When one purchases a new home – something I know about since I have done this twice in my 30 years – one gets the pleasure/stress of furnishing said new home. My awesome house in Atlanta, while darling, was challenging in its layout – I spent WEEKS trying to figure out how to make the living room fit with a fireplace and four doors. (I kid you not.) Yet in the battle of Aubrey vs. Home Furnishings, I remain victorious.

Upon moving to San Francisco, I sold probably about 2/3 of my stuff. My clothes. My televisions. My (sigh) new furniture. An entire bedroom set. A blow-up pool where Lila first learned that she loved the water. (Oh, the memories.) And so I descended upon the City by the Bay with too many warm-weather clothing, a loveseat and overstuffed chair, and a bedroom set. (Oh, and many, MANY kitchen gadgets. Ironic since I don’t cook.) Since then, I’ve been downsizing again and again, trying to fit the things I had into increasingly smaller spaces. To call this a challenge in spatial perception would be like saying that Mike Tyson is a little testy at times.

And yet I’m again faced with the pleasures/stress of furnishing my apartment – my roommate is moving out, and I get to have an office for the first time in, um, four years! FOUR YEARS! AN OFFICE! Seriously, my elation is exuberant! I can’t yet afford to buy a place here in San Francisco (who can!?) so in the meantime, I’m turning my cute apartment into a CUTER apartment, replete with new furnishings and decor. Just call me Martha Stewart (minus that whole insider trading thing.) So, the painters are coming for an estimate on Thursday, the carpet cleaners will be there first thing Saturday morning, and I’m now trolling Crate & Barrel and Pottery Barn to figure out just what I need (and how to separate that from what I *WANT*. The distinction is getting tricky.) I’ve decided to utilize their registry lists to keep track of the things I’m thinking about – creating a fake "Housewarming Party" for July –  and again, I gravitated towards the helpful kitchen gadgets that I don’t need (yet that I *DO* have space for. HURRAH!) Nothing like creating a registry with no co-registrant to make you feel very Carrie Bradshaw-esque.*

Want a sneak peek into what I’m thinking WITHOUT having to go to the registries? Here’s a hint of things to come:

Only there’s only one desk, it’s not that well lit, and about 1/4 in size. And those framed pictures of children actually contain mon menagerie.

Nothing screams "Single" like a one-person registry for a fake party and pictures of your cats on the wall.

*Remember when she’s so pissed at everyone getting married and having babies that she registers herself at Manolo? Yeah. That’s me. Except high heels hurt my feet and I’d MUCH prefer matching chip & dip bowls in festive colors.

My friend Ginger pointed this out on Facebook, and OMFG I don’t know when I’ve wanted something so badly in my life. Except for Matthew McConaughey back in the early 2000’s and Michael Vartan, um, now. But this, THIS, my friends, is attainable! I mean, sort of. Like, if I sold my car. And then my Vespa. And got another roommate. And made Lila become a street performer for cash. And generally stopped eating.

But who needs EATING when you have PICNIC CHAIRS INCLUDED? They’re perfect for consuming things…you know, free things. Like water!

Anyone out there want to escape the daily grind, and ride off into the sunset with me in this? Anyone? Anyone?

Today marks the first day of an experiment: I’ve set forth to do The Master Cleanse. Yes, that’s right, for the next 10 days I will be subsisting on a "Lemonade" mixture, replete with Cayenne Pepper. No food. No drinks other than this, water, and mint tea.  And no, I haven’t lost my mind; I’ve wanted to do this for a few years so figured it fit in well with my Detox Month (aka, July, in which I’d already committed to no alcohol until BlogHer.)

Lofty goal, I know it. I’m interested to see how I do.

The book (and testimonials from friends who have done this) say that days 2, 3 and 7 are the hardest; the book also says that most people aren’t hungry. So far, so good (though around lunchtime when everyone was doing something, I found myself sitting here and printing out photos on my ‘lunch hour.’ Exciting, I know.) I think I’m going to hit the gym across the street as a daily distraction; I’m overdue to begin my running program.

Anyway, that’s that. I’ll keep ya posted (sans gory details) on my progress, but Internets, wish me luck. You KNOW how much I love food.

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Snoozing (Black & White), originally uploaded by Aubs.

July is a big month for me; and by ‘big’ I actually mean ‘quiet’. I realized that it’s been a year, almost to the day, that I started this crazy experiment called “my never-ending social life” and while it’s been everything I’ve never expected (and more), it’s due time for a break. Time to rejuvenate. Relax. Spend some alone time.

