Bakesale Betty's.. again

On my second BSB visit, two amusing happenings: As I've mentioned, I dabble in the world of lingerie. I am working my way towards certification as a fit specialist. The other day a girl stopped in at our department and I spent some quality time with her. For those of you who have never been properly fitted for a bra, this means shirt off, I get to second base, and I find you the bras you need. I have already developed an awkward habit of staring at strangers' breasts and guessing measurements. Now, I'm sure this is going to start happening on the regular, but it was mildly uncomfortable when I bumped into this girl at BSB's. "Uh..  hi. I'm Nora. We met yesterday.. how are you..?" Bless her soul, she was friendly, we exchanged pleasantries, and we both went on our merry ways. I hope she's happy with my recommendations.

Part deux: Oh my word. BSB has a to-die-for strawberry shortcake that I can fall asleep face-first in. Diana, Romy, and I each picked up a fried chicken sandwich with a strawberry shortcake to share. Minutes after we sit down to our sandwiches, Father Christmas (aka, Derrick?) walks up to the row of outdoor ironing board tables (this place is awesome) and hands out strawberry shortcakes like they're condoms at a Pride Parade! (This weekend, can't wait! I love this city!) We went from sharing one shortcake to having four. What a day, what a meal.

Public Asian Announcement

I was all smiley this morning because on my way to work, three different people offered to give up their seats to strangers on the bus ride. This, in comparison to South Korean middle-aged men pushing me out of the way to get onto the bus first, was a very welcome change. Oh, San Francisco, how many ways do I love thee?

However, I would like to send out a general message. As you all know, I am vertically-challenged at the very Asian stature of 5'2". Ok, 5'1.5", but who's counting? As such, I do not enter into the sightline of most people above 5'7" (give or take). Please, look around you. Make sure you aren't trampling an Asian person. We, too, have personal space bubbles. And when you're gripping the handrail on the bus and your armpit just so happens to be face-level with us, it's very awkward--particularly on crowded morning commutes with lots of jostling and braking.

Thank you.

I'm with Coco

Hi, I'm NoRa from NoPa

Checklist:
Job: check
Fabulous apartment: check
Gorgeous kitchen: check--it's pretty awesome
Sunday brunch accessories (puppy and a crossword): crossword, check; puppy, might take awhile. for now i'll go with a plant
Vespa: i need to reassess this one. i can barely climb these hills on 4 wheels, let alone 2. 

Things have been moving along for this NKOTB. I was initiated into my first Bay to Breakers, have gained a few pounds at some great coffee shops and eateries (Ritual Coffee, Four Barrel, Chez Panisse (SO GOOD!!!), Bakesale Betty's, The Cheeseboard, Wally's, Café Aquarius), and I've successfully prolonged my SF stay for at least 5 more months. What can I say? Apparently I live my life in 5-month increments.

Job sitch: Unfortunately I don't yet have my dream job. However, I have a job. I bless the rains down in South San Francisco. FYI, if you are in need of lingerie, I'm your woman.

Apartment: Craigslist has done me well this time around. I found myself a little haven in NoPa, home of the Full House houses (aka Painted Ladies), indie bands at the Independent, and MOI! The original plan was to get a little shoebox studio to myself and live in isolation. However, no big job, no big money, no big (little) apartment. Oh well, punches, I'm rolling. I'm sharing the 2-level 4 bed/2ba house with some très cool people. There's even a little nook for guests! (You know who you are, you all better start looking for flights!)

Did I mention I'm happy? Very.

Please keep me accountable.

Such a double-edged sword, this technology. More often than not, yes, technology is great. But the little things, the heated debates over the names of the last five Secretaries of State*, Pam Anderson's cup size** (this actually came up at dinner last night), or just exactly how to spell and pronounce the name of that pesky Icelandic volcano***. Mysteries in life are solved with the flash of an iPhone. Debate is healthy, fun! This generation is going to lose the ability to reach back into the recesses of our brains where 9th grade social studies is tucked away, and recall actual facts shoved in there. We're going to have hearing problems from the earbuds constantly shoved into our heads, carpal tunnel from the excessive amount of texting, and lose all concept of social interaction. Jane Austen would be appalled.

