5 Things I Won't Let Ruin My Weekend

#5. We didn't get the house. It's gonna be another Christmas in our 550 sq. foot apartment with a shrub for a tree and Ambient Fire on the television.

#4. We have to be at our accountant's office at the ungodly hour of 9:00 AM on Saturday. Which means I have to be up at 7:30 AM along with the paperboys and homeless people collecting cans.

#3. Because of reason #4 I can't go out and tie one on with my friends tonight to wash off the week. No one can handle being hungover in their accountant's office. Not even me.

#2. I have to return a pair of shoes to Nordstrom at The Grove. I'll probably go after the accountant appointment. Which means after I get the fabulous news that I'll probably have to file an amended return and owe the government a gabillion dollars, I then have to dodge fifty thousand teenagers with designer bags and even more mommies with strollers the size of cadillacs just to get into the mall. (Run on sentence anyone?) Don't get me wrong, I love The Grove, just not on a Saturday afternoon when every person in Los Angeles heads over there.

#1. I still haven't made a hair appointment because I'm trying to conserve dough right now, so I'm still walking around with three obvious grey hairs AND roots. Two more weeks and I'm going to have to start wearing a schmata on my head like Britney.

I am however looking forward to reading more of The Kite Runner. I finally picked it up last night and was so engrossed I fell asleep with it on my chest.

Happy Friday ya'll.

Redskins

After watching this video I think I could become a Redskins fan. Even though their name couldn't possibly be more politically incorrect, unless there's an NFL team I don't know about called the Black Sambos.



Football is the only sport I can stand to watch on TV. (Besides gymnastics and cheerleading, which are in fact sports, but just not in the same way.) Baseball puts me to sleep. Basketball they score too often to get excited. Soccer they don't score enough to care. Football is the perfect contact sport that keeps the viewer constantly entertained.

And it's a perfect excuse to drink beer on a Sunday morning.

When does the season start again?

And Now We Wait

We submitted an offer today on another house. It's in a better neighborhood than the last and is about 300 square feet bigger. However, we offered WAY under asking price. They say it's a buyer's market. We shall see.

We spent all day Sunday house hunting and doing laundry at my parents house. Pathetically, it's like I'm still in college. I go home to do my laundry because I just can't bear sitting in a laundromat. If and when we own a house I think I'll still be a lazy laundry doer, but at least when it piles up to the ceiling, I can take it in shifts to my own laundry room and sip wine while it dries. God help my future children. I can just see me saying, "Are you sure that's dirty? You only wore it to one soccer practice!"

Work is finally starting to pick up. June was as lively as a retirement home where Kevorkian makes rounds. Now the advertisers are starting to shoot their fall campaigns. My favorite commercial right now is this:



My company didn't do it, but it's a great spot. And a great Flaming Lips song.

Lindsay Lohan was arrested this morning on suspicion of DUI and cocaine possession. Does anyone care? I didn't think so. So why is it the top story of every single news broadcast? What is going on in our society that Paris and Lindsay are the leading stories and not how many soldiers have been wounded or killed in the last week? I live in Los Angeles, and know a lot of people in the "industry". I've heard stories that would make your head spin but luckily I haven't had to deal with anything too severe.

Well unless you count the time one of my directors got the hiccups in the middle of a Campbell's Soup commercial and we had to stop shooting for an hour and fifteen minutes, the length of time it took him to finally get rid of them. Everyone on the set was running up to him with their own "cure," including the wardrobe lady who asked him to cluck like a chicken.

Or the director I worked for who refused to continue shooting until some diet peach Snapple was brought to the set. Apparently craft service had every flavor BUT that. I was sent to the nearest store to pick some up and when I returned, (covered in sweat,) the director ripped it from my hands and said, "OK, now let's continue folks. We don't have all day here!"

My personal favorite showbiz (working) memory was on the set of a commercial starring Ed O'Neill. I was a lowly Production Assistant at the time and we were shooting on the back lot at Universal Studios. I got a call over my walkie that said, "We need a PA to go pick up Ed. He's lost somewhere around New York." (For those of you unfamiliar with Universal's lot, there's a large section devoted to just NYC streets where exterior shots are filmed.)

