My last place was probably one of the “coolest” placed I’d ever lived, in terms of hipness. For the most part, I’d lived in larger complexes that were fairly organized, well-maintained and suburban (though I did my fair share of couch surfing and car sleeping in my late teens and 20′s).  The last place was an old vintage building that I loved so much and the area was close to downtown and had a beautiful view.  It was a “cool” place to live, in terms of the area of town.

When GFI lived upstairs, it was fun — we had a good time and socialized fairly regularly, though we were always sensitive to the other’s need for space. But when she moved, aside from the view, there was really no reason to stay.  Now that I have Lulu, I needed a bit more space and I started to feel my stuff closing in on me.  Plus, with all the turnover in the building, the other tenants, newer tenants, live a “younger” lifestyle than I do (late nights, lots of noise, unpredictable schedules, Miller Lite for chrissake). Not that I’m old, but I’m certainly not twenty-four anymore and we were all just a little too close for comfort.

I thought moving to this new complex, which is beautiful, but smack dab in the middle of a corporate business park would be stale and boring, but you know? I really like it.  It’s soooooooo quiet and there’s hardly any traffic.  There’s every convenience I could want within a few blocks, I can access about 4-5 different highways/freeways within a couple miles and anywhere I’d want to go is about a 10 minute drive.

The area is really flat with beautifully landscaped streets and lots of palm trees, so walking and exercise is totally doable (and the area is full of people who walk with friends after work and on lunch breaks and lots of dog owners out with their pets after work — there’s even a little dog park!). The complex is big, but not too big and has lots of amenities like a gym, hot tub and a pool, BBQs, cabanas and all that fanciness, which I plan to use, but you know how that goes.  (Though I kind of don’t have a choice — my ass is the size of Brazil these days).

I originally wanted the largest one-bedroom they had with a den, but there was only one available that overlooked a parking lot (and it had old carpet and a vague scent about it) so I passed and took the slightly smaller one with no den and am on a waiting list for the bigger one, but I’ve decided I don’t need it.   This place is plenty big — much more spacious than my old place. Much. And I’d rather save myself $300 a month.

Corner of living room near hallway

I’m still unpacking, but I snapped a few photos with my iPhone. Some of the biggest priorities I had when apartment hunting were addressed by this complex, so I’m pretty happy: it’s on the third floor, it’s a corner unit, the price is right (for San Diego, anyway), there’s a full-size washer/dryer, walk-in closet, a balcony with storage and… the pièce de résistance, a roman soaking bathtub. When I lived in Dallas, my apartment had one and I became hooked. I had no idea how much those bubble baths balanced me and kept me sane.  Oddly enough, this complex is run by the same property management company and had the same builders as my apartment in Dallas, so I already feel very at home here.

I’ll take some better photos once I’ve got it all unpacked and nice-nice.  Right now, I need to go feed Lulu some cilantro before she riots.  Demanding bun!

A French press? How can I possibly achieve that hot, delicious fresh-brewed cup of joe without a coffeemaker? Pour water in, press it down, voila! Great coffee?  Nooo… surely they must be mistaken. In case you hadn’t noticed, I can be quite stubborn.

So how, you might ask, did I end up not only purchasing, but loving my new French press?   A desire for better aesthetics in my kitchen.   Hey, all things can’t be noble. Sometimes you just want things to look pretty.

GFI and I have identical kitchens since she lives directly above me.  We have them set up similarly, too, because we’re dorks like that and we took cues about what worked and what didn’t in each other’s space. For example, we both have our microwaves on top of the refrigerator to save space and we both have tiny lamps scattered around the kitchen for more ambient lighting because we hate the overhead fluorescents. My issue was that GFI’s kitchen always seemed so much cleaner and brighter to me. Same amount of lamps  (two small IKEA colored numbers), pretty much the same amount of stuff on the counter… what gives?

The difference?  GFI no longer had her coffeemaker on the counter. I, on the other hand, still had my big black Mr. Coffee (which doesn’t make very good coffee anyway and chirps annoyingly).  She sang the praises of the coffee press, insisting it produced the most delicious coffee and insisted I go buy one with the Starbucks giftcard she got me for Christmas.

