Your kink is okay with me.

Y'all, I met the man of my dreams last night. He's the one. We hit it off. We have the same sense of humor. I was with two friends last night who are egging me on, telling me we were meant to be together. Physically speaking, I couldn't have asked for anything more perfect. He rides his bike everywhere, and when I learned that, I realized I'd met him before. I was in a bike shop here in town and we had a conversation about parking your car and never looking back. I also remembered I had a similar feeling after that conversation then. He's really great.

You can tell there's a "but" coming, can't you?

*sigh*

He's gay. With a boyfriend.

I think I have good gaydar, but I never would have known. Then again, the fact that I am so crazy about him should tell me he's gay. (Long story...I have a nasty habit of falling head over heals in love with gay men...Nothing a good therapist can't resolve.)

I give up. I now accept my fate of becoming the Crazy Cat Lady. Bring it on.

It's not the heat....

I have noticed a disturbing trend since I got home from California. Whenever I leave the cool, air conditioned comfort of my office, home, bus, whatever, for the Great Outdoors, my glasses fog up. It's so humid here, my glasses fog.

There's something wrong with this scenario, people. Something very wrong indeed.

Look Homeward, Angel, or Longest Post Ever.

My flight from SFO to RDU by way of Atlanta left at 7:30 Am on Sunday, July 7. I got up around 4:30 to shower and for last minute packing. It was about a 40 minute drive from Mountain View to SFO, but there's not much traffic on the 101 at that time. I went to the gate, got on my plane and up, up and away we went. I fell asleep at some point and woke up to the sound of our fearless Captain explaining that we may have noticed we're "in a holding pattern" above the Atlanta airport. (Foreshadowing, people.) After flying in circles for twenty minutes, we land at Gate B something. Any of my dear readers ever fly into Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta? If you've flown Delta, you have. It's five separate buildings, connected underground by a really, really long walk way and a subway. I got into ATL around 3 PM and was scheduled to leave at 5:20 PM to RDU. I'm sitting patiently at Gate A5, when there's an announcement that my flight has moved to Gate A29. Okay, fine. On my way to the new gate I stop for Chinese food because it's the only reasonably priced food in the place. I wolf it down because I am so hungry by this point I'm about to pass out.

Around 4-ish, my flight is delayed a little. About an hour later, my flight is now delayed until about 8:45. Oh, and throw in another gate change while we're at it. I am guessing I've walked about two miles at this point. The flight was delayed again until about 9:20 or so. The delays were due to storms all over the East Coast. I have called my "friend" Margaret, to let her know about the delays and she is telling me there's no problem and I should keep her updated. (More foreshadowing, people.) The flight is finally scheduled to leave at 10:15-ish after yet more delays. I call Margaret, who announces to me that she's had a tough weekend and she doesn't think she can pick me up at the airport after all. I'm scheduled to get in around 11:30, by the time I get my bags and get out of the airport, it'll be close to 12:30. How many people do you know that you can call at 10:30 on a Sunday night to pick you up in the airport in two hours. Buses don't run. Taxis are sketchy and freakishly expensive. I told her to forget it and called J&L, the two friends that I know I can always count on to support me. Margaret then leaves me a voicemail, "Oh, c'mon, don't be like that. Don't be mad. Call me." Don't be like that? Um, what did I do wrong? If I told you I'd pick you up at the airport, I will pick your ass up. If your flight gets in at 4 AM, I'm driving to the airport in my jammies to get you. I may not be talkative, but I'm coming to get you.