The funny part of this was, we weren't shooting ANYWHERE NEAR "New York" and since I was brand spanking new working on sets, I really didn't know my way around either. So guess who they ask to fetch Ed? Moi.

I take off running, (like any good PA) looking for Al Bundy in New York City. It took me about fifteen minutes and I found him, wandering like a lost puppy, scratching his head and looking really panicked. When I got to him I told him who I was and that I was the one assigned to guide him back to set. I apologized and told him that it was quite possible we'd get lost on the way back too since I had only worked at Universal twice. He could not have been nicer and kept thanking me for "rescuing" him. What a sweetheart.

If only they could all be that nice. And directors wouldn't throw their production designers in the trash can. Or throw punches. And wardrobe designers wouldn't throw hangers at their assitants. And executive producers wouldn't throw phone books at their secretaries. (All true stories.) If they could all be like Ed O'Neill on that fateful day where I rescued him from the barren streets of Manhattan, this would be a much nicer industry.

A girl can hope can't she?

I'd like a Trifecta Box on Three Grey Hairs

This morning I had The Count's voice in my head. One grey hair. TWO grey hairs. THREE GREY HAIRS! I'm only thirty two and I have THREE GREY HAIRS. Possibly more but maybe my eyesight is going and I can't see the rest.

The first one I found I plucked and then cried. The next two I found I left alone and tried to cover in a ponytail. Nothing is working. It's officially the beginning of the end. To add insult to injury I'm going to have to up the visits to the hair salon, which will put a dent in the pocketbook for sure.

I've had the same hair stylist for eight years. He works at the salon that invented the Jennifer Aniston "Friends" do. Last time I was there I sat next to Nicole Ritchie. He's not cheap, but thankfully since I've been seeing him so long he gives me a break on the price. He's a really good guy. Guess I have to make an appointment soon.

So much has happened in the last few weeks. Fourth of July came and went. We spent a lovely day of bbq and fun at our friend's house in Atwater. My bff came down and spent two nights at my house so we got in a little quality time. She and her husband are two of the people we're going to Argentina with. Speaking of which, I finally got our internal flights so we're all set. Five flights in fourteen days is certainly going to be interesting.

Last weekend we headed to Hollywood Park for the last day of horse races. For some reason, I'm really good at betting on horses. Only been twice before and won both times. But since I'm so afraid of losing money I only bet $2 at a time. Well, last Sunday we walked in, grabbed the race list, I picked 3 horses who had the best names and bet $2 on a trifecta box. Won $115.00. Turned out to be a great day at the races despite my slight hangover from dinner with The Marrieds the previous night.

When we left the park I was about $150 up. Just enough to pay for a pizza dinner and balance out my hubbie's $100 loss. Check out some pics below.

Me & Cal

My Lucky Race Book

Our neighbors in the box to our right
Aren't they beautiful?
Better luck next time honey

TGIF

I have no idea what I'm going to do when I have a baby. Because all I can think about right now, at 4:45 on a Friday, is getting the hell out of work, into pajamas, pouring a glass of wine and CHILLIN. Followed by a LOOOOONG sleep. In fact, I don't want to get out of bed before 11am tomorrow. And I can.

For now.

How do moms do it? How do you go from having all this free time to none at all? Nothing to ease you in. Say, one weekend a month with an infant, followed by two, followed by three. Nope. It's all or nothing.

I hate to say it but I think I'm kind of a lazy person. Not when it comes to work but when it comes to free time. Some people see the weekend as an adventure. 48 whole hours to not be at work and therefore they fill it with activities that please them. They go outside. They hike, bike, camp and run marathons. They get up early and go to flea markets and estate sales. They go out for breakfast and peruse farmers markets.

Not me. Given the choice, I'm happy just staying in. Not answering the phone. Ordering some movies on OnDemand. Ordering in some junk food. Reading. Watching television with the shades drawn. Staying in my pajamas all day. Not having to make any physical effort whatsoever. MAAAAYBE getting out to go get a mani/pedi. Just chillin. Some would say that sounds like I'm depressed. I would disagree. It's just what makes me happy.