So, for once, I actually did what I was told. I caved in and bought a French press gift set the very next morning on holiday clearance and it was the best thing I ever did.  Coffee-wise, anyway.

It’s easy, it takes no time (4 minutes!), little energy, it’s quiet (which ideal first thing in the morning), I get just the right amount of coffee and the flavor is beyond compare. It’s almost creamy the way it foams and creates this rich froth on the top.  I also have to heavily endorse my new favorite Starbucks blend, Sumatra Extra Bold (press grind).  It makes the most delicious cup, in my opinion, though I have an arsenal of coffee in my cabinet to try. You can use an all-purpose grind, though so far I’ve found the press grind to make the very best brew.

So to everyone who has ever recommended I get a French press, I owe you an apology.  You spoke the gospel and I, too brainwashed by Mr. Coffee, turned the other cheek.  I don’t know why we allegedly don’t like the French, but for the coffee press alone I’d have to declare vive la France!

mikey, GFI and I got there before it opened and spent the majority of the time sifting through the assorted crap vendors in Bing Crosby Hall and the like. We stopped for cupcakes at a super cute booth that was decorated in pink and black and white with lime green accents and curly font. It looked like a website I did for a client once… only life-size.  A little surreal, but the cupcakes were good!  Three mini cupcakes in red velvet with cream cheese icing, chocolate on chocolate and vanilla cake with chocolate icing for $5.  It worked out perfectly; we each got a bite of every flavor. 

We got our handwriting analyzed because we had a sudden urge to piss away $3. The Fair does that. It’s like a state of fugue or something. One minute, you’re perfectly rational, bypassing the loud guy selling chamois, the mood-lipstick mistress, the uber-butch hocking cheese graters and then, without warning, “Let’s get our handwriting analyzed! It’s only $3!” And the next thing you know, you’ve corrupted your whole party.

Our priority stop was GFI’s temporary goal in life:  deep fried macaroni and cheese on a stick.  I was a little skeptical at first, but I definitely had to try it.  I kept saying, “It sounds good in theory…” but no, it was pretty good.  A little bland, as far as a mac n’ cheese goes, but overall pretty much like you’d suspect — a ball of breaded and fried mac n’ cheese.  I made a beeline for the grilled corn on the cob guy and then we all hit the beer garden for an adult beverage.  Sure, it was 10am, but who was keeping track really…?

My Fair highlight was the talent from Doggies of the Wild West.  We didn’t actually catch the show, but we ran into Gary Noel and his wagon o’ western cuteness at the entrance.  I was totally insane for his dogs, snapping photos like crazy.  All rescues, he had a bunch of chihuahuas, a couple mutts, a beagle mix, and an adorable Boston Terrier I got to hold and love on.  He also let me take photos while his dogs did tricks like one-pawed handstands!  Yes, I was impressed. 

We wrapped up the Fair with frozen confections, mikey with his chocolate dipped soft serve while GFI and I shared a frozen banana. I can’t go to the Fair and not have a frozen banana. It’s like sacrilege. But seriously, where do they grow these bananas? They’re enormous, giant, mammoth, Holmes-esque bananas!  Seriously, they must be imported, equatorial bananas.  Or like super genetically-altered bananas engineered by carnies.  Between the two of us, we could only finish half… and the nuts kept falling down my top.

Anyway, we did the crap vendors, the livestock, the gastrocities and we were in and out in about three and a half hours.  Now that’s efficient fun right there!  I’ll have more photos up over the next few days. I only took 484 (with an inordinate amount of chicken shots, I might add) so that shouldn’t take any time at all to sift through. 

In the evening, I took some shots of the fireworks off my front porch and upstairs on the terrace.  I didn’t use a tripod, so out of about 128 shots only a few were clear, but I like how they came out.  It’s my last hurrah with my Nikon D80, as the Picture This project has ended and I’ve decided not to purchase it.  It’s a great camera, but it’s more cumbersome and a bit more camera than I really need.  I’ll be looking at smaller Nikons or maybe a Canon.  I’m not sure, but it was really great to participate in the program. I learned a lot about my own eye for photography.

