Happy happy joy joy


At work today, Chris called Michael from the parking lot, asking "Hey, did you know the Chowder Mobile is in the parking lot?" When Michael first repeated the question, he did it loud enough for everyone to hear, though no one was really paying attention. I mean, I wasn't paying attention until the statement, "And there's a cupcake mobile next to it?" when my body spontaneously leapt six feet into the air and landed with a $20 bill in my hand, feet moving me to the door.

To say "Excited about the Cupcake Mobile" is like saying "Willing to breathe to stay alive." Yes, both are accurate.

My steps on the quarter mile walk to the mobiles, which had to be at the FARTHEST. POINT. POSSIBLE. went from "Hey, I'm outside, this is great" to "OMFG I'M GOING TO HAVE A CUPCAKE!"

No, really.


So, we FINALLY finish our hike, uphill both ways, with my telling Michael how spectacularly awesome SxSW was, and how I'm still riding the high of the event, and I realize that I have no idea what I'm supposed to order at the Chowder Mobile. I do the only reasonable thing: I have Michael order for me. "If you like lobster, you have to order the Lobster Roll," he said. So, my order was, of course, "I'm told I have to order the Lobster Roll," which made the guy in the truck smile. For a $15 sandwich, it better make me smile, too, I thought.

Michael ordered after me, and handed me a one dollar bill, telling me that either it had fallen out of my pocket, or his wallet, he wasn't sure, but here, take it. Confused, I tried to hand it back, but he was having none of it.

Okay, one dollar for me.


Of course, as soon as the adult part of ordering lunch was over, I turned, without my meal, and only halfway flew over to the cupcake mobile. I say halfway, because my thump on the side of the truck when I arrived alerted me that I hadn't actually left the ground yet.

Michael came over behind me, and started talking to the woman in the truck. How often are you here (every Monday)? Can you park closer (maybe)? How can we find you (twitter)? Do you cater (yes)?

I stood there, with my nose just over the side of the window, my hands next to it, peering in, waiting for a break. My brain was in a loop, thinking, "Cupcake... cupcake... cupcake..." as they continued talking. And talking. And talking.

KILLING ME! I started bouncing.

Yes, that's right, a woman old enough to have a kid in high school was bouncing on the side of a cupcake truck next to the San Francisco Bay.

And it was awesome.


More awesome was the fact that I could buy TWO cupcakes, at $3 each, because Michael had handed me the dollar over at the Chowder Mobile. I didn't have to choose between chocolate and lemon, because, you know, being an adult means YOU CAN HAVE BOTH.

And both I did.

I know which client office I'll be working from next Monday. And the following Monday. And the Monday after that. Possibly the Monday after that, too.


Lunch visit


"For someone who doesn't like to have her picture taken, you sure take a lot of pictures."

I had decided this morning that given the lack of interest I had yesterday at the design conference and the overwhelming pressure I was receiving last night to be in the office, I would do well to resign myself to writing off the conference as a learning experience (Lesson learned? Never, ever go to a conference alone again) and earn money today.

I also decided to skip lunch and work the extra two hours lunch might take. I quickly learned the folly of my decision when I realized I had left my lunch at home, so off to lunch I went, half an hour after I had arrived at work.

As we were walking into the restaurant, Doyle was humored by my camera out, and commented about all of my picture taking, while showing me how he really felt about it.


Lunch was at a brewery, where we met up with a former co-worker, who had just found a new job (lots of cheers!). For the most part, I like brewery food, but today I was especially excited about having fish and chips, which I have been, strangely enough, craving for a while now. Might have been because it's been a month since I had some last.

To prove Doyle wrong, I took a picture of myself after lunch, catching Michael just before he started panicking about where he left his sunglasses.

Um.... on my face?


On the way out the door, one of the guys noticed a Lamborghini parked across the street. As we paused to chat a few more minutes with the ex-coworker, we watched the car. We speculated about its owner, laughing and suggesting it belonged to the old guy who just exited the donut shop the car was parked in front.