So with this being said, once I have a baby, all this will be long gone. Am I correct? Is it possible that I'm trying to soak up as many of these "free days" as I can before my life is dictated by diaper changes and feeding times? It's not like I can say to Hubbie, "Pretend I'm not here and you feed the baby." Can I?

I've been doing really well on the diet and have so far lost five and a half pounds. I know if I exercised more (ahem, at all) I would lose it faster. And be able to eat more.

But for now, this particular Friday afternoon, I'm going to relish in the fact that I have NOTHING that HAS to be done tomorrow except dinner with friends. And NOTHING that has to be done Sunday except a mani/pedi. And I'm grateful for that.

Happy Friday!

Butterflies in Stomach

Belly in knots. Going somewhere I haven't been in four years. Nervous. Jittery. Would rather not go but have to.
Sorry for being vague, have to be. Until I don't anymore. Ugh. Sorry. Probably shouldn't have even written.
But I have to keep my hands busy and my mind on something else.
Ok, speaking of which, the book I'm reading is fantastic. I am absolutely obsessed now with the French revolution. I want to read anything I can get my hands on. If anyone has any suggestions I'd love to hear them.
Palm Springs with the in-laws was lovely. We spent three full days lazing in the sun and making some delicious home cooked meals. My father in law is a fantastic cook and grilled for us both nights. The temperature hit about 120 degrees during the day and about 90 at night. We're talking HOT. But since the air is so dry you don't realize how warm it actually is.
I managed to escape the weekend with only a minor sunburn on the top of my thighs. After 32 years of going there I've learned to "reapply" the sunscreen. I worry about skin cancer now that I'm older. I used to just fry like bacon in the sun. Can remember at least three or four times getting burned enough to blister. Shoulders especially.
I've never been to a dermatologist. I suppose it's time to go. Although I have to admit I really don't want to be looked over. And I really don't want anything biopsied. I guess it's going to have to be one of those things where I force myself to go- kind of like the dentist- but without nitrous oxide. (Do they provide that at some dermatologists??)
I'll leave you with a picture of our backyard in Palm Springs. It was so beautiful, we felt like Hollywood stars.

One of the funniest things I've seen in a long time.

The fact that a museum like this actually exist blows my mind. Who is running to see these exhibits? Who is going to pay $19.95 to see "museum exhibits suggesting that man coexisted with dinosaurs -- which fossils show became extinct millions of years before humans existed."

My God! It's Land of The Lost! They made a museum out of Land of The Lost! Boy, I loved that show! But asserting the world is only 6,000 years old and God really did create it in six days is pretty darn funny. What's even funnier are some of the comments on the Creation Museum's site.

"I just want to let you know how thrilled I am at the opening of the Creation Museum. Finally we have a place to take our children that we don’t have to worry about the message they are hearing. We can rest assured that they are hearing the truth, the truth that we so firmly believe in." —P. F., Ohio

Worry about the message they're hearing? What message would that be? That GASP, Noah may not have loaded each and every animal on earth, two by two, on to a wooden boat? Man, I've worked on commercials with animals and even their trainers can't get them to work that efficiently. And we're talking trying to get a dog to walk through a "doggie door" at the cued time.

The museum must attract the same people who continually vote to deny GLBT people basic civil rights. They think homosexuals getting married is not only immoral but absurd. But there's nothing absurd about the exhibit in which, "Adam appears, bearded and handsome, if slightly waxen. Eve emerges from his rib with luxuriant hair and a kindly expression."

What will they think of next?

*Quotes taken from Washington Post article 5/07.

7 more hours to go

Inlaws, Hubbie and I are heading to Palm Springs this weekend for a little R&R. We rented a big modern house with a fabulous backyard where I plan to spend many hours lying in the sun reading. It's long overdue.

This morning I was slapped in the face with the trials of simply running an errand. After fighting traffic for an hour, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a prescription I had ready. The pharmacy is located at the very back of the store, and I had to dodge employees in practically every aisle stocking shelves. When the clerk went to ring me up he realized he hadn't powered up the register yet. After fiddling with it for a few minutes, he asked me to sign for the script, take the form all the way to the front of the store, pay for it and then walk back to the pharmacy to pick up the pills. There's my cardio for the day.