This month is super busy while I prepare for Kathy’s visit in August and some time off that has been postponed until September.  I may slack a bit, but I know you’ll forgive me because we’re cool like that.  I do have a redesign of the blog coming soon, though.  Finally. 

I hope everyone had a great holiday!

I’ve been looking for it ever since whenever I go to the store. I’ve tried various grocery and specialty stores, though I didn’t try the Bevmo, the Church of Liquor. Since I didn’t know what kind of white I was looking for, I was having a hard time browsing for it.  There’s a lot of white wine out there!

Well, just now I was perusing one of my daily stops, woot.com and it’s sister site, wine.woot.com.  And lo, there was Saxon Brown. Yea, verily, I bought myself the weekly special on the spot. And then I stopped talking all bibley.  I’m so excited! This was posted on the 12th and I just lucked out that it’s the weekend and they didn’t switch it yet because with Woot, once it’s gone, it’s gone.  Woo hoo!

I’m not a fancy know-it-all wine person. I just know what I like and this stuff was delicious. I highly recommend the Semillion, but I’m looking forward to trying the Syrah Rosé, even though I haven’t had a blush since 1995.  If you want some, get it while it’s hot!

Cosmic-Politan

Ingredients:

- 1 cup ice
- 1 oz vodka
- 1 oz Cointreau
- 1 tbsp grenadine
- 1 cup watermelon puree
Garnish: 1 mini skewer of a small piece of watermelon, pineapple and a small strawberry.

Mix all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Strain into a chilled martini glass and garnish with a fruit skewer.

What?  It’s fruit!

I bought this car today.   It’s a 2009 Toyota Matrix and she’s red and I like her a lot.  I’m also quite proud of my haggling. I brought mikey with me because I didn’t want to get bamboozled. Not that I couldn’t hack it myself, but car salespeople are professional manipulators (no offense to any car-slingin’ readers I might have) and there is safety in numbers. I would have brought GFI, too, but she’s in Panama getting tan.

I’m honestly surprised it only took 3.5 hours. Normally a car purchase is an all-day affair, but this was a cakewalk.  I went in knowing what I wanted and I have to say, the folks at Mossy Toyota, especially Theresa, were really helpful.  She had all the cars and/or colors I said I was interested in, with the appropriate features, ready for me to test drive when I got there.  And when I refused to budge from my deposit amount (I had a number, people, and I wasn’t paying a penny more!), she and her GM were more than willing to get it down to my number without changing my monthly rate.

I did end up leaving with a higher monthly than I’d planned, but not by that much. I also managed to get a quote and purchase my car insurance online myself while I waited so I didn’t have to use their 30-day highfalutin oh-my-god-that’s-expensive temporary insurance.  Though, since e-surance didn’t have the 2009 models in their system yet, I did end up having to get on the horn with someone. But I daresay, even Justin at e-surance was pleasant and made parting with my money as smooth as possible.  And my payments were less than I thought because someone out there thinks I’m a good driver. 

Anyway, for those interested in the specs and whatnot, I’ll direct you to the Matrix S trim and specs, but those interested in the bling and how cute it is, it’s got a 6-speaker, 6-CD changer stereo that plays my iPod and has access for satellite radio.  There are plugs all over the place for hooking up laptops and charging phones and all that jazz. The inside is a dark black/charcoal sporty interior, which will soon be “F-Touched” (which I’ll refrain from making a crack about) with a Teflon-like coating, as will the outside, to prevent me from being charged for every ding, nick and spill. 

I love the wee spoiler… you know, for all those aerodynamics I require and the cornucopia of cup holders and console storage and room to sleep twelve.  OK, not really twelve, but you could fold down all the seats and perhaps fit a Yeti longways through the trunk.  The front seat even folds completely in half presenting a flat, almost rubber-ized surface so you can make it a desk and you can easily wipe out the hatchback/trunk area because it’s not carpeted.  It’s like a Honda Element like that. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that all that time I spend running on the beach won’t be as messy when I come home.  Yeah.

Hey, I could run on the beach!  You don’t know! 

It’s very roomy… roomier than I thought.  I liked the Corolla, which I also test drove, but I felt like the World Tallest Woman inside.  If I really sat up straight, I think my head would have hit the ceiling and there’s just something very “clown car” about that. And I don’t like clowns.  So that was out.

