Posts Tagged 'San Francisco'

O yeah, I write a blog.

Where do I start?  Everything is different.  Like so different that I am pretty sure I’m thin and awesome now.

Hmm…First off, I got a job.  I know right?  Awesome.

Well yes but its in Seattle.  Which means I am moving to the rainy state.  Isn’t that exactly where someone going through a massive depression should live?  Just keep the flannel and heroine away and I should be fine.  It’s not really all that different from San Francisco.  We don’t see the sun for weeks around here.

I’m also selling my house.  Thankfully there are some decent advantages to being OCD about labels and cleanliness when it comes to preparing for this.  I basically had to move a chair and call it a day.  Phew.  But That didn’t stop me from going insane trying to make everything perfect perfect.  I’ve been runnin around like a Mexican jumping bean cleaning, organizing, paring down, staging, and most importantly, boxing up all Mark’s shit and throwing it down the stairs.

O speaking of Mark, yeah he’s back in San Francisco.  Not here at the house, but here.  He’s chosen to take up residency in the area of SF we all lovingly refer to as the Tenderloin (aka, were you go to score your drugs).  We are being civil, but not talking.  Just dealing with the divorce and the house sale as if we are coworkers.  At this point, that’s about all I can handle.  He’s still lying, using, and self destructing and its killing me to watch it.

I am thinkin about getting a new blog.  This one seems a bit umm…shall we say…irrelevant?  Stay tuned.

So that’s me.  Thank you to everyone who’s checked in with me.  I miss you all too.  I’m just not the same person right now.  I’m some facsimile of BabyBound.  See?  I’m not even clever.  I hope to God that Mark didn’t get that in the divorce.  Cause that’s totally my thing not his.  He can have my bad spelling, emotional wreckness and inability to sleep well, but he can’t. have. my. whit.  (anyone else think my face should be half painted blue when they read that?  I did…)


Welcome to San Francisco. Please follow me to the CT scan room…

Today is the day that marks the 2nd aniversary of our move to San Francisco.  It was on this day 2 years ago that we packed up the car, drove up here, moved into corporate housing and said wtf have we just done?

After our moment of panic, we walked across the big scary San Francisco street to the big scary San Francisco market and got ourselves some groceries.  Let me tell you, that Safeway market may have looked unassuming and oddly identical to every market in LA, but it was all new to us.  We were foreign and didn’t know the language.  (Is it ok to ask for plastic or is that bad here?  Do people not buy a whole lot at one time or is that considered stupid?  What are the rules!!!)

I remember it so well.  We bought a chicken. (those already made ones), some salad fixings and some frozen vegetables.  We were going to have a lovely meal in our new corporate-housing-for-30-days apartment.  It only took me one and a half hours in this new place to spill an entire bottle of salad dressing down the front of my shirt.  A vinaigrette.  With oil.  That stuff don’t wash out.  Crap.

While I was busy ruining my wordrobe so that I could explain my need for a new big city one easier, Mark was having some sort of reaction to the move and was unable to speak?, couldn’t see? which caused freaking out!  Awesome.  Our first day.  This place is terrifying.

It turned out to be nothing, but we got to spend the rest of our very first night in the big scary new city in the emergency room.  On St. Patrick’s Day.  Funny.  I’m surprised I’ve never blogged about that night before.  So much material….


Happy 2 year anniversary to me.  The city isn’t scary at all anymore.  In fact, its downright small.  We love it here.  (But could use less time in the ER and that would suite my taste just fine.)

And plastic bags are illegal here.  Its all paper.  So easy.

How to design an apartment in 5 easy steps:

  1. Make sure you prep for the day by drinking several martinis the night before so that you are well on your way to a hangover for the day of fun at hand.  After you are good and sauced, go check out the new apartment.  Hopefully this will be your first time seeing it.  Its very important to take measurements before you head to the store so get out those feet and walk it out.  (Don’t write it down.  Your awesomely impaired memory is completely fine for this)
  2. Agree on an early start.  Always important when you have a big day planned.  Then chack back and make sure you have successfully accomplished step 1 and roll out of bed only when the phone rings asking where you are.
  3. Go to Ikea.  The world’s most horribly amazing place.  An entire apartment fits on 1 flatbed cart.  I know right?  Crazy!
    1. (Side note:  Coffee will seem like a good idea, but isn’t really going to do shit for you.  If you feel like fainting, keep it to yourself.  This isn’t about you, silly.  Eye on the prize people.  You are decorating an apartment!!!)
  4. About the time you are in line to purchase said entire apartment, you will mostly feel a rush of energy that causes you to say things like “Let’s go to Target now”  and “We still need to get a lot of stuff today so we should keep going”.  You need to be careful here.  This is not real.  You need to stay focused.  Get some food in yourself – preferably something greasy – and head home.  You still have 2 flights of stairs to go up to get stuff IN this place.  (You should be feelin pretty normal about the time you get to the apartment.  And that odd twinge you have in your back?  Ignore it.  Just bringin you down man.)
  5. Just for shiggles, check out the apartment again.  Then make a foot doctor appointment.  You obviously need to have your over-night-growing-feet-measurers checked out.