When I got to the front register I had to wait for the person in front of me to kindly explain to the cashier that her coupon clearly states a free gallon of milk with the purchase of three boxes of cereal. However, she chose chocolate milk and for some reason it wouldn't go through on the system. After ten minutes of this my blood pressure started to rise and my foot was uncontrollably tapping. I was now officially late for work.

When I finally got rung up, and sprinted to the back to get the pills, then sprinted out to my car, I looked around and couldn't find it. The car that is. I was in the wrong aisle. I walked over to the right aisle and was nearly mowed down by an a**hole on a cell phone who decided to gun it out of his parking spot.

I screamed so loud my throat still hurts. He gave a wimpy apology before speeding off. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I got in the car and drove off, making it to work fifteen minutes late. Walked in to the raised eyebrow of my boss and the phone already ringing.

Yeah, I need a little R&R. 7 more hours til I see this.

Every Time You Close Your Eyes...

I hear a song and want to call my dad to play it for him. Or, I'll be listening to a band I know he knew, and I want to ask his opinion. After all, he was the major influence on my indie music tastes.

Right now... listening to Arcade Fire, all I can think about is wishing my dad could hear this. I know I'm the last to catch on to this band. I know they've been around forever, and yet, I heard Funeral the other day as if it were the first time. I've been playing the song "Rebellion/Lies" over and over since. It's the true meaning of emo.

I hate that word. I hate that word so much but there's no other description for this album. I'm no music critic, so this is hard to put into words. All I can say is.... I feel different after hearing this album, and learning what went into it.

This live performance brought tears to my eyes. Hope you enjoy.

You Know You're an Angeleno If:

You get an email from a good friend that reads:

Hi Girls, We are having a Botox event on Wednesday June 27 from 5pm-8pm. Botox is on sale for $9/ unit, if any of you have been considering Botox this is a great price. If you get Botox that night you will get a free Tarot card reading. We'll have food and non-alcoholic(bummer) drinks. Let me know if you are interested. Hope everyone is having a good day.

And you don't flinch. In fact, you write back saying you would attend but you're still working on paying off your laser hair removal.

Second Thoughts?

Hubbie came home and I showed him my new and improved blog. (Nice huh?) And he noticed my 10 Desert Island Records. And then said, "Oh, hmm, it's changed."

Uhhhhh, HAVE WE MET? Changed since when? Our conversation up to Paso, where I was caught off guard? Let's review.

This list will probably change weekly, leaving the same six records up and the other four rotating. But I can tell you right now, with no reservation, that Pink Floyd's The Wall will remain, and will ALWAYS remain on this list.

For certain. Without any hesitation. Ok?!?!?!

I know this because I'm listening to it right now and I have chills. However, while I was cooking dinner, (pork tenderloin in a current jam/rosemary/garlic sauce,) I listened to Jerry Garcia Band and R.E.M which made me second guess my choices. Well, not so much with Jerry but definitely R.E.M.

Any of you have definitive top ten desert island albums?

Wait Watchers

Back on a diet. Haven't really been on one since before the wedding. I suppose I thought the twenty pounds I lost in 2005 would magically stay off despite my inclination towards meals centered around cheese, cream, red meat and wine. (I really should have been born in France.)

An awful thing happened to me when I was twenty eight. I was in a Target one day and saw an aisle of scales. I decided to step on one. I saw a number flash before my eyes that I had never seen, nor dreamed of. I saw a number that was my high school weight. That is, if in high school I sported a water buffalo on my back.

I've always been thin and wore a size 3 or 5. When I turned twenty eight that all changed. I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Oh, the days of a cheeseburger, fries and a CHOCOLATE SHAKE for lunch. The years in college that I'd eat a burrito and a six pack of beer and have a washboard stomach. The years after college that were filled with bowls and bowls of pasta because that's all I could afford, yet still looked great in a bathing suit.

