Fair warning

It is not unusual for me to pass random furniture that has been left on the street in the Haight. In fact, my friend Theo and I used to call it the Almost Furniture Collection--a chair with no seat, a chest with only two of its four drawers, a table with just three legs, things like that.

Today out by some trash cans, I saw one of those backless chairs you're supposed to kneel on at your desk. Do you remember those? On it was taped a handwritten note. I assumed it would say "Free," as is usually the case with abandoned items, but it said, "This is not that comfortable. Thank you."

I think the "thank you" was my favorite part.

Thank you, internet

One of the downsides of swimming is that I now frequently smell like chlorine and consequently make myself sneeze, which is kind of funny at first, but not for long. Today I thought I'd consult Google.

"Get rid of chlorine smell after swimming."

The good news is that many people are trying to deal with this same issue; the bad news is that there doesn't seem to be much to do about it.

Two of the more memorable responses:

1. Don't swim in a pool! No matter where you work, you're close to a canal or a lake.

2. Why would you want to? Is it that annoying? I'm only asking because sometimes a very light smell of chlorine can smell amazing on a woman.

My feelings:

1. I'm pretty sure there is neither a canal nor a lake anywhere near the Haight.

2. No matter what random issue you're dealing with (e.g. cleft palate, ingrown toenails, extraneous and/or missing limbs), there is guy somewhere who thinks it's hot. That's an absolute guarantee.

I only had to ask

It's come to this. I am posting something cheerful from Facebook. That's right, Facebook, you win again.

A few days ago, I posted something about the fact that there are no forks whatsoever in the kitchen at work. And then something marvelous happened. Voila.

Tracking

I have been feeling quite pleased with myself as regards the gym, which is to say that sometimes I actually go there. If nothing else, it gives me the chance to do an anthropological study of the locker room.

Here's what it isn't: sexy. Here's what it is: fascinating.

Really, it's a dissertation just waiting to be written.

Oh. I am also exercising. For real. I smell like chlorine, so I can prove it. Just now, feeling quite smug about my new fitness-forward self, I looked at the gym's online attendance tracker. In July, apparently, I went 5 times. Five. In a month.

Oh.

Oops.

On the bright side, it also says I've been 4 times in August and it's only the 9th. There may yet be hope for me.

Fortunately, there is no tracker for how many episodes of Mad Men I've watched in a week.

Story time (Part 4)

More unflattering photos! Yay! I thought I was wearing a great deal more makeup than I apparently am. Note: If you are going to the Elbo Room, ladle it on, ladies.

This is from October 2010, the LitQuake edition of the Literary Death Match. I was robbed! Robbed, I tell you! of the title by Jason Bayani who looks, it has to be admitted, pretty cute in his crown.













(please note how enthralled Jane Smiley is behind me. Sweet.)



And here I am indicating to this scary man, that he'd better not shoot me with a huge water gun, because I'm totally going to be finished by the 10-minute limit.








All photos by TJ Faust. The full set is here.