Sunday, February 14, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
I know, I know....
I know, I know everyone, I've been battling this awful flu mixed with the crazy life of Shan Fran. BUT don't worry I'd never let you or myself down...I'm coming back with full recaps!
Say you'll forgive me! :( I can't do this without you!
Kisses!
Shan Fran
Say you'll forgive me! :( I can't do this without you!
Kisses!
Shan Fran
Monday, February 8, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Day 6: Dayquil Dreams
My heavy eyelids barely opened as I flung my arm over my body to silence the Super Mario Bros. tune ringing from my phone. Normally, I wake up feeling like Princess Peach but on this given morning it was obvious that I had caught whatever was going around the Mushroom Kingdom. Ugh, the burning sensation attacking my poor throat, it felt as if I had just swallowed an entire garden of fire flowers. I hate getting sick! The rush of instant depression swept over me as I realized that I have no one; NO ONE I tell you, to make me feel better during a time of crisis like this. Even my two roommates are gone. If I died nobody would know! More importantly, if I was in desperate need of a cup of Chicken Noodle soup nobody would know…what a travesty! It’s true, I get so mellow dramatic when I’m under the weather. I might be 26 years old, but give me a fever, runny nose, sore throat and trust me I’ll be weeping while I cry out “I want my mommy.” I laid there making deals with the Health Gods to please, no matter what, bypass any signs of feverish chills!
I’m not sure if the Gods heard me so just I let my lifeless body sink into my Tempurpedic mattress like the freaking Titanic. If only I had a Jack Dawson to come save me from this. All kidding aside ladies, I tend to lust after Leonardo DiCaprio when I’m sick. It’s a little trick I picked up awhile back. Not a complete cure but definitely helps to put my mind at ease for just a few minutes. Sometimes I can even predict the duration of my snot storm and when to expect clear skies and sunshine again. For example, I take a deep breath in, close my eyes and relax my mind. Then comes the moment of no return, it’s kind of like those childhood chapter books where I could customize the story (by the way brilliant for a control-freak kid like myself). If I unconsciously go straight to the heart-wrenching scene when Jack’s frozen body sinks to the ocean floor (turn to page 57) than I know I better clear my schedule for the rest of the week. Ugh, it gets me every time. What a way to go down Jack (no pun intended). BUT if my mind so wonderfully envisions the ever-so sexy, sweaty, rugged Leonardo DiCaprio in the backseat of a vintage ride (“ehhh must be the moneyyy,” go to page 4); well, then I know that I’m still capable of having rational thoughts and making good decisions. Alas, that’s how I know I’ll be just fine! On a side note, I can’t leave the subject of Titanic without saying, one: what I would give to be Kate Winslet. I mean she looks just fabulous as she’s draped across that beautiful settee. Number two: where can I find that boulder of a diamond so I too can have it impeccably perched on my chest in an attempt to make it look as flawless as Kate’s? Just so you know, my head is already deep sea diving today so that’s not a viable option if that was your first thought ;) Seriously though, that necklace is the ultimate body improvement piece. Forget plastic surgery, I’d just keep that sucker around my neck at all times. It’s totally normal. Some people go to the gym wearing ankle weights. I’d rather throw on the Heart of the Ocean necklace. No big deal.
That’s when I realized that my lingering thoughts of the gym just totally prevented my morning’s daydreaming. Of course gym guilt had to come in and steal my spotlight. Such a Heidi Montag move. Nothing left to do but royally get over it, so I flung the covers off my legs and rolled to my feet with the grace of a roller derby girl. I waddled, well semi-crawled, to the bathroom and gave “suitable for public,” my best shot. After a 10-minute tooth brushing (I had to pause and take cover for each wave of nausea), I finally had the strength to put on my workout gear. Ironically, trying to fit D-sized ta-tas into a Lululemon sports bra can most definitely cause a sweat break if not done properly. What’s that, you don’t agree? Lemme guess, you wear an A huh? Yeah, I’m talking about a whole different set of problems over here. Anyway, I grabbed the essentials and on my way I went. Walking down the driveway’s steps, okay fine tripping down the steps, I popped the lock to my car and got in accepting the fact that it was about to carry me to my final resting place. 24-hour Fitness! God help my soul if Britney Spears is still blasting from my speakers when that time actually comes. Yet, nothing gets me more pumped for the treadmill like “Hit Me Baby One More Time.” I straggled through the front door, looking and feeling like it was New Years Day. Do I reek of vodka, because the tween at the front desk flashed me that “are you OK” look? Aren’t you supposed to be in Home Ec, little girl? I told myself, “act your age Shan Francisco.” My energy level at that point was at five percent. I knew if I wasted any of it on Front Desk Miley, than I deserved to be on bed rest.
I climbed to the top of my fate and just stood there for a second. With my morning’s previous Leo lusting, I actually contemplated a quick “I’m the king of the world” arm reach as I rested atop the elliptical. Good thing I glanced over my shoulder before I did so because there was a damn cute man running behind me. Wait, what the hell he’s looking this way? Oh thank god I didn’t just pull a total 1998 blockbuster move. That could have been so mortifying. Why did I think that was even an option? Who am I? Seriously, I’m embarrassed that it even crossed my mind. Great, now I’m blushing. He’s going to think I like him. Breathe Shan Fran, breath. Last time I checked spontaneous panic attacks were NOT at the top of most men’s “biggest turn-ons list.” For starters, he’s probably not even looking at me. Just watch it’s something like I’m blocking his view of ESPN. Hmm that’s weird though, The View is on every TV around me? Ohhhh silly me…yup, he’s gay. I swear this always happens to me. Honestly, it’s got to be a combination of sorts because eyeballing gay men has become an all too frequent occurrence these days. Here’s the thing, one: straight men in Los Shangeles don’t exactly do their best to stand out if you know what I mean. Was I supposed to pick up on the fact that you’re batting for my team by the glow of your spray tan? Ahhh okay, I get it now. I totally missed my cue. Of course the designer jeans that you clearly just painted on, your perfectly manicured/highlighted hair that most likely involved a bottle of gel, hairdryer and tools from a high school geometry class, and imposter diamond earrings… are a dead-ringers for “I’M STRAIGHT.” Do you see what I have to work with people? However, before I let my inner Joan Rivers become too cynical; I’ll allow myself a quick double-take. Just to be 100% sure. From what I initially saw this guy seemed manlier than most. Smoothing down my fly-away hairs, I gave my ponytail a quick tousle for instant volume. Oooh c’mon Shan hurry, where’s that damn quick start button? I want my butt to look as tight as possible when I throw my head over my shoulder and casually peek back giving him my best sultry Shan Francisco look. No but seriously, am I blind? I thought that whole point of the button being bright green was to ensure that it’d be easy to find? At this rate I’d have more luck reading brail. Ah-ha, found it! Remind me to file a complaint with the manufacturers of this machine when I get home. This damn elliptical almost ruined my game. Alright, now in motion; finally, the time has come! I turned my head…and what the hell?!?! He’s walking toward me??? Why is he walking over here?...