Now if I don't watch everything I put in my mouth I start to look like I swallowed Jerry Falwell's corpse. (Sorry, I just had to write one sentence that had Falwall and corpse in it. ha ha ha.) Ok, moving on.

Weight Watchers seems to work the best for me out of all the diets I've tried. (ahem. all two of them.) I started last Monday and now I just wait for the pounds to drop off. When I decide to do something I really put my mind to it. (Usually.) So, I'm really motivated to lose ten pounds and am hoping to do that by mid July. And more importantly keep it off.

Until we leave for Argentina, land of red meat, wine and chimichurri sauce. My mouth is already watering.

Baby Steps

Like most of my friends, my parents are divorced. Difference being, my parents were separated before I was even born, so luckily I never suffered the actual "split". I never knew my parents as a marital unit... and that just didn't seem strange to me. In fact, picturing them married seemed stranger.

I was also lucky that my mom enlisted help from my grandparents, great aunts, uncles and cousins to raise me. Yes, I was born an only child to a single parent but I was never neglected. In fact, it was the opposite. I was always made to feel special, got pretty much anything I wanted, and felt immense love and acceptance.

At one point we lived with my mom's cousin and her children. And it was a really happy time for me. I would play with my older cousins and our big dumb sheepdog in the back yard. It felt very much like a hippie house, with Cat Stevens on the record player and folk art on the walls. Yet I knew, even at the age of three, that something was missing.

Enter my step-dad.

I was so young that I don't remember the sequence of events, or how and when things transpired. All I really remember is all of a sudden this guy started coming around. And I liked him. I liked that my mom was happy around him and I felt comfortable immediately.

I was already well versed in the "step-parent" language since my dad had married a woman shortly after he and my mom split. I knew what it meant to have another parental figure that wasn't blood, so I knew when Bill came around, there was a possibility that he would stay. Of course I also realized that there was a possibility that he wouldn't.

I recall sitting in the back seat of the car while my mom and Bill were up front, and I leaned forward, (only babies rode in car seats back then,) and said, "so, when are you getting married?"

Shortly after, they would be married. I don't remember the wedding but I think I wore a yellow dress? More important are the things I remember since their wedding.

I remember him picking me up and carrying me to bed no matter where I fell asleep. And that happened a lot. And sometimes I'd be half awake, but preferred he carry me to bed rather than walk.

I remember him tucking me in and leaving the light on in the hallway after he and my mom mistakenly took me to see Star Trek-The Wrath of Khan at the drive-in. (I still cover my ear before going to sleep.)

I remember him putting together my bike and teaching me to ride. He even put a basket on.

I remember him always being the one to stay calm and collected at my skating competitions, when everyone else was coming unglued. It was comforting. I knew it was ok if I screwed up. (Of course there were a few dips in the video recording the day I fell three times during one routine.)

I remember he listened to good music and turned me on to Led Zeppelin. (At nine years old. He probably doesn't even know this.)

I remember him tutoring me in all of my math classes that I constantly struggled with. If I was him I would have shoved the pencil in my ear because I was such a dunce. (Ironically I went on to work for a company where I manage budgets, cash expenditures and two checking accounts.) He was a pretty good tutor.

I remember he would take me and a friend to his company party every year, which just happened to be a room filled with all the newest and greatest video games, all set to FREE PLAY. And, I got to miss school to attend. =)

I remember him burying my first pet, Paddington. The hamster. Enough said. =(

I remember him teaching me to drive because my mom was a nervous wreck, (hi mom!) and helping me grasp that whole "ease off the clutch" part of driving a stick.

I remember him coming in my room when I was a teenager, just to check in. To ask me how my day was. Even though I was busy on the phone, I was happy he did. (Wasn't too happy when he made me get off the phone but I guess someone had to do it.)

I remember the laughter that would fill the house when he and my mom were in a goofy mood. And it made me smile because I liked to see my mom happy too.

I could go on but the fact of the matter is, I am who I am because I had you in my life. I'm grateful for you and all that I've learned from you.

Love you. Happy Father's Day.

CAUTION! EXPLETIVES BELOW...