J&L were standing by to get me. I was getting on a plane FINALLY. All was right in the world. Until I found my seat, that is...an aisle seat thankfully, next to Jeff Foxworthy and Larry The Cable Guy. Dear Lord, kill me. The flight attendant announced there were empty seats so I moved up one, next to a Japanese woman and her adorable son. They had a brief but heated debate in Japanese about how he needed to turn off his light, put down the comic book, and go to sleep. I know this because he made one last plea, in English, "but I'm not sleepy!" Within ten minutes he was totally sacked out. We begin to take off and I realize we're just driving around. In circles. Again. Doing donuts on the runway, so to speak. Us and six other planes, according to our Captain. Fifteen minutes later, the Captain does pilot double speak for "the FAA says I have to call it a night." I must admit to be confused as to how you get ready to take off and THEN realize you've logged to many hours? How? How does this happen? They bring us back to the gate and make us wait. They announce they are going to find a new flight crew and we should sit tight. Cool, I can sit tight. I've been sitting tight since 5:30 that morning. I'm getting really good at sitting tight. By this point, I'm almost a pro.

My flight is finally cancelled around 10:45. I call J&L to let them know they can go to bed and a woman in Delta outfit gives me an overnight bag. I am then told to go to customer service to get rebooked. I find a line a mile long and stand. It is brought to my attention that some folks are going to an automated queue to get hotel assignments and new flights. Off I go. This looks innocuous since the girl on my cancelled flight just got a room in the Sheraton. My room? In the Red Roof Inn. Say whaaaa? (Snob alert) I don't *stay* at the Red Roof Inn. (If only blogger had a more condescending typeface) The machine also tells me I get $7 towards breakfast and for flight info, I have to see a Delta rep. I get back in line. A very bitchy woman in a Delta uniform comes by and barks at us to go to the 24 hour customer service desk up front because we'll be in line longer here in Terminal A. I advise her as politely as possible that there is a special place in hell reserved just for Delta and their employees and walk off to find the 24 hour desk. Please keep in mind that during all of this I was on the phone with the most patient woman from Orbitz, who was unable to get me on an earlier flight, but gave it the ol' college try anyway.

The desk I am looking for is cleverly hidden in the midst of baggage claim and has space for 24 Delta employees to serve their customers. This being a unique situation and them being Delta, they had six fresh-faced employees ready and waiting. Yay Delta! I waited in line until 1:30 in the morning to finally get to speak with someone. Her name was Eve. She was a tiny, cold hearted Irish woman more concerned with company policy than the fact that I've been wearing my bathing suit top for two days because I am so sunburned I can't wear a bra, that I have been up for 21 hours by this point, and that I've walked nearly five miles in that airport that day. My only other option for a hotel room is a smoking room in the Quality Inn. Tempting as that is, a smoking room is out of the question. Eve also informs me that I have been booked on a flight on Tuesday. Tuesday? As in two days from now? No. Oh, no. No, no. I don't think so. Eve offers me stand-by and tells me to be at the airport at 5:45 AM. She assures me that my suitcase will go out on the first flight to Raleigh and be waiting for me when I arrive. I go outside to find the shuttle for the Red Roof Inn.

Shuttles come, shuttles go. And I wait. Except I'm not waiting patiently at this point. I call the Red Roof Inn. I speak to someone who assures me that the shuttle is coming. I waited 45 minutes for the shuttle to arrive. And lo and behold, the shuttle had already come by, she just didn't let anyone know she was going to the RRI. Their logo was not on the bus. Everyone else's was. Sigh. It's now 3 AM, and I'm just arriving to the Crack Den, er....Red Roof Inn. The zombie at the desk gives me my room key and I go upstairs. I find room 231, put the card key in the lock, the light turns green, I turn the door knob and...the door is locked. From the INSIDE. As in...it's already occupied. Young black dude opens the door, releasing whiff of smoke. (Let's put it this way, the last time I smelled that kind of smoke, I was in a beat-down orange Pinto with my best punk rock pals, Sean and Eric. Ahem.) He's looking at me like I'm from Mars and I'm chanting, "I'm so sorry," while backing up.

I go down to the lobby and as I am getting off the elevator, I begin shouting, "How the hell does this happen?" She gives me another room and I go upstairs. I was seriously *cranky* by this point. I finally have a place to sleep and I realize I have to be at the airport in two hours. Groan. I set both alarms, turned on the TV and laid down for an hour. I go off to the airport at 5 AM, after one hour of sleep.

