monday:

I had the morning to "relax" and get a few computer-related bits of work done, but then, a little before noon, I was off and running. First I stopped at a sound equipment rental place in Sacramento to pick up all the equipment for the concert. Then it was to school to unload it all from my car (eighth graders come in handy for tasks like this) and set it up with only one near-breakdown. At 2:00, all the young'uns came in and we did a dress rehearsal. Then my orchestra and choir kids rehearsed. School let out at 3:20 and I found myself with some blessed quiet time. I went to the computer lab to input some grades, then back to the auditorium to play on my iPhone and eat the diner I'd brought with me. Finally, it was go time.

I got home at about 8:30, exhausted but euphoric.

Tuesday:

Tuesday didn't go as I thought it would in many ways.

I had to leave at 9:30 to get back to Sacramento (30 miles) to return the sound equipment that was stored in Rosie Pro. The rental place opens at 10, leaving me just enough time to unload the car and get back on Interstate 80 to get back to Rocklin for a 10:50 dental appointment.

Hm.

Imagine my dismay when the office was all locked up at 10:00 and no one was home. I was just leaving a semi-panicked voice mail (the equipment had to be returned by noon, so this was my only chance without getting charged for another day--on a school credit card, no less) when three employees came sauntering up at 10:15.

Argh.

That done, I raced back to Rocklin and got there just in time for my appointment. Where I found out I need two fillings. Because while I have excellent dental hygiene (I floss every night and brush twice a day), the long period between professional cleanings allowed for some decay. Damn.

The cleaning was supposed to take 45 minutes but it went longer because I had some stubborn build-up around my retainer (little-known, random Meg fact #1,302: I have a permanent retainer glued on the inside of the front six teeth on the bottom of my mouth. It's been there for 20 years now). And the hygienist was a total sweetheart but also a TALKER. And she'd allow me to respond, which just wastes so much time.

Anyway, when I left, I went to the gym, which had been the plan all along, and the reason I did all this stuff in workout gear all morning. I didn't feel like going, but I did, and I'm glad because 1) I leg-pressed 130 pounds like the awesome person I am and 2) I saw M. the Reasonable for the first time in over a week and found out a recent surgery he had (basically the same thing Mom had recently--messed up rotator cuff) went well and we traded a few stories. Poor guy is in pain still, and it's not easy being one-armed.

I decided to stop at Barnes & Noble on the way home to use a gift card a colleague gave me, so by the time I got home, at about 3:30, I had enough time to (finally) shower and wash my hair, dry my hair, get dressed, put on some makeup, and then go BACK to Sacramento for the staff Christmas party at a great pub. I'll just mention here that with all of this busyness...and the hour-and-a-half I spent at the dentist's office with my mouth wide open, I didn't eat anything between the hours of 7:00 and 3:00. I actually forgot to eat. Needless to say, the Frappuccino I bought at B&N was not only necessary for my blood sugar levels, but also for the safety of the general public.

The party was a lot of fun but needless to say, I started today off exhausted.

Today:

Today I walked (those leg presses left my legs tight) and then picked Mom up at her physical therapy so we could do some Christmas shopping. Then it was back home to finally sit at  my computer and take care of some eBay stuff and school stuff and random stuff and more stuff, stuff, stuff, before heading out AGAIN to teach some piano lessons this afternoon/evening.

It is now 9:00 and I am so ready for bed. Tomorrow I have a whole day to myself, so I'll go to the gym, then come home and bake up a storm. Cookies for my colleagues, quiche for the parents and I, and I want to make some homemade cranberry sauce.

Friday I teach all day (but get out early) and then it's Winter Break. :)

But for now...sleep.

Crazy Keane Weekend

So, I went to see some band this weekend...

Part 1: Overdoing It

Let me start by reiterating that I had a cold last week. I was feeling better, so on Saturday morning, I got up and went to running club, ran 2.25 miles, then stopped at the gym on the way home to swim 200 meters. Thus filled to the brim with endorphins and badassery, I went home, had some lunch, and readied for my fabulous Saturday night plans, little realizing that my body would hate me later. Or maybe I did realize and just didn't care.