While watching Good Morning America today, my husband saw an ad for a new "FDA Approved" diet pill. Knowing that both of us are trying to lose a few pounds, he went to the company's website to find out more about this "magic" pill.

Below is an email he sent out to friends and family that lists the "side effects" with his comments.

Saw a commercial about a new FDA approved diet pill.......sounds great!........ Here's an excerpt from the website.... Christian

Does alli have side effects?

In many cases, that's up to you. alli works by preventing the absorption of some of the fat you eat. The fat passes out of your body very very quickly, so you may have bowel changes, known as treatment effects (shitting your pants!).

You may have:

gas with oily spotting (sharts!)

loose stools (diarhea)

more frequent stools that may be hard to control (almost shitting your pants while trying to make it to a bathroom!)

Eating a low-fat diet lowers the chance of these bowel changes (crapping in your undies!), especially if you limit your fat to 15 grams per meal.

While no one wants to experience treatment effects (shitting yourself), you may think of them as a way to become more aware of what you eat. Minimizing treatment effects (shit slips) can be an incentive to keep from eating too much fat (or eating at all!)

Managing "treatment effects" (pants shitting)

Even before you begin taking alli capsules, try following a reduced-calorie, low-fat diet so you can get used to making smarter food choices. Then choose a day to start with alli capsules such as a weekend day (and hang on tight) so you can stay close to home if you experience a treatment effect (explosive shart!).

When you work with alli, you can get the guidance you need to possibly avoid treatment effects (shitting your pants) altogether. And support is there right from the beginning with myalliplan. (Although no one will come to your aid if you appen to shit yourself; you'll be cleaning that up all by yourself.)

Begin with the alli starter pack

When you‚re ready for alli, and don't mind the idea of possibly shitting all over yourself, look for the alli starter pack, available beginning June 15th. The pack includes alli capsules, a dozen adult diapers, and an easy reference guides to help you follow the alli program. The starter pack also includes a carrying case called the Shuttle (or Shittle), making it easy to keep your alli capsules with your diapers and wet wet wipes at every meal. take a tour of the alli starter pack.

The portable reference guides, together with no self respect and myalliplan, deliver the support you need to help you succeed with weight loss and teach you how to eat healthy and strengthen your butt muscles for a lifetime. Because individual results may vary, it will take hard work on your part. After all, it takes alot of planning to always be within 20 paces of a toilet.

Are you ready for alli? Take the alli weight loss readiness quiz:

To all you girls out there...

7:10 PM- Came home from work and put away the bag of clean laundry that had been sitting on the floor for two weeks. Made an effort to do more but ended up putting on my sweats and turning on reruns of Sex and the City by 7:30.

8:30- I got up, brushed my teeth, washed my face and got in bed. (And drank some prune juice and rolled my hair in curlers.)

8:45- I turned on more Sex and the City reruns in the bedroom, sending my husband fleeing to the living room to watch anything but that.

9:15- I told him I was hungry.

9:20- I asked him if I should have pizza or ice cream as a snack? Couldn't decide which had fewer calories.

9:22- He came in with a reheated slice of cheese pizza- which I proceeded to eat. In bed. With freshly brushed teeth.

9:28- I got up with the intention of brushing my teeth again, only to come back in the bedroom holding a pint of Haagen Daz Carmel Cone ice cream.

9:45- Sickened with myself, I made my husband rip the ice cream container out of my cold dead hands. There was about two bites left. Hey, I didn't finish it!

7:00 AM this morning- Needed a fork lift to get me out of bed.

11:00 AM- Should start ANY minute now. Wish I was back at home watching Sex and the City reruns.

Long Long Long ago

I thought I was dreaming. I opened my eyes and saw my step-mother sitting at the foot of my bed. I closed my eyes and reopened them, only to see her still sitting there, but this time she reached out and touched me. It was still dark, probably about six in the morning. I was in my bedroom that I shared with Ike. He was still sound asleep.

How did she get in without waking my other three roommates and the dog?

I knew something was either terribly wrong or I was hallucinating. I had a few drinks the night before but nothing too crazy. Just the typical summer night in a college town. School was about to start up again and everyone was getting in the last few nights of debauchery before fall.