I was pretty much sold when I drove this red one, but like I said, I had a number in mind and I just refuse to put myself in a financially precarious position… at least not any more than one can be when they’re self employed and living in America’s Finest City.  But I did feel very grown-up today, as it was the first time I’ve ever been taken seriously in a major purchase.  This was the first time I bought a car that 1) someone wasn’t helping me buy 2) I wasn’t 18 and being taken advantage of or 3) my financial and credit situation wasn’t so bad (meaning I’m no longer 24 years old) that it was the only car I could get.  This was the first time I bought a car on my terms, the car I wanted at the price I wanted to pay for it.

She needs a name, but I’ve not decided on that yet. I need to drive her a few more times before it comes to me.  As much anxiety as having a new car payment gives me (and I’ll get over that as soon as I finish this glass of wine), I really, really love my new car. 

Every time we go to Anthology, I love it more. (You can read about the very first time we went here.) The staff is sweet, the atmosphere is relaxed, but refined, and the music… well, I love jazz.  I love love love it.  So, it may not be for everyone, but we like it.  Their food is absolutely incredible, albeit wee.  This time we had a duet of Maytag blue cheese souffles with fresh arugula (rocket for my English friends *wink*), a couple spiced candied walnuts, port poached pears in a port reduction and a bit of Stilton.  It sounds like a lot, but it was about 6 bites or so.   We also ordered Frite Misto which was a lovely combo of lightly battered bits of fish (we noted salmon and some kind of whitefish), prawns and lobster with a caper remoulade.  We had a hard time deciphering the lobster and suspect that it missed our batch, but it was still delicious.

Now, the important stuff – the cocktails.  I recognized last night, once and for all, that I’m just not much of a fruity drink person. If it’s a margarita or a sangria… well, those are in their own league. Umbrella drinks aside, I am not really one to order apple-tinis or even Cosmos.  It’s vodka martinis, slightly dirty, 3 olives, straight up.  The sugar in those other drinks just doesn’t jive with me, especially when I’m eating.  I like sampling them and creating them, but for pure cocktail enjoyment, I’m old school.  Yet, being the adventurous chick I am, I ordered a Blood Orange Drop, which was blood orange vodka, fresh blood orange, a squeeze each of lime and lemon and a dash of simple syrup.  The flavor was delicious, but it just wasn’t a “sipping” drink for me. It was too sweet, especially with the rim of sugar.  But it was pretty!  Personally, I’d serve it on the rocks in a collins glass, skip the sugar rim and hit with a splash of soda.  Now that sounds drinkable…

GFI ordered a Ginger Peachtini which was Peach Vodka, ginger simple syrup and… something else. I can’t remember. It was good, though! I liked it better than my Blood Orange thing.  Next up we enjoyed some of the best Grey Goose dirty martinis I’ve ever had.  Seriously. After our experience at Starlite with the sea monkeytinis, this was like drinking the nectar of the gods.  When Kathy visits, I’m totally taking her there… I dare say it was perfect, but I think it requires further testing.  Yeah. 

After listening to a few sets and chatting with the singer and trumpet player for a bit (the latter’s Kind of Blue was swoonable), we wrapped up the evening with a drink no longer on their menu: the After the Show.  We’d had it there before and were surprised to see it off the menu, but they were happy to make us a couple.  It’s Stoli Vanil vodka, Kahlua French Vanilla, Bailey’s, espresso and a drizzle of chocolate in the glass.  *faint* So good… so so so good.  Again, like fruity drinks, I’m not much of a “dessert cocktail”-type, but I do make a few exceptions. When they’re not overly frou-frou, too creamy or too sweet, it’s fine. There’s a subtlety to it and most bartenders have a heavy hand.  I think this one is a keeper… I just need to get them to give me the measurements. 

It was yet another fabulous night at Anthology.  Whenever I go, I’m overcome with “Why am I not singing more? Why am I not up there doing that?” It always lights a bit of a fire under me… we all need that sometimes.  GFI and I agreed that we don’t mind indulging our budgets once in a while because the quality of the evening is so much richer.  I guess that’s part of getting older… it’s more about the experience and the company and no longer about what the well drink specials are and “gosh, do I have enough change under my couch cushions to buy shots tonight?”