I left the house a little after 2:00, and arrived at Summer's place in Oakland at nearly 4:30, after getting stuck in traffic for a brush fire and then for the stupid Bay Area traffic that just happens randomly on a Saturday afternoon.

The point is, I arrived safely, and Summer and I did our usual motormouth catch-up while driving to downtown Oakland and Rudy's Can't Fail Cafe.

Because I was at a complete stop, I was finally able
to get this sign pic, which I've been coveting for years.

Our table

Behind the Fox (tour buses!)

We had dinner, meeting up with my friend Meghan and her friend Sutton, and then joined the queue for Keane at about 6:00. It was already around the corner.

Part 2: The Gig

Thanks to my quick feet (I didn't run, but there was some definite power-walking going on), we got the spots we wanted--right in front of the first "tier" on the floor, where we can see but not be part of the crush at the very front. I bought some merchandise and a rum and coke, posted some updates to Twitter, texted a friend about my rum and coke, checked in on Facebook. (Have I mentioned I love my new iPhone?)

Summer and Meghan really dug the opening act, Kiev, but I was too impatient for my boys.

A dork and her duck, Summer, Meghan, Sutton. Meghan: "Why is the
tallest person always in the front?!"

My flash is bright. Also, Cali was beside himself with excitement by now.
This was his first Keane gig!

 Finally, my boys came out.

And oh...they were incredible.

Here's the thing--I know Keane are amazing live. I know it from 2009. I know it from 2010. But last night was amazing. There was something in the air. Maybe it was because the crowd was loving every minute (seriously, I've never seen the Oakland crowd so excited). Maybe it was Keane's relief that this is the last date of this tour and they get a little time off before setting off again for more mad touring to see their wives and kids and cats and homes.

Whatever it was, last night was incredible.

In 2010, I was so focused on getting good pictures that I sort of forgot to truly get into the music. So last night, I did something novel among my fellow Keane fans--I made myself put the camera away. I sent out a few tweets on my phone, but otherwise I spent most of the gig just rocking the hell out of each song. Singing, dancing, whooping, clapping.

I had asked a friend yesterday, "Do you know how many calories I'm going to burn at the concert?" He just grinned and said, "A lot." Yep.

Took this with my iPhone...

Jesse (bass), Tom (vocals), Richard (drums)

I kinda dig this shot--the silhouettes, the hand in the shot...

The Mighty Quin!

Tom blowing us all away with his huge voice and Richard on drums.

Tim on the keyboards (this man is a genius).

The highlights are many...they opened with "You Are Young" from the new album, and played many, many new songs, which I loved. Finally hearing "On the Road" live (I was dancing like a fool) and then the near-religious experience of singing along with "The Starting Line" was huge fun. By the time they got to my all-time favorite Keane song, "Somewhere Only We Know," I was in a state of euphoria. I leaned over to Summer and said, "I will never not love this song." There are Keane fans who are tired of hearing it live...not me. It's the song that brought me to Keane. It's the song that pushes me through difficult runs. It is magic live. As far as I'm concerned, it is composed of fairy dust and unicorn farts.

The band was in top form last night. They've been winding across the United States for a couple of weeks, and they have to be exhausted, but they gave 110% out there last night and sounded amazing.

After the show, Summer and I waited for a bit outside. Tom came out but only for a moment and people were being really pushy. I grabbed a quick photo of him but couldn't get closer.

What makes me sad is that in this picture, he looks rather like the ole deer in the headlights. People really were being quite pushy.

A very cute deer in the headlights, to be sure. And tall. Dude is TALL.

We went back to Summer's place after this, and it was now apparent to me that I had overdone it all day. I crashed but had a hard time sleeping because of a nagging bit of coughing. I ended up getting about four hours.

Part 3: The Haight

I try not to stress out over Keane and their gigs, but I admit I had a little angst this morning over the Amoeba gig. There were to be a limited number of wrist bands for the post-gig signing line, and I really wanted to at least get 5 seconds to talk to the guys because I didn't get to after last night's gig.

