1 May 2002

Remember how I was talking about my feet getting blistered? Well. C.J. decided that something needed to be done about this. And soon. So we looked up R.E.I. in the phone book. I saw that it was on Fremont Blvd. in Fremont. "No problem," says I. So we went driving down Fremont Blvd, tra la la. Got to the signs for Irvington. Hmm. I thought to myself, and said to Ceej, "It didn't say Irvington. It said Fremont." So we turned around and drove all the way back north up Fremont Blvd. No R.E.I. Hmm. So we went home, got some food, looked in the phone book, and found the address. The street number was considerably higher than where we'd turned back in Irvington. Oops. So. Off we went again. And drove and drove, and drove, and drove, and finally (down by Auto Mall Parkway, so we could have gone to Fry's and gotten new monitors for Mark and Timprov if we'd had the time and knew what they wanted) got to R.E.I. (Sadly, this was a theme for the day. Not R.E.I. The oops and driving driving driving.) Where a friendly saleslady gave us the names of her favorite dim sum places, and also helped me find boots. Boots! I haven't had real hiking boots...er, ever. I haven't had new pseudo-hiking boots in ages. And C.J. had many opinions and pieces of advice and got me boots that feel really awesome on my feet and also make me feel like Godzilla. Rraaaahhh! I can destroy Tokyo with my boots! Rrraahhhh! (I actually have been saying, "Rrrraaaahhh!" and "Take that, Tokyo!" and other such things as I break them in around the house. It's not just a journal thing. It's been ages since I had shoes anywhere near this big.) And the socks. Good heavens, the socks. Smart wool is our friend.

So we headed into the City, took a drive around, and met Mark at House of Nanking. When we were walking to the car, planning to head for the Great Overland Trading Bookstore Company, I got into my journal to pull out the bookmark with the address.

...which was at home on the kitchen table. But I remembered that the guy in the Sausalito shop had said Lombard St., so tallyho, off we went. Drove up and down and up and down Lombard St. And up. And also down. Ahhh, San Francisco. Finally, I decided that we should stop in a gas station and use their facilities, which included a phone book, most notably. So we discovered that Lombard St. has nothing at all to do with this bookstore, as it is on Webster and Union. Oops. So we started off again, with notably more success.

And we got parked and got there just as the guy was locking up. Drat, drat, drat. So now I have to a) call them and make sure they'll still hold the book for me and b) figure out when I'm willing to brave the City again. I have driven, lo, these many miles. I am just about sick unto death of driving. And I have a few things to catch up on. But this book sounds just about perfect...well, we'll see.

I dropped Ceej off at the airport just a minute ago. It was absolutely awful to see him go. Oddly enough, 880 was a dream. So. I'm heading out to see David, now that he's returned from the Caribbean and I don't have company. And I'm paying the rent and working and cropping pictures and stomping around in my new boots. But not as exuberantly as I did this morning.

No more C.J. (For awhile at least.) Sad Godzilla me.