STAY TUNED!!! I know, I’m awful…so sorry to do that to you folks but the rest of this story is just too important to keep rambling on now. Trust me, you’ll be glad when I pick back up for Day 7.
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
DAY 5: DR. 90210
Shan Francisco is SICK. I am going to sleep tonight to rest up for tomorrow's tale. Stayed Tuned.
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Monday, February 1, 2010
Day 4 (slash Day 3 recap): Call me the Black Eyed Peas because “I’ve got a feeling” alright and it’s called hungry!
Is fashionably-late not a common party procedure at the Jersey Shore? Or does the Situation always show up to events five hours before they begin? As the Grammy’s staff hauled-ass to set up the infamous crimson brick road of musical dreams, the Situation wandered around aimlessly in his eye-catching bedazzled Ed Hardy hoodie and XXL sweatpants. “Ugh, are you here to set up? You Got Served 2 is actually filming in the other lot?” What a camera stage 5 clinger! It’s truly shameful how intrigued I am by him though. I love him the same way I love those self-taken Facebook pictures. You know the deal, when someone snaps their picture in the mirror but looks the other way like, “Oh, I didn’t know I was being photographed?” Really, the fluorescent flash ricocheting from your mirrored reflection or the fact that your own index finger is in complete control of the capture button, didn’t at least tip you off that your picture was about to be taken? If I’m supposed to buy that you might as well say Heidi Klum and Marissa Miller actually model for Lane Bryant. It’s the same type of blatant lie! I know that I’ve only given myself 60 days to get my butt into NFL cheerleader shape, but after standing next to those two goddesses on last night’s red carpet, I couldn’t be more motivated! Normally this is when I’d give myself the ultimate Shan Francisco denial pep talk. “Perfect is always possible with PhotoShop.” Yet, I proudly say that I couldn’t have been more wrong…there’s no ounce of airbrushed perfection when it we’re dealing with those two ladies. I would gladly forgo one night with George Clooney if it meant I could look like that at some point in my life. But then again, if I were Heidi Klum or Marissa Miller the choice to forgo George Clooney is as likely as Spencer Pratt shaving his nasty blonde chin-hairs. Let’s face it, from here on out I’m keeping a sleeping bag and toothbrush in my gym locker.
As if I haven’t been there enough this past week. Shoot, at this rate I should think about trying out for the Real Housewives of Orange County. Those ladies poor kids have no idea that K through 6 isn’t held at 24-hour and recess doesn’t involve elliptical machines. Although I should probably watch what I say considering I’m childless now; but one day I might actually become that mom benching 180 with such a stellar boob job I can do the 3 Stooges eye-poke using just my chest. Wouldn’t that be great for birthday parties? Oh, the talent that $10,000 can buy. All kidding aside, I had to remind myself today that 60 minutes on the stair-stepper is more than enough. This can’t possibly be what Heidi does every day? Ahh, but even if it is I’m clearly getting ahead of myself. Let’s be real, I’ve got a lot more than pretend steps of air standing in between my future twin, Mrs. Seal and I. For starters, taking off these cheetah pajama pants that I so cleverly turned into Shan Francisco shants and my favorite over-sized In-N-Out T-shirt would help. Over-sized really doesn’t even begin to explain it. I accidentally caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror…did Starr Jones have a garage sale? More importantly why am I wearing hamburger paraphernalia, is that really necessary?
Since we’re talking about my half-a-side-of-beef cravings, my girls and I were starving by the time our Grammy escapade ended and decided to grab a bite to eat at the ever-so-yummy Yard House. I’m gonna put it out there, soy beans and soup is not as appetizing as you think when you’re being cornered by mouth-watering burgers, savory fries and rich/creamy/cheesy spinach dip. I warned my friends that on this given night each trip taken to the restroom is without-a-doubt risky. Buyer beware, I make no promises about the safety of your plate. I don’t why Lo was so mad when half of her turkey avocado sandwich was missing? She knew what was on the line… I can’t help it if she doesn’t listen. Oh well, I think she bought my bit about the turkey recall sweeping across California. The news just broke! I had our waiter take it away immediately. For all she’s concerned I saved her life right? Some call it selfish but I like to think of it as considerate. I know this to be true because of how great of an older sister I am. I genuinely thought my little sister was going to faint and or pee her pants as fabulous Adam Lambert strutted toward us as he made his way to the Grammy’s entrance. She stood there in stone cold silence, I thought, “wow I think she’s in love.” I didn’t see the need to remind her that even Lil Kim couldn’t snag him with her magic stick. Why crush such an adolescent dream? So being the guiding light that I am, I did the next best thing. I leaned over to refresh Adam’s memory about the bonding experience we had at a Los Shangeles night club about a month ago. I figured it’d break the ice. Who knows if he actually remembered me (5’5, blonde hair and green eyes isn’t exactly rare in this town) but he still smiled as I attempted to charm him.
It was completely inappropriate for someone in my position to do but what can I say, family comes first. I let him know that my kid sister adored him and had her bedroom walls covered in his pictures. Thinking about it now that could have either sounded cute or semi-pornographic. Maybe I should have said my kid brother? In any event, he was so gracious and agreed to an autograph for her. Now, desperate times call for desperate measures and during an event like this you’ve really only got a few seconds to get what you want. Seriously, no more and no less; so I reached for the only form of paper I had--an emergency tampon hiding in the pocket of my jacket. What? Paper is paper, and more importantly it’s Adam Lambert! Not doing so would be like meeting Madonna for the first time and not having your cone bra on as back-up. Contrary to popular belief, Hollywood is a very accepting town. Oh to see her eyes light up as I handed her the freshly branded tampon. It was so worth it. I’d have him sign an entire box full just to see that look on her face again; partially because she was so happy but mostly because I find her obsession just hysterical. By the way, in case you were wondering my “kid sister” that I speak about is actually 23 years old. So before you go on thinking I’m the crazy girl in the Shan Fran family, just stop and think about the fact that she has a signed Adam Lambert tampon. Enough said. I mean, it’s the Grammy’s anything goes. For Christ sake, did you see Lady Gaga’s getup? I’m still trying to figure out how she actually made E!’s Best Dressed List in that solar system of a dress. Or why the words “Hi Kid Cutie, I’m Shan Francisco and I’ll be taking you down the carpet.” Bless his heart and his girlfriend for going along with it. It wasn’t until the end when we parted ways that she told me to shout them a holler next time I’m in New York so she and her beau, Kid Cudi (ehh-um NOT Kid Cutie) would show me around. Damn, there goes my future in the rap biz ;)
So all-in-all, Day 3 and 4 were loads of fun. I have to say it’s much easier to forget about how sore my legs are, the nutritional Mojave Desert currently stretching from my esophagus to my intestines, and the new found side-drool sleeping habit that I’ve picked up from images of dancing donuts in my dreams, when the Grammy’s are in town. To cap it all off, Béyonce’s performance that night reminded me of how lucky I am to be a young, beautiful and powerful woman. She proves my theory that through hard work and practice everything gets better with time. Not to mention, only Béyonce could sing about becoming a boy and still make men swoon, to all of a sudden switch it up and cover Alanis Morissette’s angry love song about Full House’s Uncle Joey and not look crazy. You go girl! I can’t wait to channel my inner Béyonce on March 28th!!!