Here's my other problem with technology and this overly connected world via cell phones and the Internet: Stalking. That nasty little habit of Googling his or her name as soon as you find out a detail, any detail about a person. You don't even need a last name anymore, Good Lord. Stop Googling, people! Savor those first few dates and relish in the get-to-know-you moments before friending him on Facebook reveals that Charlie belongs to a Twilight fan club. And I hate deciphering text messages and im's, and having to ask my girlfriends what he really means by this, and it's been 3 hours, why hasn't he responded--was my last message too clingy?? Ugh.

From this point forward, I will NOT preemptively stalk a person so that I can get to know them the old-fashioned way. I can't promise not to go crazy over misinterpreted texts and ims--I need a little fuel to fire my neuroses. But the stalking, I will really make an effort. No más, lo prometo.



*H. Clinton, C. Rice, C. Powell, M. Albright, W. Christopher. Yes, I had to look up Warren Christopher.
**We aren't sure whether this is pre or post latest boob job, but reports say DD.
***Eyjafjallajokull: "AY-yah-fyah-lah-YOH-kuul"

I see the future, and this is what it looks like.

In order of priorities:

 (a job, not a man)

 Slideshow 

 Slideshow

+ = Sunday morning

Sorry for the slacking

I've been mia, I'm sorry. Korea flew by in a swirl of bbq, tutoring sessions, and family visits. I loved it. I got to know family from both sides, met some great people, and ate enough to last me for the next two winters. I hope it won't take another ten years to get back.

Since I've been in the US, I've been roaming around the East Coast (SF-DC-Richmond-Chapel Hill-DC-NY-Philly-DC-SF) reuniting with people I haven't seen from months to years. One of the greatest and worst things about traveling is making friends all over the place--I have no idea when I'll see some people again in my life. But I was lucky enough to see a ton of my favorite people in a short amount of time. I still need to make a trip to LA, Chicago, and Boston. I could really use a job right now to help in the finance department.

In life news, I inhabit a couch in my sister's living room in Oakland. My belongings are scattered in SF, Chicago, 2 places in Boston, and 3 places in DC. I am applying to jobs all over the world. If you need a live-in maid/nanny/dog-walker/cook/personal shopper/fashion adviser/on-call designated driver/whatever else, call me.

On the last leg of this East Coast adventure, I went on a little road trip with Catherine D. Fellow hater/judger, co-blogger (we have multiple others, but we don't bother writing anything in them; we just reserve the url because we're selfish), eater of too much food in comparison to body size, and driver of one awesome Mini Cooper. Together, she and I talk about nonsensical tomfoolery. We were laughing so hard during the drive from DC-NY that I started writing things down.

Native-American = nutmeg
Hybrids are 99/100 times gorgeous. Every once in a blue moon you see a not-so-gorgeous hybrid and you think to yourself, "damn homie, you got shafted." Now, in the 99%, there are some who are especially gorgeous. Why? Native-American blood. Benjamin Bratt, Heather Locklear, Elvis, Jessica Biel. Johnny Depp. I rest my case.

What makes a Béchamel extra special? That little something in the background that you can't quite guess but you know something is there? Nutmeg.

Drunk + dancing ≠ classy
Wedding season is upon us. As bridesmaids, we are responsible for such events as bridal showers, coaxing bridezillas off ledges because the invitations were done in cream and not eggshell, bachelorette parties, etc. Now, when a bride says she wants a "classy" bachelorette party, and then turns around to say she wants to hold it at (insert ghetto club name--think "18 and over" which means 16-year old girls with 40-year old men watching on the sidelines), your duty is to intervene. Classy dancing means foxtrot, not shaking your goodies.

Advanced white girl = intermediate black kid
You remember Missy Elliot's Gossip Folks with the cute little white girl? Well, I'm sorry, white girl. Yes, you are pretty good. But black kids are still going to be better than you.

Merriam-Webster, listen up
If "truthiness" is a word, "conversate" is definitely a word.

D'Angelo
Ladies, you don't know how the song goes, do you? But you know you have that music video filed in your brain under D-D-D-A-M-N he FOINE. "How does it feel" is practically the only thing he says. But as Catherine pointed out, it doesn't matter. "Don't you want him to ask you??"

We were right around Philly at the time. And because we were both so distracted by replaying the music video in our heads while listening to the song, we missed the right exit, got stuck at the Philly airport and had to circle back a few times to get back on the road to NY. Oh, D'Angelo, we miss you. Come back.

Car-eoke
Catherine has some bomb playlists, including "Car-eoke." FYI, of all the Disney tunes, Under the Sea is HARD to SING.