I was flying standby for the first time so I had no idea what to do or expect. I thought I had to be first in line at the gate and look most pathetic. Alas, no. I was first at Gate A something, and I stood at the desk. A line began to form behind me, mostly people on my cancelled flight from last night. I look at the TV and see there's a gate change. ATL changes gate like I change my underwear. Of course, in this case, more frequently than I change my underwear, you know, since I don't have suitcase at the moment. I say out loud, like a dumbass, "oh, they changed our gate." Suddenly there's a mad dash to gate B whatever. I am not entirely sure I can take another step, let alone run, so I trail behind and curse these people to the fiery depths of hell. When we get to the new and improved gate, the Delta person, barks that we just need to have a seat. (Ha, ha. Joke's on them.) I sit for a few minutes and realize I am starving because I hadn't eaten since 3 PM the previous day. I hit the Dunkin' with my complimentary $7 and my breakfast costs me a whopping fifteen cents. OJ and an egg bagel in my tummy makes me feel so much better. Thinking clearly, I hit the customer service desk and finally get to speak to Robert. Robert was very nice. While in line, I concoct a story to lay on Robert. I tell him that I really can't wait until Tuesday to get home. I also tell him that I just don't feel good because I'm pregnant and I only got one hour of sleep the night before. Oh yeah, and I was supposed to see the doctor today but I had to reschedule for tomorrow because it's a really important appointment, etc. You can see where this is going, right? Robert being the dear man that he is found me a seat on the 9:55 flight. I love that guy. My next challenge is that I have to stay awake so as to not miss that flight.

I kept my eyes open and finally borded a plane that actually took off. I arrived in Raleigh just before noon on Monday and advised my boss I was most decidely NOT coming in. I got home around 1 PM.

I have never before been so happy to be in Raleigh.

The city called The Cats.

My trip to the San Francisco Bay area was great. I didn't do a whole lot, which was the goal. My BFF lives out there with her boyfriend. They just bought a house in Mountain View. With a pool. Seriously, they're livin' it up, California style. If I had to live in a suburban, small town, Mountain View would be it. It's so pretty, great restaurants, cute shops. It's also very flat, which is nice for bike riding. I ended up as Contractor Wrangler for them while they were having the bottom of the pool refinished. The results were awesome. And the resulting pool party was fun.

I got to see Lil Brotha also. He just started a new job out there at a fancy pants restaurant called Manresa. I was lucky enough to eat dinner there. They have two Michelin stars and three Mobil diamonds...the kid's gone big time. How good was it? Words fail me. We were a party of four and had the tasting menu, mine was vegetarian. It started with a red pepper gelee and a black olive Madelaine. The gelee was like a big gum drop, a little spicy. We then had the strawberry gazpacho, which was not sweet. Next I had a pickled turnip "sashimi" with seaweed ice and theirs was amberjack sashimi. I had a Parmesan churro, which was amazing, while they had a fois gras soup. Up next was The Egg. The Arpege Egg, a lightly poached egg yolk layered with chives, maple syrup, creme fraiche, and sherry vinegar. Seriously, y'all, they could have served me a dozen of those and called it a night. It's served in its shell, which I nearly punctured making sure I extracted all of the Arpege molecules out of it before they took it away. And now I have a recipe. Yee haw!

Now this is the point where what I had and in what order I had it become fuzzy. We had maybe eleven courses all together...all with wine. I think the next course was the "Into the garden" salad, which my brother and I affectionately dubbed "The Tweezer Plate." This was his first chance at cooking with the big kids. This plate is a bunch of vegetables you've never seen before lovingly placed just so over and under some kind of foamy stuff. It was not at all what I expected, but darn tasty. I had a warm soup of cepes mushrooms in a creamy porcini veloute. If I couldn't have had just a dozen of the eggs for dinner, I'd have liked a dozen of these. The best part of this was the presentation. The waiter brought me a bowl with a few of the cepes rolling around and he poured the broth from a tiny Japanese tea ceremony teapot. The dish was divine! I had a dish of roasted potatoes with a red pepper sauce and some creamy sauce I couldn't recognize. This would have been great under it's own circumstances, but next to the superstars like the porcini veloute and the egg, it was merely good. I has a dish with morrells, the tiniest squash blossoms and something else, in lots of butter. It was so good. I had a curried vegetable thing, also good. They had the same thing, but with lamb. I told my brother that I liked it but felt like there was something missing, to which he responded, "yeah, the meat." We has the Gold Dust Peach and basil salad, mine was sans soft shell crab.