Till tomorrow…
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Sunday, January 31, 2010
DAY 3: GRAMMYS
Friends, Family and anyone else who cares. Tonight was the Grammys and I am exhausted. I promise to give you the full report in tomorrow. Stay Tuned!
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Day 2: Return of the Mack
Why hello leggings, acid-wash denim, flannels, skinny belts, mini-skirts and Doc Martin boots. I don’t know what the fashion forecast looks like in other parts of the country but I’m pretty sure Los Shangeles has been bit by the 1990s bug. Who would have thought that high-waist mom jeans could come back in style and actually be sexy? That’s crazy you say? No, what’s crazy is actually lusting over a pair of ultra-long, light-colored Levi’s perfectly paired with a thin patent leather belt and matching pumps. It’s wild to think that the Kelly Kapowski look is back in. But hey I’ll take it if that means it’s now socially acceptable to use your boyfriend’s pliers when zipping up your jeans. Yet, I live in Los Shangeles…men have pliers? Tools…I thought that was a Mid-West thing? Don’t get me wrong we definitely have “tools” out here, which likewise are only good for screwing things in. Yet, we don’t get the luxury of keeping them tucked back in the dusty corner of our garages, only to be taken out to quickly fix something that you know is damn well beyond repair…the operative word being quickly ;) Maybe that’s my sign? If something breaks, it’s probably the universe’s way of telling me it’s time to go get something new. By “new” I mean shiny, untouched, looks fabulous on my body, always makes me feel great and has a 30-day return policy. For safety purposed of course, just in case I later find out that my 6’1-blonde-haired-blue-eyed purchase was a complete and utter rip-off! Never had that happen before…Shan Fran rule: if you’re going to take off the tags at least hold on to the receipt so you have something to bargain with.
Ha, but even I have to laugh at the absurdity of that. Not because it’s funny, but rather because I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to laugh to keep from crying. However, the real reason why I’ll never be able to find my perfect man at Nordstrom is actually due to my female super power. Most women have it too. It’s stronger than the lure of the Bobbi Brown make-up counter, the South Coast Savvy department and the Café’s mixed-berry salad matched with a cup of that to-die-for Roma Tomato and basil soup…COMBINED! I’m talking about the female super power that allows you to create the most outrageous justifications for men…and our feelings…okay, okay pretty much anything depending upon the moment. I love it when I catch myself telling these blatant lies too. I’m like I know I did not just say that “I found his receding hairline sexy?” Or that “I actually don’t mind Captain’s freight train of a snore. What’s more relaxing than eight hours of ear-bleeding noise?” Oh the brainwash caused by love. Too bad it’s never this funny at the time. Like I said though, this ability is impressive in its range of uses. “What do you mean ice cream doesn’t make you lose weight? Are you sure this is a size 8? I’m almost positive it’s a 3 and someone just used a Sharpie to fill in the other side of the number. It’s a pretty common offense you know…label graffiti??? I swear all of the teenagers are doing it these days. In any event, least these next 58 days will help curb my inner pathological liar; or as I like to call it, “reality reinvention.” I know I picked this up in Los Shangeles.
On a good note, I did make it to the gym this morning! Thank god too because I promised a friend that I’d help work tomorrow’s Grammy Awards red carpet. This involves basking in all of the glory that is Beyonce, Fergie, J.Lo and Carrie Underwood. Ooooh, I wonder if they’d be interested in my Gold Rush Girls try-out routine? “Hi judges my name is Shan Francisco and I hope you don’t mind but I brought a few of my closest friends to try out with me…don’t worry my girl B, Fergie Ferg, Jennie from the Block, and Carrie will just be dancing backup. I’m the one you want.” Then like clockwork, I’d make the team, Alison Krauss’ “When You Say Nothing At All,” would start to play (weird song choice I know but it has sentimental value). Captain would appear with a dozen roses, in a perfect world the keys to a brand new Range Rover and a guitar. I’m not sure why he’d have a guitar considering he can’t play but that’s really beside the point. But oh, how that song brings me back. We all have those certain tunes that never fail to make time stand still. When you remember exactly what you were doing, how you felt and why that person meant so much. It’s a definite out-of-body experience. Pretty similar to driving the streets of Los Shangeles when “California Love” comes on, actually. Instinctively you think it’s a good idea to bop your ultra-blonde covered head while flashing West side down Olympic in your four-door Honda sedan (It’s only happened once I swear).
Yet, if we’re really dishing some embarrassing dirt here nothing compares to the Miley Cyrus performance that I’m capable of. It’s perfectly normal for a 26-year-old to stay up to date with the very best of the Disney Channel thank you very much. It’s obvious that I’m not Miley though, because “I put my hands up, they’re playing my song,” and the butterflies rather than fly away hit me in the face like a ton of bricks. For no reason at all my mind B-lines it toward the thoughts of mine and Captain’s first kiss. Was it the Tupac/Miley combo? Couldn’t decide what to think so when all else fails drudge up depressing memories of Captain and I? Thanks imagination, you’ve always been so kind. Thoughts of our first kiss quickly lead to how I loved watching him on the football field, our senior prom and how amazing he was at taking care of me. Whatever I asked he did and I so miss that. It’s not likely but you may have picked up on the fact that I can on occasion of course, expect a lot. If the conversation were two-sided this is when I’d pause and let the other person so nicely disagree with me and say that I’m always a delight to be with. Oh stop, you’re too kind…keep going. But really, I’m going to hurl if I keep thinking about how sexy Captain looked in his truck--especially when he’d turn and flash me that oh-the-things-I-want-to-do-right-now smirk. I feel a Britney breakdown coming on. I’ll allow myself 10 more reminiscent seconds to think about how petite and protected I felt every time I’d rest my head against his chest and then I’m done! If I allow myself to think about his arms then we’ll be here all day.