After our last cocktail, we hailed a cab and rode the mile and a half back to our place and were in bed by 10:30pm.  *sigh* God, I love being a grown-up.  It’s more expensive, but I get way more sleep…

Lushy and her mom are in town, so we all went to The Prado on Saturday for lunch with GFI and Modigli.  That is probably in my top 3 places to eat in San Diego. The architecture, the gorgeous park… the giant vats of sangria… what more could you ask for?  Normally, sangria is what I would go for, but since I’d never had a prickly pear, let alone a margarita made from one, I decided to live large.  So I had two. I would have had three, but I was too full. 

I can’t quite describe the taste… it’s tart and sweet and a wee bit sour, but not too sour. You don’t taste the liquor, really, yet you know it’s there. It’s an easy-drinkin’ cocktail, my friends.  I’m now hell-bent on making them at home.

Here’s my assessment of their recipe, based on a combo of what their menu said, your basic top-shelf, Cadillac-style margarita and the addictive experience I had with it.

Prickly Pear Margarita

• 2 parts tequila of your choice (I prefer silver tequila, personally… Hornitos or Petron, preferably, but whatever you like)
• 1 part Grand Marnier
• 1 part prickly pear juice
• 1/2 part fresh lime juice
• 1 part simple syrup

You can shake with ice and strain into a glass rimmed with salt OR, how I had it, throw it in a blender with as much ice as you like and serve it frozen. I didn’t have salt and personally, I think either a sugar/salt blend or no salt at all on the rim would be ideal.  Squeeze o’ lime. Viola!… alcoholic orgasm.

Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.

Let me give you a basic schematic of our building.  If you’re looking at it from the front, I’m on the bottom right, GFI’s on top of me, Slick is to her left and downstairs from him, Nurse New York.  So, we share walls, specifically that one main wall and ceiling/floor where all of our apartments connect.  On our side of the wall, GFI and I have our bathrooms. On the other side?  Slick and NNY have their respective bedrooms.  You can see where this is going.  Oh yeah.

Now, we never hear a peep from NNY. Once in a while I’ll hear her on the phone in her room, but usually she’s off being busy and nursey. However, Slick and his new girlfriend get downright National Geographic up in here!  National. Geographic.  It’s insane.  GFI and I have dubbed her Project X because when she and Slick go at it, it sounds like caged chimps.  Forty caged chimps.

One night on the terrace, GFI tells me that she had to brush her teeth in the kitchen because the thought that a mere 2-foot wall and a medicine cabinet was all that separated her from Slick’s grunting body was just too much to bear.  Then, the next night, I could hear them going at it from the living room.  When I went into the bathroom, it was like they were humping at the Hollywood Bowl it was so loud. 

[insert chimp screams here]

I think last week, mikey came by and he came out of the bathroom saying, “Dude. You can hear your neighbor and his girlfriend going at it.” Oh yes, I’m aware.  They seem to have no concept of time, which is fine. It’s monkeys in the morning, monkeys in the night, monkeys in the afternoon.  (And yes, I know chimps aren’t monkeys.) Hey, I’m all for sex at any time of day. Spontaneity is fabulous… don’t get me wrong, but I try to keep in mind that perhaps the entire neighborhood doesn’t want to hear the result of “my O face”, as it were. And from what I understand, I also don’t sound like a B-grade Matthew Broderick movie.

It really doesn’t bother me all that much… I think it’s pretty funny, actually. Especially now that we have a good name for her. It makes it all that much more entertaining, but I know it’s bugging GFI. Their monkey love woke her from a dead sleep the other night… that’s no good.  So I think next time we’re all out on the terrace, I’m going to warmly rib him about this new girlfriend and suggest that he move his bed to the opposite wall.  Hint, hint. Nudge. Nudge.

Now, props to Slick. He’s either really good (which is just not something I wish to consider) or she’s been watching too much porn and needs to refine her faking technique, but either way, let a girl wash her face in peace, would ya?  Sheesh!