You see, despite what I said earlier (which all holds true) about this city, it definitely has some amazing people, these same amazing people that I can call near the end of my worst day here (the same day that the worker in the place where I park my car stole a $1500 camera and cell phone from work) and instantly let me kill my diet and drink lots of wine and margaritas and (most recently) shots. ON A TUESDAY.

Despite the run-on sentence there, perhaps I was too quick to judge. Thanks to Daisy and Kevin and crew, things seem to be looking up.

At my townhouse in Atlanta (where Lila lived for her first 3 months) and also the "house" house (where she lived for another few), we had a doorbell. Both were loud and both invoked a barking, twirling, jumping, running frenzy because SOMEONE WAS AT OUR HOUSE!! (This was NOT because someone was trying to kill us, at least in her mind, but because someone was coming TO PLAY! WITH HER! And SCRATCH HER TUMMY!)  Sorry ’bout the caps, people, but you’ve never seen my dog react to a doorbell or even a knock or two. It’s a sight to behold.

Since we’ve lived in San Francisco, not only is there no doorbell, but we never have visitors. This is not to point out my loser-dom, mind you, just to state a fact. Most people don’t enjoy a 550 sq. ft. apartment with a mini-menagerie inside (and I honestly don’t blame ’em.) As such, Lila has to rely on the TV to get her into her barking, twirling, jumping, running frenzy that she so adores…I have to explain "LILA! It’s the TV. THE TV!!" each time some crappy show has the audacity to involve a doorbell in their sound effects. Assholes.

Anyway, you get the picture. Doorbell or knock = frenzy.

Let’s change the subject (slightly) here and talk about my huge fear that I’m going to lock myself out one of these days. Since I have a separate entrance from everyone else in the building and don’t know a soul there, I’m deathly afraid I’m going to walk out that door and the bottom lock is going to turn, leaving me outside in some inappropriate outfit with no help in sight. As such, I’m super-anal about making sure the door is always unlocked on the bottom, only locking it at the deadbolt first to make myself sure I have a key. See? Anal. The only time I OCCASIONALLY don’t lock it is if I’m running around the corner to dump some trash in the trashcan, and that’s out of laziness b/c it’s literally 5 steps away. I’m still that paranoid, though, that before I ever do this, I turn the handle to make sure it opens.  YES, say it with me friends, TYPE-A.  The only thing I’m more afraid of is that someone will break into my house, so I’m even MORE certain that all my windows are locked, esp. since I’m on the first floor. I’m even sweltering in unseasonable heat and not getting a window air conditioner to make me sleep like the rest of the humans in San Francisco (read: comfortably) because I’m convinced the same person that got stabbed or WHATEVER caused them to bleed all over my doorstep will come in through my window and kill us all in the night. How I got this paranoid and scared is beyond me, but ok, let’s go for it.

To review:
– Lila barks at the door when knocked/rung.
– I always take my keys, and if I don’t, I make sure the door isn’t locked.
– All my windows are locked, ALWAYS.

See? Safety-minded household with crazy dog. I’d say that’s about right.

Fast forward to today. In an attempt to get Lila to stop strategically eating her way through any and all remote controls found in the house, I got my weary, tossing-and-turning sleepy self up and took her for a walk. I’m a good dog Mom like that, ya know. We took our 35-minute jaunt, and (in another attempt of self-betterment) I was cleaning up the kitchen and decided that my wine box should be thrown away. Hot from our walk, I strutted out to throw it in the trash in my workout pants and skimpy little tank top, turning the doorknob behind me to ensure it was open. It was; I deposited aforementioned wine box into the trash, and headed back inside.

You astute readers know what’s coming: it was locked.

I proceeded to bang on the door, throw all One Hundred and (CENSORED) pounds of me against said door to barge it in; to no avail. I was locked out in a hot pink tanktop,  a true mystery since I KNEW I had just ensured that it was unlocked. Lila started barking up a storm, then abrupty stopped, which got my conspiracy-theory paranoid mind all aflutter. What if one of the bus-waiting miscreants (appropriate word here) was waiting behind me and came in, locking the door and coming to rob me!? Why did Lila so abruptly stop barking? OH MY GOSH, someone was in there, stealing my jewelry, kicking my cats and killing my dog. I just knew it.

"Calm down, Aubrey." I thought. "Just bang on the door, Lila will bark and get in her door-knocking frenzy, and you’ll know that somehow the door just shut behind you and you’re just being paranoid."

Knock. KNOCK. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

NOTHING.

Silence.