In the mean time and from here on out I just gotta keep my goals high, my dreams big and my gym schedule as packed as Kim K.’s butt in a pair of skinny jeans! Oh and just so you know after yesterday’s dance practice, this morning’s work out and my four-hour mid-day spin/sauna session…I’ve dropped a pound! So on a final note, I must say…thanks for all of the support. I had no idea that public humiliation, belaboring my Captain woes and a teenage passion would be the cause of such motivation. But in any event, 49ers I’m coming for you!
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Ha, but even I have to laugh at the absurdity of that. Not because it’s funny, but rather because I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to laugh to keep from crying. However, the real reason why I’ll never be able to find my perfect man at Nordstrom is actually due to my female super power. Most women have it too. It’s stronger than the lure of the Bobbi Brown make-up counter, the South Coast Savvy department and the Café’s mixed-berry salad matched with a cup of that to-die-for Roma Tomato and basil soup…COMBINED! I’m talking about the female super power that allows you to create the most outrageous justifications for men…and our feelings…okay, okay pretty much anything depending upon the moment. I love it when I catch myself telling these blatant lies too. I’m like I know I did not just say that “I found his receding hairline sexy?” Or that “I actually don’t mind Captain’s freight train of a snore. What’s more relaxing than eight hours of ear-bleeding noise?” Oh the brainwash caused by love. Too bad it’s never this funny at the time. Like I said though, this ability is impressive in its range of uses. “What do you mean ice cream doesn’t make you lose weight? Are you sure this is a size 8? I’m almost positive it’s a 3 and someone just used a Sharpie to fill in the other side of the number. It’s a pretty common offense you know…label graffiti??? I swear all of the teenagers are doing it these days. In any event, least these next 58 days will help curb my inner pathological liar; or as I like to call it, “reality reinvention.” I know I picked this up in Los Shangeles.
On a good note, I did make it to the gym this morning! Thank god too because I promised a friend that I’d help work tomorrow’s Grammy Awards red carpet. This involves basking in all of the glory that is Beyonce, Fergie, J.Lo and Carrie Underwood. Ooooh, I wonder if they’d be interested in my Gold Rush Girls try-out routine? “Hi judges my name is Shan Francisco and I hope you don’t mind but I brought a few of my closest friends to try out with me…don’t worry my girl B, Fergie Ferg, Jennie from the Block, and Carrie will just be dancing backup. I’m the one you want.” Then like clockwork, I’d make the team, Alison Krauss’ “When You Say Nothing At All,” would start to play (weird song choice I know but it has sentimental value). Captain would appear with a dozen roses, in a perfect world the keys to a brand new Range Rover and a guitar. I’m not sure why he’d have a guitar considering he can’t play but that’s really beside the point. But oh, how that song brings me back. We all have those certain tunes that never fail to make time stand still. When you remember exactly what you were doing, how you felt and why that person meant so much. It’s a definite out-of-body experience. Pretty similar to driving the streets of Los Shangeles when “California Love” comes on, actually. Instinctively you think it’s a good idea to bop your ultra-blonde covered head while flashing West side down Olympic in your four-door Honda sedan (It’s only happened once I swear).
Yet, if we’re really dishing some embarrassing dirt here nothing compares to the Miley Cyrus performance that I’m capable of. It’s perfectly normal for a 26-year-old to stay up to date with the very best of the Disney Channel thank you very much. It’s obvious that I’m not Miley though, because “I put my hands up, they’re playing my song,” and the butterflies rather than fly away hit me in the face like a ton of bricks. For no reason at all my mind B-lines it toward the thoughts of mine and Captain’s first kiss. Was it the Tupac/Miley combo? Couldn’t decide what to think so when all else fails drudge up depressing memories of Captain and I? Thanks imagination, you’ve always been so kind. Thoughts of our first kiss quickly lead to how I loved watching him on the football field, our senior prom and how amazing he was at taking care of me. Whatever I asked he did and I so miss that. It’s not likely but you may have picked up on the fact that I can on occasion of course, expect a lot. If the conversation were two-sided this is when I’d pause and let the other person so nicely disagree with me and say that I’m always a delight to be with. Oh stop, you’re too kind…keep going. But really, I’m going to hurl if I keep thinking about how sexy Captain looked in his truck--especially when he’d turn and flash me that oh-the-things-I-want-to-do-right-now smirk. I feel a Britney breakdown coming on. I’ll allow myself 10 more reminiscent seconds to think about how petite and protected I felt every time I’d rest my head against his chest and then I’m done! If I allow myself to think about his arms then we’ll be here all day.
In the mean time and from here on out I just gotta keep my goals high, my dreams big and my gym schedule as packed as Kim K.’s butt in a pair of skinny jeans! Oh and just so you know after yesterday’s dance practice, this morning’s work out and my four-hour mid-day spin/sauna session…I’ve dropped a pound! So on a final note, I must say…thanks for all of the support. I had no idea that public humiliation, belaboring my Captain woes and a teenage passion would be the cause of such motivation. But in any event, 49ers I’m coming for you!
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Friday, January 29, 2010
DAY 1: Mini Shovel of French Fries
Is there a secret foghorn application on my Blackberry? Disclaimer: choose the alarm tone on your phone wisely or else risk the chance of going deaf every time you roll out of bed. I’ve always said that waking up in the morning was dangerous, but my recent 5:45 a.m. foghorns prove that point loud and clear (all puns intended). Part of my new-found hearing loss could be due to the fact that my manipulative little snooze button tricks me into making at least three repeat offenses with each sunrise that passes. But hey, being on time in Los Shangeles is like finding a man who refuses to watch porn; it’s never going to happen. 5:45 a.m. slowly turns into 7:00 and 7 o’clock decides to ditch its 59-minute counterpart. For the life of me I still don’t understand why it’s so important for the day to reach 8:00 a.m. this quickly? [Insert “dad-joke” here] You know like: “Where’s the fire?” I know, totally uncalled for and moving on…
Here’s the thing, I created this 5:45 a.m. death alarm for good intentions. You could ask is 5:45 a.m. ever used for bad intentions? The answer to that question is without a doubt gender-specific ;) Anyway, the plan was to spring out of bed with my long blonde locks flowing and working together in perfect harmony; my skin naturally flawless like an air-brushed magazine cover and my mood as pleasant as Ryan Philippe’s face in Cruel Intentions. But even in Los Shangeles, reality occasionally sneaks up on you and it’s time to face the facts. My long blonde hair (some of which is mine and some of which was so kindly given to me for a hefty sum) wrapped around my face like vines of ivy. My skin was radiating all right, but I don’t think that spots of red are as close to honey nude on the color wheel as I’d like it to be? As for my mood…how many “pleasant” retainer-wearing 26-year-olds do you come across at 5:45 in the morning? I rest my case. With that being said, can you really blame me for taking a rain check on my Burn60 cardio date? Burn60 gym—Kristin Cavalleri’s personal fave…yeah, I’ll pass on this given morning but thanks for the offer. Slight depression caused by an ex Laguna Beach star all before I’ve had my morning coffee is EXACTLY how I prefer to start the day. Let’s forget about Kristin Cavalleri though, the girl gets enough praise for all of the good deeds she’s already done for humanity (silence). Bottom line: Day 1 didn’t exactly start as according to plan.