To our shock, horror, amazement and delight, the car DID belong to the old guy. Several elder jokes later, we all hoped the old guy would just peel out of the lot. He didn't, but if he had, he would have been all of our hero and inspiration.



Daily Photo

A tree Andy pointed out on the walk to lunch.

Hot hot hot!


Doyle and I went to Thai for lunch today. Normally, we don't eat Thai food for lunch on Tuesdays, as the hot hot spices tend to upset his stomach at track on Tuesday evenings. Today, he wanted Thai, so Thai we had.

Most Thai days, we order soup. We used to order chicken satay, but I've been trying to avoid meat since Andy told us about how he eats only humanely raised animals and goes vegetarian the rest of the time, and I thought it was good enough idea to try it myself. I've been getting a lot of my protein early in the morning, so soup works better than satay these days.

When we order soup together, it arrives in a large metal bowl with flames shooting out from under it. The flames keep the soup warm (hot), which is appreciated. However, after we scoop the first two bowls out of the flaming pot, the remaining soup always heats up quickly and starts to boil.

Last week, I blew out the flames, which were jumping from a small pink substance clearly created for burning in these pots. My first blow was too weak, causing the flames to move slightly in their mocking dance of light. One big blow later, and they were gone.

Doyle tried much the same today at lunch. His first blow was weak (weak sauce). It moved the flames a little bit in my direction, but not much else. Just as I bent over to blow on the soup in my spoon I was raising to my lips, Doyle blew the blow that would extinguish the flames.

Unfortunately, his aim was off.

Yes, he did, indeed, put out our soup fire.

He also sprayed me in the face, neck and hands with hot, scalding, boiling soup.

I had my eyes closed, so at least I'm not blinded by thai coconut soup or the mushrooms. Or the evil little corn spears that taste nothing like corn, but merely mock me in their corn-like shapes.

We laughed a bit about my soup shower, before I continued eating my soup. Unfortunately, I hadn't let it sufficiently cool in my bowl, and, well, one bite too fast later, I was downing a glass of water to the dawning realization I just scalded the back of my throat. I really should have just spit out that soup.

The rest of the meal was a fight to finish, or at least eat part of the way. Scalding the back of my throat caused everything to be too spicy. How in heaven's name, you might ask, does pad see yew become too spicy to eat? When you've scalded the back of your throat. Doyle suggested I try the salad to see if the rest of my meal was indeed too spicy, or if the scalding was causing problems.

When a bite of plain iceberg lettuce causes tears in your eyes from its spiciness, you've scalded the back of your throat.

As you would treat others


Doyle and I went out to P.F.Changs for lunch today. I was in the mood for something different than our usual Murphy Street fare, having surprisingly tired of the amazingly tasty food around us.

When I offered P.F.Changs, Doyle agreed, and off we went.

As at the end of any lunch in an American Chinese or American faux-Chinese lunch, we received a handful of fortune cookies from which we expected to receive millions by playing the lottery numbers on the fortune, or sue the company for providing incorrect numbers. Or at least some short, clever witticism.

I grabbed the closest one to me once I realized they were there, and opened it. My fortune:

Now, I'm not exactly sure this is a fortune, so much as a comment on, well, perhaps my personality. Ignoring the sentence-ending "in bed" that seems to work with every current fortune cookie saying these days, I started thinking about this "fortune" I'd received.

It was suggesting that I:

  • hate everyone around me struggling through the tortuous years of adolescence
  • be annoyed at a person the first time he fails when trying something new
  • expect perfection from all my friends
  • ignore any physical pain they may be having and tell them to "suck it up"
  • want them to always be productive because sitting around watching television or playing computer games is clearly a waste of life, when there are problems to solve and things to build and cures to find

I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to be treating my friends as I treat myself. If I did, I'm fairly certain I would have very, very, very few friends.

Doyle commented that they probably meant the usual platitude, "Treat others as you want to be treated."

I think I'll stick with my next fortune instead:

... in bed.