"Are you awake?" she said as I sat up in bed.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered as my mind raced. Did she drive? Fly? Why hadn't she called first? Is she on drugs again?

This wasn't my step-mom's first time visiting me in Santa Barbara, but it was her first time to this house. I'd never even told her the address. The summer of 95' I shared a house with four guys. A first (and last) for me.

Ike and I each had a twin bed that was separated by a constant pile of dirty laundry. Our other housemates were not exactly tidy either. One was a skater with a mohawk who let his pit bull pee all over the house. (He also happened to be my Statistics 101 tutor.) The other two were surfers who subsisted on nothing but Top Ramen, Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and the occasional burrito. I loved them all but the house was in a constant state of chaos. The dishes were never done unless I broke down and put on the hazmat suit, only to have another sink full three days later. The house was vacuumed once in three months, and that was also done by yours truly, while the dog growled and barked at me because she was frightened of the noise.

This was not the house to bring parents to. This was the house where we had kegs all summer long, drinking what was left over from a party in the morning. This was the house my roommates made it their goal to drink enough "twelvers" of Pabst to cover the entire front lawn in cans. A sort of punk rock 90s art installation. This was the house with an upside down canoe in the front yard that was used for extra seating to watch the daily horseshoe tournament. This was the house that had an American Flag waving in front and Black Flag blasting from within. This house was 21 and under.

"What are you doing here?" I said again, looking over to make sure Ike was still asleep.

"Your father is dead" she said followed by a long pause. It was as if she knew what I was thinking so she said it again.

"Your father passed away. He's dead." And then she started to cry.

Even though she had said the words, I still wasn't sure I heard her right. So I said the next thing that came to mind.

"How???"

"He killed himself..." she said and I waited for further explanation. Those words just hung in the dark room for a while. I couldn't say how long. Long enough for them to rattle my ears and jolt me awake but not long enough for them to make a bit of sense. Then I said the most ridiculous thing anyone could say in a situation such as this.

"Are you serious?"

When you're twenty years old and you're woken up at dawn by your crazy step-mother who doesn't even live in the same state as you, I suppose it's any one's guess as to what would have been the appropriate thing to say. I really did mean what I said though.

Killed himself? My dad killed himself? My dad who I just talked to the week before, killed himself?!?!

"How?" I said again and realized Ike was starting to stir.

"He shot himself.." she said and stopped crying. I just remember her looking at me in the dark, waiting for my response. I had no idea what to say or how to react. I was confused and still somehow convinced she wasn't serious. Or this was some sort of mistake.

He. Shot. Himself.

It sounded so foreign. It sounded absurd. It sounded unthinkable.

Ike woke up and must have overheard what was going on. He just left the room without a word. The dialogue gets a little fuzzy here but I do remember asking her when they found him, (the day before) how she got here, (drove) how she found me, (called my friend Lisa) and who else knew, (only a few people.)

I only started to cry after she had told me every last detail. It was as if I was quizzing her to make sure this was really happening.

When I did start to cry, she said "just take your time," and hugged me. She began to cry again and all I could feel was discomfort. Just general malaise coupled with the awkwardness of seeing her. We had a very tenuous relationship, (at best) and I felt like I had to give her the show she was looking for.

She wanted to be the arms to hold me and comfort me. She wanted to be the star of this twisted show. She wanted me to need her. She wanted to be the adult in a situation for once.

I got up and went over to the stereo. I put on Long Long Long from the Beatles White Album, not knowing I would never be able to hear that song again without thinking of this moment. As it played I thought about my dad, who was a huge Beatles fan, and wondered if he loved this song as much as I did.

Then I cried. And cried. And cried.

The rest of the day is spotty. I know I called my best friend and she came over through the alley that divided our houses. I remember us hugging in the front yard and feeling safe that she was there with me. I didn't want to be alone with my step-mom any longer and needed a friend who I could trust. She stayed all morning while I sorted through things.