I was sitting at work when I could have sworn that Los Shangeles had just been hit with the “next big quake,” but then I quickly realized it was just my stomach reminding me about how angry it was for not feeding it yet. I fought back and let my tummy know that it was bringing more attention to itself than Lady Gaga at a convent; and that it better play the silent game indefinitely if we were to become model-thin in only 60 days. It continued to rumble like thunder for the next hour. I’m pretty sure it was digestive-talk for “I hate you Shan Fran!” However, I said I wanted to become a 49er Gold Rush Girl, not the poster child for anorexia (because that’s an original approach in this town). So I grabbed an oatmeal and green tea and told myself that I was smart, beautiful and amazing—Day 1 was not going to defeat me! I know it may seem ironic, being that I’m about to embark on a two-month long journey that I’m sure some women would see as 100% superficial and pointless, but I do actually know how to achieve this. That’s why I’m doing this, because I know I can accomplish anything I put my mind to. Because what’s the worst that can happen? I get in shape, stay healthy and rid myself of a few worries? Hey it may be a bit extreme but I’ll take it. If I was perfect what would I aim for?
I let the sun warm my skin as strolled down Robertson on my way to the lunch meeting I had with a talent agent and former colleague of mine. I proceeded to lecture myself and the pesky little food devil that prefers to sit upon not just one, but both of my shoulders. “Shan, you’re going to order a salad…NO DRESSING…and for god sake whatever you do, DO NOT pick from her plate!!!” I was stoked to see the array of salad options on the menu. Who knew lettuce could be prepared so many different ways? I mean we were dining in Beverly Hills; leafy flavorless greens are quite popular in demand! So I stuck to my guns and was almost out of no-man’s land when my thoughtful lunch guest decided to ask me the million-dollar question. “Do you want to share fries?” Umm, is this a rhetorical question? Did Captain set you up to this? He’s around here isn’t he? Knowing Captain he’s probably in the kitchen double-deep-frying our so-called shared fries. I say “so-called shared” because put an order of fries in between someone and myself and try, just try to tell me that this isn’t a race and we’re not being timed on performance? I’m telling you if you’re anything like me, “efficiency,” can apply to just about everything! I told myself that self-control does exist and there’s no reason why I can’t become its biggest fan…then proceeded to eat one-third of the fries. I figure anything under half was an improvement right? I left what was actually a very successful business lunch dwelling on the fact that I hadn’t worked out today and had just traded in my salad fork for a mini shovel made out of French fries. Normally the thought of Captain’s pregnant soon-to-be-wife would comfort me in a time like this; but I’m almost positive that the food-love-child growing in my stomach currently outweighs her real-life fetus at this point.
Back to work I went. Only to walk into an office full of Shan Francisco support; “support” in the context that if I were trying out for the future self-induced diabetics club there’s no way I could fail. I mean there were cookies, candy and bowls of popcorn all around me. The only thing missing was a personalized card from Captain saying, “best of luck Shan!” At this rate, I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. I dug my hands into the bowl of popcorn as if it was my first time trick-or-treating. If you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em right? The day is winding down, which means it’s about time to cash in that gym rain check I spoke about earlier. Totally discouraged from Day 1’s events, a full-body fitness overhaul right now is about as appealing as losing your virginity to Danny DeVito. On the bright side, my little sister called and pumped me up about the dance she choreographed to get me moving again. She let me know that the time had come to break a sweat…total negative-Nancy crisis adverted. Thanks, Lo!
So here’s the deal folks, becoming a 49er Gold Rush Girl is no joke! I’ve got a lot of work to do and the clock isn’t exactly on my side, but I couldn’t be more excited about challenge. Just think about all that I’m going to learn and do. Stay tuned because tomorrow I’m finding a nutritionist. I know it may seem like a bit much to hire someone to tell you what Author, Michael Pollan says so well, “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.” Have wiser words ever been spoken? Well maybe the following: Don’t worry Captain, I’ll make sure to shoot you a wink from the 50-yard line ;)
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Here’s the thing, I created this 5:45 a.m. death alarm for good intentions. You could ask is 5:45 a.m. ever used for bad intentions? The answer to that question is without a doubt gender-specific ;) Anyway, the plan was to spring out of bed with my long blonde locks flowing and working together in perfect harmony; my skin naturally flawless like an air-brushed magazine cover and my mood as pleasant as Ryan Philippe’s face in Cruel Intentions. But even in Los Shangeles, reality occasionally sneaks up on you and it’s time to face the facts. My long blonde hair (some of which is mine and some of which was so kindly given to me for a hefty sum) wrapped around my face like vines of ivy. My skin was radiating all right, but I don’t think that spots of red are as close to honey nude on the color wheel as I’d like it to be? As for my mood…how many “pleasant” retainer-wearing 26-year-olds do you come across at 5:45 in the morning? I rest my case. With that being said, can you really blame me for taking a rain check on my Burn60 cardio date? Burn60 gym—Kristin Cavalleri’s personal fave…yeah, I’ll pass on this given morning but thanks for the offer. Slight depression caused by an ex Laguna Beach star all before I’ve had my morning coffee is EXACTLY how I prefer to start the day. Let’s forget about Kristin Cavalleri though, the girl gets enough praise for all of the good deeds she’s already done for humanity (silence). Bottom line: Day 1 didn’t exactly start as according to plan.
I was sitting at work when I could have sworn that Los Shangeles had just been hit with the “next big quake,” but then I quickly realized it was just my stomach reminding me about how angry it was for not feeding it yet. I fought back and let my tummy know that it was bringing more attention to itself than Lady Gaga at a convent; and that it better play the silent game indefinitely if we were to become model-thin in only 60 days. It continued to rumble like thunder for the next hour. I’m pretty sure it was digestive-talk for “I hate you Shan Fran!” However, I said I wanted to become a 49er Gold Rush Girl, not the poster child for anorexia (because that’s an original approach in this town). So I grabbed an oatmeal and green tea and told myself that I was smart, beautiful and amazing—Day 1 was not going to defeat me! I know it may seem ironic, being that I’m about to embark on a two-month long journey that I’m sure some women would see as 100% superficial and pointless, but I do actually know how to achieve this. That’s why I’m doing this, because I know I can accomplish anything I put my mind to. Because what’s the worst that can happen? I get in shape, stay healthy and rid myself of a few worries? Hey it may be a bit extreme but I’ll take it. If I was perfect what would I aim for?