And there you have it.  A whole new apartment of stuff.  That you helped pick out, Ikea delivered, someone else put together, and all the while you take credit.  Isn’t decorating hard work?

O and just because it couldn’t go without sharing, check out these bowls for sale at Ikea.


I mean are they kidding me with this?  I know they’re all differnt over there in Europeland but seriously??

I think I could sell my pocket lint with more success.

I was recently out on the town, mindin my own bidness when I rolled up on a street vendor with the most disturbing table of stolen shit for sale goods that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to share.

This, folks, is a 12 inch tall ceramic baby.  Not all that impressed yet?  Well, what if I was to tell you that this lovely little clay version of what we all long for was covered in what appears to be blood?  From head to toe.

No?  Wow you are hard to please aren’t you.

What if I was to throw in a picture of her little friend, Bullseye Brown

With a bloody target in her forehead….

Nothing?  Well you are leaving me with no choice then.  Here it comes…

And there lies the head of what was once their partner in crime, Shorty Stumperston.  Bloody, with a giant hole in the back of her skull, and defenseless.  I got ya now didn’t I?

I mean WTF man?  a) why does anyone need one of these dolls, b) what is the purpose of them and c) how is the man selling them not bloody himself from a thousand crazed infertiles, abortion rights activists, and those freaky fur people??

No really.  WTF?

Good clean animal lovin.

Quick question:

When someone sits next to me on MUNI wearing a leopard print dress with leopard print shoes, a leopard print headband, leopard print glasses, and a leopard print backpack, is it rude to ask her if she’s lost and give her directions to the zoo?  How about whipping out a camera and snapping a photo, claiming you work for National Geographic and haven’t seen a specimen like this so close to the city?

Is it slightly insulting to push everyone back while screaming that there is a wild animal on the train and we all must get off?

OK good.  I didn’t think so either but the picture didn’t come out.  😦

You can see anything in San Francisco

And just when I start to think there might be an actual race for the nutso factory, San Francisco pulls ahead.

This is a group of Scottish bagpipers playing chicken with an oncoming MUNI train.  That white spec in the lower right is the mirror of the train.  Yes, this is in San Francisco and yes, its the middle of a random day and no, there is no Scottish sort of celebration going on anywhere near this site.

A) Do bagpipes work like airbags?

B) If you’re a bagpiper and you die, does your mother still hope you’re wearing clean underwear?  My guess is no.

Is New York crazier than San Francisco?!?

I’ve written many a post about how freakishly odd the happenings are around San Francisco (cookie bush anyone?), but after one day in New York, I feel I may have found a rival. You be the judge while you take a fascinating little tour of the big apple, BabyBound style:

This woman is absolutely brilliant. As I sat in the window drinking my morning coffee, this immaculate disaster entered stage left. A vision in this black bra, see through yellow slip and cigarette (forgive the bad cell pict that really didn’t capture the detail well), she worked very hard at making her presence known to the neighborhood. First, slathering an entire container of “Nads” skin lotion all over both legs (I thought they were all about hair removal?) – only after removing her character shoes and black tube socks and throwing them neatly into the middle of the sidewalk of course – then wiping it all off with about 600 paper towels – found near the trash can. What happened next intrigued me as she very violently threw the above mentioned towels at the parked car just out of frame before putting her shoes back on. It was only then that we experienced a slight wardrobe malfunction when her boob popped out. No big deal. She put it back.

And all this without messing up one stitch of her full face clown makeup! Fantastic.

So its not all that clear it this horrible cell phone picture, but let me assure you that they sure do make em bigger in the big apple. This window full of DD+ boobs…I mean mannequins….sure did catch our attention. I mean you expect knockers in the window of the Hustler store on Sunset but this was just yer average clothing shop in SOHO. I wish I had a better angle..but trust me, those suckers are gigantic. Why do we only get the small boobed variety in Cali? Where are our monster boob mannequins?

They say there are more rats in NYC than people. I now know why. As it happens, as we were walking up Broadway we noticed they had completely blocked off an entire intersection to all forms of traffic. Being the nosey nosebody that I am, of course we peeped through the green fencing to see why. This is why. They were dealing with the sewage. One look at this completely out of control clusterfuck of crap – literally – and I’ve seen all I need to see. Not a straight line in sight. No labels. No order. Just crap. And crap flowing through crap = giant pile of crap. This is why there are more rats than people.

For anyone that hasn’t ever been to NY, this is a ghetto.

And I saved the very best for last:

I had the pleasure of sitting next to royalty on the train. This young lady is wearing what appears to be roughly 30 karats of crystal clear high grade plastic. In each ear. According to my precise calculations, the first stone (in a series of 3 up the ear) measures a whopping 15 karats!

How this woman was allowed to board a public railway without the aid of at least a fleet of bodyguards is beyond me. I would have thought that China, being the obvious makers of this fine jewelery, would have sent out their entire army for such an occasion. Maybe they are held up with the Olympics?

So all in all, a great trip. And it really is comforting to know that there is plenty of hilarious material are clearly odd things even on the other side.

But still no cookie bush….

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