January 11, 1999
Soda Vs. Pop

I know, I know ... it's been five days since I've posted a new journal entry, and we're all going through *FootNotes withdrawal* here. (Admit it. You're hooked on that daily peek into The Castle, aren't you? Just wait'll we set up the webcam!)  Fact is, I am absolutely buried in the job-hunt right now. Over the weekend, the local Bay Area newspapers  --  including the one David works for  --  published their annual bazillion-page "career search" supplements. We are talking THOUSANDS of new Help Wanted ads: it took me all day yesterday and today, just to sift through them all. (And that was AFTER I'd discarded the ads for jobs that are clearly out of my depth, like "Epidemiologist Data Analyst," or "Burrito Assembler.")

Now I'm sitting here with a stack of possible job leads a mile and a half high ... each and every one of them requiring a meticulously hand-crafted cover letter ("Dear Sir and/or Mada'am") before I send them winging off into the cybersphere. I expect this is going to consume the majority of my thought and energy molecules for the rest of the week ...

... although I'll try and come up for air every once in awhile and throw something onto the website. Even if it's just to assure my mother that I haven't moved to Mexico ... or to post another lame recap of the weekend's activities  ...

[Cue: Lame Recap of Weekend Activities]

David and I, as usual, spent the weekend joined at the hip. 
We're still at that nauseating pseudo-honeymoon phase of the proceedings: the phase where everything he does is adorable ("Awwwww  ...  he sneezed on my baked potato!"), and everything I do is adorable ("Awwww ... she left her dirty clothes in a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor!"), and we want to spend every possible moment together, and we sit around grinning stoopidly at each other a lot, and we never ever run out of stuff to talk about ...

... and no one else can stand to be in the same room with the two of us for longer than a minute and a half. ("These people are SICKENING!")

I expect that sooner or later things will settle down and we'll become more or less normal  --  "Hey! You sneezed on my baked potato! Now you must die!"  --  but in the meantime you'd better check your insulin level at the door, folks.

The highlight of the weekend, as documented on *his* website, was the drive to Berkeley on Saturday.

For starters, the drive itself was fun. There is something about the combination of car/sunshine/sunroof/Saturday morning/loud music/louder conversation/plopping my feet on the dashboard that never fails to make me feel completely alive.

And I really like going to Berkeley. This was our second time? third time? there together. (I've lost track. We went there the first weekend I came to visit him: I remember that I wasn't used to holding hands with someone as tall as he is, and I kept elbowing him in the hip as we walked up and down Telegraph.) So far, it ranks just behind The Ho Ho Express as my favorite place in the Bay Area.

Why do I like it? I dunno. Walking around Berkeley doesn't unnerve me, I guess, the way walking around a big city -- like downtown San Francisco -- can. "That's because the buildings aren't as high," David amazingly helpfully pointed out when I mentioned this to him on Saturday. Which of course is true: there aren't all these massive buildings looming overhead, waiting to fall down on top of me during the earthquake. But there is also the fact that there aren't as many people milling around. There are crowds, of course, but they aren't as frantic as some of the crowds we encountered in downtown SF, especially during holiday shopping season. Everybody in Berkeley seems so much more ... relaxed.

Some of them, in fact, seem downright serene.

Anyway, once we got there we parked the car and just sorta wandered around, visiting the groovy comic-book store ('zines!), and the groovy music store (albums!), and the groovy fantasy book store (C.S. Lewis!)  We stopped also at the groovy optical store, where David managed to talk the sales guy into fixing my broken glasses for free, and at the groovy video store, where we rented an armload of "Red Dwarf" and "Black Adder" videos.

On the way home we stopped at a hole-in-the-wall taqueria. I had a taco and a bottle of "pop," while he had some sort of weird bean-and-tortilla configuration and a bottle of "soda" (we cutely disagree on soft drink terminology: he thinks "pop" sounds adorably childlike, while I think "soda" sounds adorably pretentious). Then we came home to The Castle and watched videos and cooked dinner and grinned stoopidly at each other for the rest of the evening.

And that was our Saturday.

It's late afternoon now, and David will be home shortly, and I'm not sure but I THINK we're supposed to drive back to Berkeley tonight and return the videos ...

... so I'm going to throw this disjointed mess of a journal entry onto the website. Then I'm going to finish up the last of the day's job-search stuff, making a list of the places I want to fax the résumé to, first thing in the morning. ("Hello, Microsoft? You may not remember me, but I applied in 1979 ...")

Then I'm going to wash the breakfast dishes in a great big hurry, and make the bed, and change out of this coffee-stained House of Blues T-shirt.

And then I'm gonna go and throw my dirty clothes into a little crumpled heap on the bathroom floor.



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