The desserts were sublime. The first one was a Napoleon with chocolate, blackberries and cucumber. (You heard me. Cucumber.) For me, blackberries can be a little had to eat because they are usually so tart, but the cukes toned it down. There was a nectarine dessert with sliced fruit, a sorbet and lots of basil. That was good. Manresa ends your dinner the same way they start. We ended with a strawberry gelee and a chocolate Madelaine. During our mint tea, the waiter brought us a house made amaranth truffle. He later escorted us out the door with a giant bowl of house made sea salt caramels.

I know I am leaving something out, but hey, sue me. Towards the end of the meal, I had several wine glasses in front of me. I mean, c'mon, even if I'm having 12 half glasses of wine with dinner, that's enough to make me feel no pain. All in all, the experience at Manresa was better than I thought it would be. And I had high expectations going in. We sat down to dinner at 8:30 and were leaving at 12:30, well after my brother left the kitchen. This dinner was definitely a once in a lifetime experience and the highlight of my trip. If you find yourself in Los Gatos, California, hungry, and with an extra $300 in your wallet, you have to go. I can't adequately describe this meal. There were vegetables I've never seen, tastes I've never tasted, etc. I have never been to a restaurant before where all I told the waited was that I was vegetarian and that dairy was okay. I was not disappointed.

A few days before, Lil Brotha and I went to Los Gatos to walk around. It's really cute and completely loaded. How can I put this? There's enough money in Los Gatos that there is a Lamborghini dealership down the street from the Bentley dealership which is across the street from the Rolls Royce dealership. The Bently dealer was selling Lotuses and Aston Martins too. Not one of them looks like they are hurting for business. When we first parked the car and started to walk, I saw a red Lamborghini (I think) and started to walk over to it to look. My brother said, "We're not going to get very far if you stop at everyone of those." He was right. These cars are to Los Gatos like SUVs are to Raleigh. It's nuts.

I went to San Fran a couple times. On my second trip, I went to Britex. (WARNING: Only Rae may be interested in reading this part) It is a four story fabric store in Union Square. It is just walls and walls of fabric, with giant tables of fabric in between. It was almost overwhelming. I gave up when I finally found a fabric I loved. It was $50 a yard, Liberty of London. I should have known. There was an older man there with a younger man. The younger man was wearing very nice dress pants, a very crisp white button down shirt and a dapper vest presumably from a three piece suit. He had a tape measure peeking out of his pocket and an Italian accent. This guys was so incredibly sexy, it was all I could do to not stare at him. He was the older guy's tailor and they were picking out fabric for him. It's that kind of store. Overall, their fabrics were reasonably priced. I kill to have this be my local fabric store. The button section took up practically the front half of one floor. This place was unbelievable.

The trip was really good. The trip home was a disaster. I will save that for later this afternoon. The local homeless guys woke me up at 6 AM this morning. I think I'm going back to bed now.

I left my heart in San Francisco!

Y'all....I am seriously tired. I'll type up an extra long post this weekend detailing my trip to the San Fran Bay Area and my subsequent trip home.

Here are a few highlights:

1. I had the Best Dinner Ever (tm). (Oooh, that poached egg...)

2. My brother lives in a pink house in the Hispanic hood.

3. I found The Perfect Swimsuit (tm).

4. My sunburned skin is now peeling.

5. A stroke of seriously bad luck led to my first and last stay at a Red Roof Inn. Terrifying.

6. I have no doubt that I walked 10 miles in the Atlanta airport over the course of two days. When I die and go to hell, it's not going to be all fire and brimstome. Nope. It's going to be Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. Or Nieman-Marcus. I haven't decided yet.