And so, three days in, I’ve enjoyed some nights off. I’ve gotten to bed early (not that I didn’t do that before; we all know that 9:30 really IS my bedtime when I’m not out) and gotten to bed totally sober. Yes, July is also the month of detox in the Land of Aubrey, where I’m giving my poor body a much-needed break from all the awesomeness (and tasty wine)! In fact, I joined a winery on the last day of June to celebrate this; waiting until the month ends to enjoy my new treat will be all-the-more special. On Thursday I’m even starting my biggest challenge yet – more to come later on that.

But in the meantime, greetings from my comfy bed, where Lila has already decided to retire for the night, barely humoring me while I tried out my new camera. We both wish you a fantastic Independence Day, and hope that you’re doing exactly what you want, whatever that is, even if it’s an early bedtime on a non-school night (as it is for me.)

Happy Fourth of July!

For once, I want to do all the things that you’re not supposed to do. You know, be the girl. THE GIRL. The "crazy" girl that says all of those things that is on her mind, leaving the boy standing there, flabbergasted, shaking is head and thinking: "That bitch is CUH-RAAZZY".

Yeah. I’m kind of wanting to be that girl.

Now, should this come as a shock to you males, all girls have the potential to be That Girl. We just have this filter that prevents us from crossing the line into crazydom (or at least, you HOPE we do; not all girls possess this naturally) and we have lovely lady friends that take us by the arm (metaphorically or, at times, in actuality) and stop us from descending into the depths of hormonal hell.

But every now and again (read: once every few years) I just want to give a big middle finger to society and tradition and propriety and let it all hang out, at least in terms of my emotional baggage. I want to call up those guys I no longer date and ask them what they found to be wrong with me. I want to post an on-going list in a public place on what my thoughts on THEM are, letting the universe know about that one time? Remember, that one time when we…or the other time when he…and don’t forget about that shocking occasion when…yeah. I feel like offering full disclosure about everything and getting it in return.

Specifically, today I’d like to know ‘why’ about a whole number of things that just don’t make sense. I’d like to know what happened to you. I’d like everyone to know that I’m not ok about it, that it’s just not fair, that I think I’ve gotten the raw end of the deal. I’d love to scream from rooftops about the hypocrisy of it all and the triteness and the injustice and the fact that I’m sick and tired of feeling like my hands are tied by how I’m supposed to act and what I’m supposed to say and, more appropriately, what I’m NOT supposed to say. In college, I instituted a "Brutally Honest Aubrey Day" where I gave myself free reign to say what I felt (within reason); today, I’d like to take away that caveat and be forthright with my incomprehension, my shock, my anger, my false sense of entitlement.

In short, I’d like to be that girl.

It sounds so easy. Sounds like it would be so cathartic, so freeing.

But I know better, I know NOT to be that girl, I know the repercussions of it all.

So instead, I’m going to spend a quiet evening with those whom I love, have a great day tomorrow getting some of this frustration out by taking a hike, and return to the societally-acceptable land of propriety, and just keep my mouth shut.

Happy Fourth of July, everyone.

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Off I go!, originally uploaded by Aubs.

I’ve been lax in posting some pics of my darlin’ lil’ Vespa (who I just realized doesn’t have a name, except of course “Ok, it’s NOT a motorcycle, it’s a SCOOTER” which gets said repeatedly around all my REAL motorcycle-driving friends). Here I am picking it up on a windy summer day outside Willo’s house, where it served me well as transportation to swap for my Saab-alamobile.

Long story, no time, but enjoy. A few other more pics available on Flickr too.

Words ARE so delicious. Unfortunately, words are very difficult for me today. (Actually, other things are equally difficult…breathing, sitting, standing, functioning, existing, to name a few. Damned "Best of SF" party last night and its open bar…) But I reiterate my initial statement: Words are so delicious. And awesome Willo had me model this for her rawktastic new line of clothing – what? You haven’t been there yet? What are you waiting for, silly?! Go now! Buy Tees! And generally join the ranks of the awesome folks.

That is all.

"You left Google? What were you THINKING?"

Welcome to my daily conversations with, well, anyone who knows I left the Goog. I’m half tempted to print out the post that I wrote explaining this all and hand it out to these inappropriately nosy folks (the next question is usually "Were you fully vested?") but instead, I simply answer: "It was time."

