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
Sunday, January 31, 2010
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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