Oh shit. I’m not paranoid, I’m psychic. There’s a criminal in my house murdering my animals, stealing my jewelry AND my clothes AND my South Beach Frozen Dinners. (They’re tasty, they really are.)

The kind trash man was at my building; he tried to help, but didn’t know what to do. What he DID do, however, was point out the cop car that was driving down the street, the same police car that I sprinted to catch, screaming, and eventually running in front of to make him stop.

Note that I’m now in full-fledged hysteria. After all, there is no OTHER reason besides mass animal murder that Lila would for once in her life fall silent. This is the antithesis of a silent dog, after all. My puppy, quiet she is not.

We (friendly, patient-with-my-hysteria policeman and I) try all the windows. All locked. We try and bang the door…he with his 200+ lbs, me with mine. We even tried it together. NOTHING. Much knocking on the door, screaming "LILA BELLE!" and even banging on the windows presented not even a peep from her. At this point I’m envisioning my lifeless little lady askew on the floor, much in the DaVinci code fashion. I’m near tears.

We decide the easiest thing to do is to call a locksmith. He arrives about 10 minutes later to a (somewhat) calmer me (I was scaring bus-waiting miscreants, after all) and a still-patient (yet surely annoyed) policeman. Picking the lock doesn’t work, but alas, the ol’ credit card trick did. $75 later, the kindly cop leading, we open my door. And this is what we saw:

Curled up, looking quite sedate after her long morning walk, my fuzzy-faced girl looked at the policeman and I with question…and started to bark.

I will never again yell at this (crazy) dog for barking at the TV. You go, Lila, that really *IS* the doorbell.

In the Land of Aubrey, we have a new motto:

“When in doubt, make out.”

Boys – bookmark this post for when you’re next in the doghouse.
Girls – bookmark this post for when HE is in the doghouse – subtle hints always work.
Everyone – bookmark this post because I really, REALLY love this jewelry.

Reprinted from my SocialDiva blog post – read on…

As a fashion freelance writer, I’m often approached by friends and family to promote their sister, neighbor, accountant (true story) in their pursuit to be a handbag/jewelry/notecard designer. I think they assume that my article will somehow be read by Oprah and voila! Instant millionaire. Now I’m *SURE* Oprah is reading all of my articles, but to be honest – yes, it gets a bit old. Usually about one in twenty is something original, so forgive my cynicism and preference to seek out my OWN finds. And that’s where this story begins.

At our recent sales conference, a friend and coworker in Boston told me about his wife’s jewelry business, not as a conversation to pitch it at all; in fact, it was a nerdy analytics-related conversation we were having that I won’t bore you with here. However, being a bit of a jewelry fanatic myself, I was interested in finding out more, if for no other reason than I was in the market to treat myself to something wonderful for my birthday. (Yes, I do that, and you should too.) He directed me to the eponomously coined Gemma Originals website, and instantly I knew that she had talent. Knowing how hard it is to even photograph jewelry, the images on the flash homepage made me want to see more. And so I dived right in.

Note that the pieces are not for the timid, Tiffany bean-wearing kind of gal; she needs to have spunk, sass, and be fashion-savvy enough to balance the unique strength of the necklace with a more understated shirt or dress. Each necklace is a centerpiece of conversation, one that is meant to be worn with confidence and charisma.  My personal favorite is the "Kelly" a stunning piece  with Onyx, Turquoise, and black Swarovski crystals. It would look ravishing with a low-cut, plunging neckline black dress…which, come to think of it, I own!

I’m rarely this passionate about jewelry, but if you’re on the lookout for something truly original and eye-catching, something that will add that extra spring in your step, head on over to  Gemma Originals – you won’t be disappointed.

Everyone asks me if I like San Francisco. Actually, they don’t ask – they basically expect that I love it, saying statements like "OOH, you MUST be loving it out there", their expectations making me feel like there’s something wrong with me if I don’t agree with them. Which I do – I DO like the city, it’s just that…I don’t know, I just wouldn’t go so far as to saying that I love it. Like, yes. Love – well, this girl hasn’t ever said those words to a guy, so being that expressive about a city…well, I’m just not there yet. I’ll stick with ‘like’ for now.

As in many relationships, ‘like’ progressed from ‘lust.’ When I first came to the city, I was here temporarily; a 6-week jaunt to help out our team while we transitioned. I found it so refreshing, offering so much, a stark contrast from the routine of Atlanta. I was enamored with the social aspect – people played FLIP CUP! There were KICKBALL TEAMS! People were young, smart, and social in San Francisco, whereas in Atlanta, people were young, married and working on having children. I found myself relating more to the former than the latter; thus, a crush on the city ensued. I decided to pack up my life (and sell everything else), find an apartment, and move to San Francisco.