And it was.

Kevin Delaney at The Wall Street Journal wrote a well-researched, unbiased piece on this, that – should you still have questions about my decision to leave – should help in your search for reason. Read it. It’s great.

Seriously. Read it.

Let me be the first to admit that I make mistakes. Not just on a one-off basis, per se, more like a daily stream of snafus that, woven together, compiles my life. While not particularly clumsy in actions, I’m quite clumsy in my interactions, namely, sometimes I need to just simmer down and shut up. (For those who didn’t get the memo, it’s apparently Self-Deprecating Monday.)

Anyway, given that I’m snafu-tastic, I also have found that I need to apologize for saying what I said or doing what I did. Namely, if I messed up, I take responsibility for it. I mean, that’s what you do, right?

RIGHT?

Apparently not everyone adheres to this logic, since more and more often, people in my life are choosing to play the victim instead of just standing up and taking ownership for their actions. Instead of them DOING things (active verb), they’re choosing the passive route and saying that things just HAPPEN TO THEM. I find this not only completely unacceptable, but infuriating. To note:

• If you didn’t do something that you said you would, own up to it. Apologize. Do not make feeble excuses.
• If you happened to do something that you shouldn’t have, make amends. Again, apologize. Don’t rationalize.

Basically, if you screwed up, admit it. Say so. Don’t surround yourself with half-assed justifications that wouldn’t hold up in a court of low-IQ primates. You are an adult, or at least you’re supposed to be playing one on TV. Why, in this world where people are all-the-more accepting of our mistakes, are so many people (at least in my life) excuse-ing their lives away?

I have very, VERY little tolerance for this. In fact, should you be reading this and find yourself guilty of this behavior, know that you’re treading on thin ice. I’m FED UP with people misbehaving, not thinking, acting disrespectful with the assumption that all will be fine with a nice pat on the hand and a fake apology. All will NOT be fine, my "friend". In fact, your membership on my friend list may just not come up for renewal.

Basically, try not to screw up. Try to be a good friend. Live that whole Golden Rule thing and do it with gusto. But if you fail, if you find yourself having a bowl of bad judgment one day, take responsibility, learn from it, and apologize. And then don’t do it again. Anything else is unacceptable.

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… that’s the power of…, originally uploaded by Ron Goldin.

If you don’t live in San Francisco, most of you are experiencing a season that I like to call "Summer". You see, it’s this time of the year when temperatures rise, when the sun shines, and when clothing comes off easier & quicker than on prom night. (Not my Prom Night, of course, all clothing remained on, nor was there any smooching. Wow, I’ve come a long way.) But I digress. Summer.

Yes, save for us here in the Bay Area, most of you have put away your cashmere, replaced by gauzy, lineny little numbers showing a lot of leg and a LOT of arm. What a novelty to NOT wear pashmina scarves in the middle of June.

Yet every now and again San Francisco has an identity crisis and pretends to be a city in SoCal (Southern California, for you newbies) and we get to evoke our inner Laguna Beach babe and throw on a piece of clothing not made of wool. This past weekends was one of those.

There are free concerts every Sunday starting mid-June and running through September at this grassy knoll called "Stern Grove", and the first one is usually pretty epic. Last year welcomed Aimee Mann, so we waited in great anticipation of what 2007 would bring. And they didn’t disappoint – no, they certainly DID NOT. This year’s opener was Huey Lewis. Yes. AND THE NEWS. I kid you not, we had been planning this for months and amazingly, the weather cooperated.

Daisy and I decided to take one for the team and get there early (read: REALLY F-ING EARLY) on Sunday morning to scope out our spot. And so we trudged down the hill, weighed down by blankets and picnic baskets and food and the requisite four hundred bottles of wine (only a small exaggeration) and scoped out a spot. Our merry band of miscreants joined us after a few hours, the mimosas and sangria started flowing, and then Huey started singing. And, alas, so did we.

Daisy describes the day far better than I can but suffice it to say that naps were taken, tents were built, and Jesus was beckoned, mainly by Daisy who decided to praise Jesus after every stanza. Seriously, SHE. LOVED. JESUS.

As for me, I just loved the day, and can’t wait for the next one. It involves a band named "Lavay Smith and her Red Hot Skillet Lickers" and really, summer isn’t summer without some good ol’ skillet lickin’.

To quote Daisy, Praise Jesus.