I left Summer and Ben's place at about 9 this morning, and drove straight to the Haight.

What can I say about the Haight? Home to the infamous Summer of Love, and the long-lingering residuals of that, it's colorful, it's about free love and self-expression, and it's a sign pic collector's dream.

Parking in the Haight can be a nightmare but I got a spot right across from
Amoeba! Princess parking for the early bird!

Don't do drugs, kids.

Mosaic entryway.

This store was creepy as you-know-what. (The next pic is its sign.)

On closer inspection, I love the reflections of modern cars in this one.

They're supposed to go IN the can...

Happy Canada Day!

Near the infamous intersection of Haight and Ashbury.
I didn't get a pic of those signs today--I got that one
ages ago.

Part 4: The Amoeba Gig

I walked up to Amoeba a little after 10, to find someone already queuing for Keane. I kept walking, muttering to myself, "I love Keane, but COME ON." I did, however, want to stay nearby, because I was concerned about that wrist band. I went back and ended up queuing with her. Shortly thereafter, we were joined by two other ladies, die-hard Keane fans I saw at Oakland last night. We all started chatting, and before long, a guy standing nearby was asking us about Keane and saying, "I'm totally coming to this gig!"

The store opened at 11:00, and I happily bought my Keane CD and got my wrist band. (I already owned the CD. I now have two copies. I'm going to give one to my buddy M. the Reasonable because he has awesome taste in music and I think he'll enjoy it.) We were told we could stake out our spots by the tiny stage. I looked--the audience area was tiny. If I didn't stake out a spot right in front, I'd end up behind the racks of CDs...unable to see because come on, I'm 5'2" when I get out of bed in the morning and everyone knows gravity pulls you down all day.

So I did the fangirl thing and stood. For three hours.

My newfound friends and I took turns saving each others' spots so we could get food, run to the nearby McDonald's for the bathroom, etc. But mostly I stood, or perched on the edge of the stage, running my phone battery down checking in on Twitter and Facebook.

From my spot at the stage.

My vantage point. Based on Keane's normal set-up, I knew I'd be pretty
much breathing on Tim.

Still overjoyed from the Oakland gig, Cali Swimmy was delighted with our
spots at Amoeba.

It's Colin TMTTS!! Richard dubbed him TMTTS (Tour Manager to the
Stars).

Richard's cajon.

When the boys arrived, we all cheered. I was star-struck, so I only managed
to get a pic of Richard (the rest had gone in already).

Yep, right under Tim.

Richard came back out and talked to this lady for a few minutes. I played
creepy paparazzi stalker.

Someone put out the set list. We all started taking pics. I snuck Cali up there.
Someone behind me said, "I don't know what all these mean!" I started
reciting them all until he (snottily) said, "Okay, okay!" Just trying to be
helpful, dude!! He had to ask, "Are they playing Somewhere Only We Know?"
Obviously a total newbie. What do you think SOWK stands for?

By this point, the place was packed. I got a lot of funny looks and "I'm not
going to ask" from people. I just smiled and said, "It's a long story, but
believe me, it's a good one."

Finally, it was time. Tim and Tom came out alone first to perform "This Is the Last Time." Moved by the moment, I took a video.

A few minutes later, I took a video of "The Starting Line," because it's just so lovely and moving.

But mostly, I just listened and enjoyed. My voice, shot from this stupid lingering cold and, *ahem*, overuse last night, was left to rest as I lip-synched along. I didn't want to croak in Tim's ears or anything. I was close enough that I could have reached out and caressed his leg.

No, I didn't. I'm not a creep!

It was hard to get shots of Jesse. Any that I did get had Tom's booty
in them. I know people who won't mind this.

We all have our favorite Keane guys, but Tim is widely regarded as being
the most classically gorgeous. Not pictured: his infamous Laser Eyes
of Doom.

Drummer in motion, crap camera.