7. I found The Best Fabric Store Ever (tm). Seriously.

All of this and more when you tune in next time! Of course this will all have to wait until I see the new Hellboy movie on Saturday morning.

In the immortal words of James Todd Smith III

Going back to Cali, stylin, profilin
Growlin, and smilin, while in the sun
The top is down, on the black Corvette
And it's fly

I'll be back on July 6! Later y'all!

Welcome to North Cackalacky!

I came across this story today in the News and Observer, our local rag. It just makes me sad on so many levels.

The City. My The City.

Kiplinger just voted Raleigh Number Two out of the Ten Best Cities to Live, Work and Play. When one of my coworkers mentioned it in the office, nearly everyone replied, "have they been to Raleigh?" At least I can say we're better than Fayetteville, Arkansas and Boise, Idaho. Yay, City of Oaks!

Read about it here.

It was a dark and stormy night...

I left work a little late today so I got to ride with Sam. He was telling me that I-40 was shut down because Bush was in town and that if I took the 105, it would take forever and a day to get home. He was going over different routes with me and suggested I could take the 201 to North Raleigh then take City Kitty Number 1 home. For all of you playing along at home, the 201 is Bob's bus. Creepy Bob.I asked Sam if he would be on the bus. He confirmed that would not be. He then confirmed that he is also creeped out by Bob. We continued to talk about him. Sam told me he knows people who work for the EPA who ride the bus who have told him that Bob also works for the EPA. What does he do for the EPA, you ask? Let me tell you. He performs autopsies. On rats. *shudder* Sam even made the joke that Bob is probably carrying around dead rats in his tote bags. *double shudder* What terrifies me even more is that means he's actually educated. Well educated. Suddenly being a mad scientist doesn't seem so cool any more.

The president was in town today. He was helping Pat McCrory, our Republican gubernatorial candidate. The head line on wral.com was "McCrory campaign banking on unpopular president." I can guarantee that he is way more unpopular this evening after shutting down rush hour traffic in RTP today. I don't mean traffic was slow, detoured, etc. I mean, everyone had to stop. Period. On the way home, one intersection is under construction. It's the intersection of Davis and 54. It's one of the most important intersections in the park. It leads to IBM, Nortell, Fidelity, and the TTA Transfer Center, to name a few. Traffic was being directed by a guy who looked like Wilford Brimley and that on his best day couldn't earn a GED. We sat in that intersection for 10 minutes. We finally get going and I-40 is at a standstill. The westbound side was empty. About dozen cops on bikes went flying by and then came the presidential motorcade. Two limos with flags, two ambulances, and twenty state troopers. I knew I shouldn't have left my TEC-9 at home, yo. I can understand that bedlam would ensue if that self-serving, misogynistic, megalomaniacal bigot were tragically off-ed this afternoon, but does Raleigh, Durham, Morrisville, Cary and Research Triangle Park need to stop what they are doing so he can come and go from the airport? I'd even be so bold as to suggest that a half a million people were standing around this evening so he could get to the airport. You know, I have to go to the airport on Wednesday around the same time. I wonder if I could get the same kind of love?

If you need me, I'll be in the woods typing my manifesto.

The sweet, young girl who works at the Armadillo complimented me on my new hairdo this evening. I want to keep it a surprise for my Cali homies, but I will say this...

Math is hard. Let's go shopping.

Where do I even begin?

The Red Headed Stranger has been going out of his way to say hello and goodbye to me recently. This afternoon, he got off the bus and turned around and waived at me through the window. Seriously he's totally cute. Even if he pulls his white crew socks all the way up. Sigh. That's right. White, ribbed crew socks. Pulled up as far as they go. But it's not in that ironic hipster sort of way. It's really sincere in that way that makes me think he still wears tighty-whiteys.