I let the sun warm my skin as strolled down Robertson on my way to the lunch meeting I had with a talent agent and former colleague of mine. I proceeded to lecture myself and the pesky little food devil that prefers to sit upon not just one, but both of my shoulders. “Shan, you’re going to order a salad…NO DRESSING…and for god sake whatever you do, DO NOT pick from her plate!!!” I was stoked to see the array of salad options on the menu. Who knew lettuce could be prepared so many different ways? I mean we were dining in Beverly Hills; leafy flavorless greens are quite popular in demand! So I stuck to my guns and was almost out of no-man’s land when my thoughtful lunch guest decided to ask me the million-dollar question. “Do you want to share fries?” Umm, is this a rhetorical question? Did Captain set you up to this? He’s around here isn’t he? Knowing Captain he’s probably in the kitchen double-deep-frying our so-called shared fries. I say “so-called shared” because put an order of fries in between someone and myself and try, just try to tell me that this isn’t a race and we’re not being timed on performance? I’m telling you if you’re anything like me, “efficiency,” can apply to just about everything! I told myself that self-control does exist and there’s no reason why I can’t become its biggest fan…then proceeded to eat one-third of the fries. I figure anything under half was an improvement right? I left what was actually a very successful business lunch dwelling on the fact that I hadn’t worked out today and had just traded in my salad fork for a mini shovel made out of French fries. Normally the thought of Captain’s pregnant soon-to-be-wife would comfort me in a time like this; but I’m almost positive that the food-love-child growing in my stomach currently outweighs her real-life fetus at this point.
Back to work I went. Only to walk into an office full of Shan Francisco support; “support” in the context that if I were trying out for the future self-induced diabetics club there’s no way I could fail. I mean there were cookies, candy and bowls of popcorn all around me. The only thing missing was a personalized card from Captain saying, “best of luck Shan!” At this rate, I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. I dug my hands into the bowl of popcorn as if it was my first time trick-or-treating. If you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em right? The day is winding down, which means it’s about time to cash in that gym rain check I spoke about earlier. Totally discouraged from Day 1’s events, a full-body fitness overhaul right now is about as appealing as losing your virginity to Danny DeVito. On the bright side, my little sister called and pumped me up about the dance she choreographed to get me moving again. She let me know that the time had come to break a sweat…total negative-Nancy crisis adverted. Thanks, Lo!
So here’s the deal folks, becoming a 49er Gold Rush Girl is no joke! I’ve got a lot of work to do and the clock isn’t exactly on my side, but I couldn’t be more excited about challenge. Just think about all that I’m going to learn and do. Stay tuned because tomorrow I’m finding a nutritionist. I know it may seem like a bit much to hire someone to tell you what Author, Michael Pollan says so well, “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.” Have wiser words ever been spoken? Well maybe the following: Don’t worry Captain, I’ll make sure to shoot you a wink from the 50-yard line ;)
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Thursday, January 28, 2010
A Tale of Two Cities
That animated kettle, Mrs. Potts and her feisty candlestick sidekick, Chip were onto something when they sang, “tale as old as time, true as it can be…” Why didn’t anyone tell me that everything I needed to know about love could just be found in a Disney movie? For that matter…where the hell is Prince Eric hiding? I can tell you ladies one thing, he’s sure not hanging out here in Los Shangeles! Trust me I’ve looked…even dressed a few up to play the part but truth-be-told it’s definitely not your man’s fantasy to have your legs bound together by green fish scales and fins. Whoops…don’t try that one at home girls ;) But like I said, we all know the story: you know the one where boy meets girl, girl gets boy, boy cheats on girl with her close friend, girl yells at boy for a quick little hour (60 minutes really isn’t that long these days anyway), boy showers girl with gifts of guilt, girl can’t turn down that Tiffany’s ring and most importantly the true love that she has for boy. The depressing part is probably the fact that I just summed up six long emotional years in one really long run-on sentence? Or rather that as a 26-year-old pretty, outgoing and loving businesswoman who graduated with top honors from UC Berkeley, that stupid sentence touches on the last 10 years of my life…
Captain and I broke up four years ago. Since then I—Shan Francisco—have relocated to Los Shangeles, made a way for myself as a loveable Hollywood Publicist and just opened my own business. I know what you’re thinking because I thought it too…of course Matt Damon is going to spot me driving down Sunset Blvd., frantically chase after me to confess his love and make my 6’1-blue-eyed-blonde-haired Captain seem about as sentimental as an episode from the Jersey Shore. Yet, I’ve been here for over two years now and it still hasn’t happened…but that’s probably just because Matt doesn’t know what kind of car I drive? (Pssttt Matt, it’s a black Honda Accord…Berkeley Alumni license plate holder and no hard feelings, I tend to speed and totally forgive you for the two-year delay). So anyway, I moved on…literally and figuratively…I put 500 miles in between us and never looked back. Until last December of course when I figured that I can glance in my rear-view mirror and still be looking forward…but yes until last December when Captain came to his senses (Matt Damon probably called him and let him know that he was going to be the bigger person and let Captain have me because he knew that’s where my heart was) and invited me to go to Hawaii with him for a romantic, rekindling rendezvous. So I did what any normal, smart, beautiful girl would do…forget about all the lonely nights that I spent crying because I missed him and would’ve done anything to just go back to when we were great…and never gave him a definite answer.
But c’mon Captain, step two was our fabulous trip to Hawaii together. Step one had to happen first and that involved me telling him how Taylor Swift must have spied on me when she wrote “Love Story” because I swear those were all my original thoughts! Yet time passed in silence and our Hawaii escapade went into the relationship vault alongside B. Spears and JT’s matching 2001 denim outfits. Captain probably would have heard my Taylor Swift analogy and replied with “Dude, Taylor is so hot,” therefore, just proving my point that life is so much better when you’re 16.
Fast-forward to last week. I was back home in the Bay Area visiting my family when I shot out of bed at 6:45 a.m. from cramps which I’m positive were only intended to be used as a form of torture during times of war. I don’t know how many times I have to keep reminding my uterus that I am not a soldier and there is no mandatory draft…so back off! However my other theory was that maybe this is my stomach’s way of telling me that it’s uncomfortable at this size and nobody is at the gym at 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday; so get your ass outta bed, pop some Midol and let the treadmill become my primary source of hatred…well, that and Captain of course. Here’s the nice thing about being back in your hometown, you know which Safeway is on the way to your closest 24-hour Fitness and aisle four is where you can always find the well-stocked shelves of female drugs that never fail you in these painful times of desperation. Side note: ladies, two pills every eight hours WILL FAIL YOU though. It’s obvious that a man wrote the directions on those Midol boxes because every woman knows that four pills will only buy you five hours…TOPS! I rounded the aisle’s corner like a bat out of hell, did a California stop as I reached for my prize and sprinted over to row of bottled waters in preparation for my dreaded workout. I opt for a tall Smart Water every time…I figure that the combination of the gym and Jennifer Aniston’s endorsement pretty much classifies it as bottled holy water. I was leaving aisle six when I looked up and realized that my stomach (as if we weren’t already enemies on this given morning) had just dropped and landed on my feet.