Then reality hit.

The luster started to fade…little by little, the experience of insane landlords, a killer commute, and spending nearly all of my savings to just LIVE in the city dulled the luminous shine that San Francisco once had. The people here, thankfully, remained as jovial, eclectic and entrepreneurial as ever (they knew about computers! They were cool geeks like me! WAHOO!) but the rest of the experience? Well, I found myself forcing a smile more than I donned an authentic one.

So the thing about San Francisco is….it’s a great place. It’s full of great people. It’s one of the best challenges of my life, and I’ll never regret moving there for the experiences and opportunities I’ve had. But I’m not yet convinced it’s for me.

So, alas, my cell phone is STILL not working. I got my new Blackberry, mind you, but apparently they had to program a new SIM card and that there SIM card is currently sitting, safe and sound, in the HelpDesk in Mountain View. As for me, I’m sitting safe and sound (in the hottest apartment in the entire friekin’ city) in San Francisco. Never the two shall meet (ok, until Monday.)

What I’m TRYING to say here, however eloquently, is that I haven’t received your text message since last Saturday. (OOH! I’m playing hard to get for the first time in my life! Go me!!) I haven’t received your call, either. I used to have a message saying "I’m a dumbass, I lost my phone" and referencing a new number, but that’s gone too. So, should you NEED to get in touch with me, email me and I’ll give you my temporary number that will work ’til at least Monday.

Hard to get works, after all. I’ll expect your email.

While it’s true that I DID just get my hair cut for the first time since November (she took off all of a 1/3 of an inch – yes, the rumor is true, am growing my hair back out), ANOTHER lovely lady in the Sabala family/menagerie ALSO got a haircut. As is the case every time she takes a bath, she has proceeded to get dirty already by charging after her ball and evoking a big dust cloud in doing so, but here she is, unscathed, fresh and shiny and fluffy and – dare I say it – the cutest dog ever.

Come over and visit us before she becomes unrecognizable again.

I’ve started cooking again. It’s amazing how full the fridge can get with leftovers. It’s amazing how good the leftovers can taste when you know they’re free. It’s amazing how many loads of dishes you have to do when you cook 2-3 meals a day. WOW. The things that The Goog deprives us of…buying inordinate amounts of dishwashing soap.

"The Office" is hilarous. Reminds me of my days working as a consultant for the government, except I never had an unrequited crush on any of the barely-educated, toothless formerly-street walking employees I loathed to call colleagues.

It’s hot in San Francisco.

I hadn’t realized the true worth of Ambien…it’s not that it lets me fall asleep (I can do that anywhere, anytime), it’s that it actually lets me SLEEP. The type of sleep where you open your eyes in this lovingly, swaddled land of heaven only to find that it was just 2am. ONLY 2am! I have SO MUCH MORE of this amazing sleep to keep sleeping! I praise thee, pharmaceutical geniuses!

I think I should revise the title of this post to read Percoset/Ambien Nonsequitors. It’s that time…and after the day I had, I deserve an early bed time.

(But egads! It’s 20 minutes late! Nine THIRTY is my bedtime, not nine FIFTY. Us old timers get forgetful in our age apparently.)

1. I lost my cell phone. Or it lost itself. Maybe it ran away, trying to hide from the debauchery that ensued from my Birthday revelry. I mean, you can’t blame it. BlackBerrys are smart. I should be getting a new one tonight, but if you’ve left me any text messages, I haven’t gotten them. (Thankfully, that means I haven’t gotten any passive-aggressive text messages from one who clearly HASN’T GOTTEN THE POINT THAT I AM NOT INTERESTED.) I’ll let ya know when all is remedied – hopefully soon.

2. I haven’t been doing a good job AT ALL about posting to AubreySays.com (URL works now – wahoo!) Since I’ve been working from home this week getting over the Worst Cough Ever™, I had a bit of time to try and update it a bit. (Crazy how productive you can be when your IM is turned off and you’re not distracted by all the yummy food at the Googleplex!) Check out some fabulous new jewelry recommendations here.

That’s it. Short and sweet. Now think non-coughing thoughts for me. Us 29-year olds don’t recover nearly as well as you young’uns.

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IMG_2949, originally uploaded by tantek.

I love the look of fear in the bartender’s (Gary’s) eyes. Or was it Greg. I always get those four-letter G-names confused.

Hmm, perhaps THIS is why we spent $400 in 40 mins, ya think?