The 105 is still packed. Yesterday, I had to share a seat with this woman who also rides the bus everyday. She's older, super curly grey hair and extremely long legs. She's really nice and lives a few blocks down from my old apartment. We would see each other on the bus all the time, but never really spoke. She and I talked the whole way home yesterday. She's really nice and it seems like we have some things in common. We were sharing stories about weird stuff on the bus. She told me about this time that the regular riders of the 105 threw a baby shower on the bus for another regular rider. They had balloons, presents, the whole magilla. We also talked about crazies on the bus. I started to tell her about this guy who rides the 201. Before I could go any further, she said she knew who I was talking about. And she did. Turns out Bob is universally creepy. On a recent 100 degree Sunday when the bus wasn't running, I made the decision to suck it up and get one of those wire carts that old ladies use to schlep groceries. I was carrying two bags that were heavy enough to bruise my shoulders a little. (Okay, I bruise like a peach, but still they were damn heavy.) I hadn't gotten around to getting one and now I'm glad I didn't. Bob was at the Transfer Center in his full insane glory with a red wire cart full of overstuffed tote bags. I think this is proof that he can read my mind. Excuse me, I have to go make a tin foil hat.

I had to sit in the sideways seats this afternoon. I set my bag on the seat to do something and stood up all the way and whacked my head on the luggage rack. Now, those of you who know me in real life know I'm not tall enough to hit my head on anything!

The 105 was good blogariffic fun today. It started with Funquita not being able to close the backdoor near NC State. Instead of getting up and fixing it herself, she asks Cross Eyed Mary to do it. (Last week when the bus broke down by the "Veterns School" she handed the reflective orange triangles to passengers to have them put them out on the road. She's classy like that.) Mary couldn't work the door, as to be expected since she is not a licensed transit operator but rather a pee handler at LabCorp. Funquita finally gets up and fiddles with the door. This takes about five minutes. She then gets on the loud speaker and tells everyone to use the front door. At the next stop, on the other side of the university library, a woman screams in the back of the bus. Funquita turns around to see what's up. The woman says the guy with her just hit her. Funquita tells her that's not funny, she should be screaming while she driving, etc, etc, and so on. Suddenly this escalates into an episode of Jerry Springer. The girl in the back of the bus starts screaming at the top of her lungs. Seriously, it was frightening. She startes yelling about how she "got bit." (Someone in the back of the bus bit her?) Suddenly she's bit her lip because Funquita allegedly slammed on the brakes. Nope. She didn't. I am in no way her cheerleader, but Funky handled her business, albeit in a slightly ghetto way. This girl starts screaming that she's trying to get paid and that she got hurt because of a bus accident. Funky asks everyone in front if they heard this girl say she's trying to get paid. We all said yes. Funquita asked her like 15 times if she needed medical attention. Finally she said not right now. These two were going at it like one was messin' with the other's man. She offer to show her the bleeding lip. Funquita declined. Funky then got on the bus radio and said she'd call the dispatcher on a land line. She asked the passengers if they had a cell phone she could use. One of the passengers up front told her she was driving just fine and gave her their phone. She stepped out to call the dispatcher at the same time I decided I'd had enough. We were only six blocks from my apartment and one block from the Indian restaurant inside the Fast Fare. I got off the bus, picked up the veggie thaali platter and caught the next bus home. The Indian food was good by the way. The older lady cooking threw in an extra portion for me. It was awesome, something spicy with a ton of veggies.

There's a new guy at the Chargrill bus stop in the mornings. I call him Dr. Wow. He's an older, completely nondescript white guy. He's always wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants in monochromatic colors a few shades off of oatmeal. He has an NCSU id card and heads over near the forestry stuff on Blue Ridge. At least I think it's a forestry thing there. There is nothing remarkable about him except that he's had a World of Warcraft book every morning. He's been studying it like he's got a final exam coming up. Two days ago he was reading it upside down. Now, I'm not a WOW geek, but it seems unlikely that you'd read it upside down. He also stands in the line of sight of the approaching bus, which annoys me.

I was also ambushed by The Other Amy this morning. I was sitting in the back, knitting and she took the seat in front of me. She commented that my baby blanket was coming along or something like that. We ended up talking for a bit. She's not crafty. That's okay. She's still nice girl.