His chiseled jaw made a perfect square as his lips parted upward to form that to-die-for smile. It had been three years since I had seen his face…meaning it had been 1,095 days since my eyes met Captain’s outside of a Facebook page or torn photograph that I had crafted back together using that amazing ultra clear scotch tape (office supplies, the reason why all things are possible). Captain jumped right in leaving no time for awkward small talk. “So I have something very important to tell you,” he said. I thought to myself, this is it…this is totally it…Captain had been sitting outside my house this morning in his car trying to find the courage to come knock on my door and tell me that he couldn’t live without me and we’d be together forever. Of course his plans were interrupted when I sped off to the store in a frantic rage. But he had followed me here and was going to get down on one knee and propose. He’d really be getting some later tonight too if he’s arranged for “Love Song” to start playing over the loud speaker during all of this! “Shan, I’m getting married in March and we’re having a baby.” It was the ultimate Sex and the City “Carrie/Aiden” moment; except I wasn’t 110 pounds with solid muscle dressed head to toe in Chanel couture like SJP. Again, who really pays attention to those minor details anyway? I took a few seconds to regroup, come back to my senses after Captain had so kindly drop-kicked my heart like a third grade kickball game. I gathered just the facts: time, date, location, an address to send a wedding gift to and then proceeded to tell Captain how happy I was for him. I knew it was about T-minus five seconds before I projectile vomited in one direction or another. So I told him that I had better leave and go pay for my Midol and Smart Water because Safeway actually offers a 50% discount for that combo if you purchase it before 8:30 a.m. You know, just a cool little marketing ploy that it had started to help women escape from aisle six when news breaks that their life is over…simple suicide prevention if you will (a bit mellow-dramatic, I’m aware ;).
The gym was out of the picture at this point. I drove straight home and crawled into my bed. The same bed that Captain and I used to make-out on for hours back in high school…how convenient at a time like this. Oh well, thank god I took those stupid glow-in-the-dark stars down from my ceiling years ago or else this flashback would have seriously been unbearable. Then came the rage, I thought to myself: “What the hell? How am I just now finding this out? I wonder how many people have known about this and never told me?” I started with the A’s and called every girlfriend of mine down to the Z’s…this wound was totally going to be reopened in a month when Verizon Wireless reminds me of my current actions. I ended that 500th call by trying to remember who I was before Captain. I was a straight-A student. I was a great older-sister. I was fun. I was constantly doing too much. I was all of those things still, but then it hit me…I was happiest when I was a cheerleader! Cheesy, I know but I can’t explain the adrenaline that rushes through your veins when you’re performing. When you’ve made deal with the cheer devil to not breathe for a solid three-minute routine…and actually love it! (Sickening I know).
LIGHTBULB! It’s time for me to be a cheerleader again! Yes, I’m 26, work 90 plus hours a week as a publicist, just started my own business and dedicate no time toward my own sanity. Yet, I know I need a farfetched goal. Let’s face it, it’s up to me to find some damn inspiration if I’m really going to get where I want to be mentally, physically and emotionally. So there we have it…it’s official, I’m going to be a 49er Gold Rush Girl! I guess I should clarify: the 49ers have been my all-time favorite football team since I was a pee-wee and Captain’s a die-hard Raiders fan…ew, I know! Now what you ask? How much time do I even have to prepare for this? I know I’m crazy, but I actually took the time to ask those questions too. Realistically, what questions did I not ask that day? Before I go any further though can I just say how grateful I am for mobile internet and my trusted Blackberry? If it weren’t for that little rectangle of joy I would have had to get my ass out of bed and face the cruel, harsh, heart-stomping world that lay outside my bedroom door just to go online. Could you imagine? I can’t! Instead I continued to bawl hysterically just to make myself feel better, only pausing to refocus my eyes on the screen as I Googled the Gold Rush Girl Try-Out dates. What comes next isn’t shocking, I mean how could it be when it’s obvious that Captain must have made a deal with the universe to purposely ruin my life. But here’s what I’m up against; I’ve got until March 28, 2010 to prepare for my 49er Gold Rush Girls Try-Outs. A day guaranteed to go down in infamy (thanks FDR), because as I’m half-naked strutting my stuff amongst 18-year-old, blonde-haired, Sunset-tan-covered babies; Captain will be walking down the aisle only to say “I do” to some pregnant girl who wishes her name rhymed with a plethora of cities in California. It’s a unique quality to have, I know ;)
So folks that’s where I’m at right now! This is the story of one girl, many dreams and two cities- Shan Francisco and Los Shangeles. I’ve got two months to get my dancing chops up to par with the perfection of Beyonce in Single Ladies (should have put the ring on this finger Captain), deliver on this full-body make-over, and finally become a 49er Gold Rush Girl! I admit I have no idea what’s in store for me but I can promise you that my documentation of the next 60 days is sure to keep you coming back for more! So what do you think, can I do it? Any advice? Stay tuned! Oh yeah, if you see Captain…kick him…if you run into Matt Damon, tell him to call me for Christ sake, enough is enough already!
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
Captain and I broke up four years ago. Since then I—Shan Francisco—have relocated to Los Shangeles, made a way for myself as a loveable Hollywood Publicist and just opened my own business. I know what you’re thinking because I thought it too…of course Matt Damon is going to spot me driving down Sunset Blvd., frantically chase after me to confess his love and make my 6’1-blue-eyed-blonde-haired Captain seem about as sentimental as an episode from the Jersey Shore. Yet, I’ve been here for over two years now and it still hasn’t happened…but that’s probably just because Matt doesn’t know what kind of car I drive? (Pssttt Matt, it’s a black Honda Accord…Berkeley Alumni license plate holder and no hard feelings, I tend to speed and totally forgive you for the two-year delay). So anyway, I moved on…literally and figuratively…I put 500 miles in between us and never looked back. Until last December of course when I figured that I can glance in my rear-view mirror and still be looking forward…but yes until last December when Captain came to his senses (Matt Damon probably called him and let him know that he was going to be the bigger person and let Captain have me because he knew that’s where my heart was) and invited me to go to Hawaii with him for a romantic, rekindling rendezvous. So I did what any normal, smart, beautiful girl would do…forget about all the lonely nights that I spent crying because I missed him and would’ve done anything to just go back to when we were great…and never gave him a definite answer.