"That lady in the green dress is totally jealous of my
awesome Amoeba Records sticker."

When you're this close to Tim, you notice the striped socks. You take
a picture, because you actually have friends who will love this picture.

Jesse! And Tom's derriere.

At the end of the gig, two thumbs-up to the audience from Mr. Rice-Oxley.

Jesse and Richard leaving the stage.

Random iPhone photo--a desperate attempt to get a
clear shot of Mr. Hughes.

Finally, the controlled chaos of the signing line started. Because I was up front, I happened to be the third person through. I had all kinds of wonderful witty things I wanted to say in the five seconds I'd get in front of each guy...and I failed in a burst of starstruck, nerdtastic glory.

If it's not Tom's posterior, it's some random lady's elbow. Poor Jesse!!

Richard was first. I walked up, looked right at him, and said, "I'm LadyMegSoprano...I just wanted you to know that."

*sigh* Oh, Meg.

Richard was lovely. We have interacted a bit on Twitter, so the name is familiar to him. He smiled and said, "Oh, yes! It's nice to put a face to the name." I mumbled some other starstruck something-or-other, but I am rather happy with myself that I managed to tell him, "I hope next time you visit California, it's a death-penalty-free state." That got a happy response: "Yes! I hope so, too." In all of this, I sort of flew by Tim--the thing about signing lines is that you are sort of rushed through and I didn't want to be accused of holding things up--and I smiled at him but otherwise completely ignored him (I blame his Eyes of Doom. Seriously.) as I moved on to Tom.

Tom is the only Keane guy I'd never actually interacted with face-to-face. I met Tim and Richard after the 2010 Oakland gig, and Jesse before the 2010 Mt. Desolation gig. Tom was the big mystery to me. I found myself standing in front of the front man, ready to dazzle him with my clever wit and I said,

"I have to be idiotic and tell you your voice is incredible."

By now I was feeling rather like Baby Houseman after she famously uttered, "I carried a watermelon!" to Johnny Castle. But Tom just smiled and said, "Thank you! What a lovely thing to say." We were interrupted by Jesse, who also said, "Thank you!" Tom laughed, threw an arm around Jesse's shoulder, and I giggled and said, "Well, you, too, Jesse!"

I told them both, "I'm a singer, and my friend and I were both so impressed by you." Tom repeated his thanks and I hurriedly aimed a "Thank you! Last night was awesome!" at the table as a whole and turned and walked away.

I was handed my CD back, of course:

Yes, I do know which one is which. Top left: Tom. Top right: Jesse. Bottom
left: Tim. Bottom right: Richard
Also: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

I was shaking and giggling like a fool, and I was also exhausted. I mean, giddy with exhaustion. And I had a long drive ahead. Getting out of San Francisco is a depression-causing series of twists and turns, then, when you finally get on the freeway and the signs are pointing towards the Bay Bridge, you find yourself slowed to a crawl, with an obnoxiously large SUV riding your tail and looking at you like you are single-handedly responsible for the twelve hundred slow-moving vehicles in front of you.

I love San Francisco. I hate driving in San Francisco.

All in all, it was an amazing and fantastic weekend. I went into it hoping for good music and I more than got what I paid for. The Keane guys are truly talented musicians who make some great songs that I relate to. They also happen to be really lovely guys who appreciate their fans, support charities, and try to leave the world a better place than they found it. They've worked hard to get where they are, and they don't rest on their laurels, but continue to go out of their way to give their all to the fans and each other. I admire them.

While Keane flies back to their own country (I know that San Francisco-London flight very well, myself, as back posts in this blog will tell you), I start another busy week. I have a job interview first thing tomorrow, regular workouts (yes, despite the cold, I will continue to work out and don't worry, I've learned my lesson this weekend and won't try to be Bionica the Triathlete Nimrod this week) and one of my favorite holidays to celebrate--Mom's birthday! Also known as Independence Day.

So for the moment, it's time to hit post, slap the link to this puppy up on Facebook and Twitter, and then crawl into bed.

What a weekend!