But c’mon Captain, step two was our fabulous trip to Hawaii together. Step one had to happen first and that involved me telling him how Taylor Swift must have spied on me when she wrote “Love Story” because I swear those were all my original thoughts! Yet time passed in silence and our Hawaii escapade went into the relationship vault alongside B. Spears and JT’s matching 2001 denim outfits. Captain probably would have heard my Taylor Swift analogy and replied with “Dude, Taylor is so hot,” therefore, just proving my point that life is so much better when you’re 16.
Fast-forward to last week. I was back home in the Bay Area visiting my family when I shot out of bed at 6:45 a.m. from cramps which I’m positive were only intended to be used as a form of torture during times of war. I don’t know how many times I have to keep reminding my uterus that I am not a soldier and there is no mandatory draft…so back off! However my other theory was that maybe this is my stomach’s way of telling me that it’s uncomfortable at this size and nobody is at the gym at 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday; so get your ass outta bed, pop some Midol and let the treadmill become my primary source of hatred…well, that and Captain of course. Here’s the nice thing about being back in your hometown, you know which Safeway is on the way to your closest 24-hour Fitness and aisle four is where you can always find the well-stocked shelves of female drugs that never fail you in these painful times of desperation. Side note: ladies, two pills every eight hours WILL FAIL YOU though. It’s obvious that a man wrote the directions on those Midol boxes because every woman knows that four pills will only buy you five hours…TOPS! I rounded the aisle’s corner like a bat out of hell, did a California stop as I reached for my prize and sprinted over to row of bottled waters in preparation for my dreaded workout. I opt for a tall Smart Water every time…I figure that the combination of the gym and Jennifer Aniston’s endorsement pretty much classifies it as bottled holy water. I was leaving aisle six when I looked up and realized that my stomach (as if we weren’t already enemies on this given morning) had just dropped and landed on my feet.
His chiseled jaw made a perfect square as his lips parted upward to form that to-die-for smile. It had been three years since I had seen his face…meaning it had been 1,095 days since my eyes met Captain’s outside of a Facebook page or torn photograph that I had crafted back together using that amazing ultra clear scotch tape (office supplies, the reason why all things are possible). Captain jumped right in leaving no time for awkward small talk. “So I have something very important to tell you,” he said. I thought to myself, this is it…this is totally it…Captain had been sitting outside my house this morning in his car trying to find the courage to come knock on my door and tell me that he couldn’t live without me and we’d be together forever. Of course his plans were interrupted when I sped off to the store in a frantic rage. But he had followed me here and was going to get down on one knee and propose. He’d really be getting some later tonight too if he’s arranged for “Love Song” to start playing over the loud speaker during all of this! “Shan, I’m getting married in March and we’re having a baby.” It was the ultimate Sex and the City “Carrie/Aiden” moment; except I wasn’t 110 pounds with solid muscle dressed head to toe in Chanel couture like SJP. Again, who really pays attention to those minor details anyway? I took a few seconds to regroup, come back to my senses after Captain had so kindly drop-kicked my heart like a third grade kickball game. I gathered just the facts: time, date, location, an address to send a wedding gift to and then proceeded to tell Captain how happy I was for him. I knew it was about T-minus five seconds before I projectile vomited in one direction or another. So I told him that I had better leave and go pay for my Midol and Smart Water because Safeway actually offers a 50% discount for that combo if you purchase it before 8:30 a.m. You know, just a cool little marketing ploy that it had started to help women escape from aisle six when news breaks that their life is over…simple suicide prevention if you will (a bit mellow-dramatic, I’m aware ;).
The gym was out of the picture at this point. I drove straight home and crawled into my bed. The same bed that Captain and I used to make-out on for hours back in high school…how convenient at a time like this. Oh well, thank god I took those stupid glow-in-the-dark stars down from my ceiling years ago or else this flashback would have seriously been unbearable. Then came the rage, I thought to myself: “What the hell? How am I just now finding this out? I wonder how many people have known about this and never told me?” I started with the A’s and called every girlfriend of mine down to the Z’s…this wound was totally going to be reopened in a month when Verizon Wireless reminds me of my current actions. I ended that 500th call by trying to remember who I was before Captain. I was a straight-A student. I was a great older-sister. I was fun. I was constantly doing too much. I was all of those things still, but then it hit me…I was happiest when I was a cheerleader! Cheesy, I know but I can’t explain the adrenaline that rushes through your veins when you’re performing. When you’ve made deal with the cheer devil to not breathe for a solid three-minute routine…and actually love it! (Sickening I know).
LIGHTBULB! It’s time for me to be a cheerleader again! Yes, I’m 26, work 90 plus hours a week as a publicist, just started my own business and dedicate no time toward my own sanity. Yet, I know I need a farfetched goal. Let’s face it, it’s up to me to find some damn inspiration if I’m really going to get where I want to be mentally, physically and emotionally. So there we have it…it’s official, I’m going to be a 49er Gold Rush Girl! I guess I should clarify: the 49ers have been my all-time favorite football team since I was a pee-wee and Captain’s a die-hard Raiders fan…ew, I know! Now what you ask? How much time do I even have to prepare for this? I know I’m crazy, but I actually took the time to ask those questions too. Realistically, what questions did I not ask that day? Before I go any further though can I just say how grateful I am for mobile internet and my trusted Blackberry? If it weren’t for that little rectangle of joy I would have had to get my ass out of bed and face the cruel, harsh, heart-stomping world that lay outside my bedroom door just to go online. Could you imagine? I can’t! Instead I continued to bawl hysterically just to make myself feel better, only pausing to refocus my eyes on the screen as I Googled the Gold Rush Girl Try-Out dates. What comes next isn’t shocking, I mean how could it be when it’s obvious that Captain must have made a deal with the universe to purposely ruin my life. But here’s what I’m up against; I’ve got until March 28, 2010 to prepare for my 49er Gold Rush Girls Try-Outs. A day guaranteed to go down in infamy (thanks FDR), because as I’m half-naked strutting my stuff amongst 18-year-old, blonde-haired, Sunset-tan-covered babies; Captain will be walking down the aisle only to say “I do” to some pregnant girl who wishes her name rhymed with a plethora of cities in California. It’s a unique quality to have, I know ;)
So folks that’s where I’m at right now! This is the story of one girl, many dreams and two cities- Shan Francisco and Los Shangeles. I’ve got two months to get my dancing chops up to par with the perfection of Beyonce in Single Ladies (should have put the ring on this finger Captain), deliver on this full-body make-over, and finally become a 49er Gold Rush Girl! I admit I have no idea what’s in store for me but I can promise you that my documentation of the next 60 days is sure to keep you coming back for more! So what do you think, can I do it? Any advice? Stay tuned! Oh yeah, if you see Captain…kick him…if you run into Matt Damon, tell him to call me for Christ sake, enough is enough already!
Kisses!
Shan Francisco
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