I remember trying act cool in front of my four roommates while I was packing, so as not to make them feel uncomfortable. I didn't want them to think I was the girl with the crazy father who would now be a loose cannon. That's pretty typical ME stuff. I worry about what other people think when I'm in the midst of a crisis. God forbid I should show an ounce of weakness. God forbid I should look vulnerable. God forbid I should let myself feel frightened.

It was a dark, dark day.

Paso Wine Fest 07

Spent last weekend with the Moneys & a few of their Texan friends at the Paso Robles Wine Festival. We rolled into town about 8:00 pm Friday night and the fun didn't stop til the Hubby and I fell into bed last night at 10:30.

I believe Saturday was the longest drinking day I've had in a very long while. (Maybe since our big Hollywood Blvd. outing? Eeek. Gotta slow down on the marathon hooching.) We started out having a lovely lunch at Artisan accompanied by lots and lots of water. Made sure to carbo load so we'd have a nice base for the day. The food there was lovely. I had lobster bisque to start and Cal and I shared fish n chips. They make their own ketchup, yum!

From there we made our way to the park where over one hundred wineries were happily handing out samples of their finest. I remember really enjoying the Sauvignon Blanc from Graveyard and something white (?) from Rotta. The rest of the wines kind of blur.

After tasting for a three hours we wandered over to the Crooked Kilt, past the bagpipers and into the bar to have a few cocktails. Cal's mom was gracious enough to be our taxi the whole weekend and came to pick us up from the bar and take us home. It wouldn't be the last time that day.

We went home with just enough time to put on a fresh coat of deoderant and non-wine-stained clothes and headed back out to dinner at Villa Creek. Pitchers of margaritas started us off and we finished with dessert wine. I had the spare ribs and I sampled the tuna and buffalo but I don't have any pictures to show you because MY CAMERA IS BROKEN which leaves me PHOTO-LESS. No pictures of food! No pictures of friends! I hate this.

Sorry for the tangent. Back on track. So, before I knew it we were having dessert wine and splitting the bill. And that's the last time I saw my cell phone.

Oh yeah! That's right! Yes, now I am digital camera-less AND cell phone-less. Kind of like living in the 80s! Maybe I should embrace this? Throw out the computer too! (Oh wait, that's where I write this. Rats!)

After dinner, instead of going home and digesting our meal on the couch, (like regular folk,) we went BACK to the Crooked Kilt. And this valley girl who hardly ever DRANK when she lived in the valley, ends up ordering not one, BUT TWO shots of Jameson. On top of the wine during the day. On top of the two vanilla vodka - diet cokes. On top of the margarita at dinner. On top of the dessert wine. Good night moon.

We put some tunes on the jukebox, (Mr. Money and I had to duke it out about some musical preferences,) and we spent a great evening with the whole gang. The mom-taxi came to pick us up around midnight and we stumbled home and had a nice chat around the fire before turning in.

To our twin beds separated by a nightstand. Not that I was in any shape to do anything but fall asleep still wearing my hoop earrings.

Sunday morning we woke up bright and early and headed to Hearst Castle. I took a tour I'd never been on before and learned that ole' Randy was an animal lover too! He particularly loved Datsuns and always had one by his side. There was only one room in the whole complex that had air conditioning, and that was the kennel that held his dogs. Awwww! My kinda guy.

Afterwards the Moneys, the Texans and little old us headed up Hwy 1 to see the elephant seals. Then back down to Morro Bay for more fish n chips and saltwater taffy. We poured ourselves in the car about 6:30 and had a pretty uneventful drive home.

Thanks to the Moneys and Cal's mom for a wonderful weekend. We had an amazing time and can't wait to see pictures!!!

SO FUNNY

As most of you know I have a little Betta fish named Feesh. (Or Foosh, Poosh, P-Fishy, Feesher and countless other names depending on the day.)

Here he is:


I spoil him rotten because I love him so much and he truly is the highlight of my work day. I thought I'd lost my mind the day I came into my office and actually hugged his tank because I'd missed him over the weekend.

This woman puts me to shame. Apparently she rescued a fish who could no longer swim. He is also recovering from mouth rot so she has to HAND FEED HIM. This woman is my hero. It's so heartwarming to see people who treat their animals with such love and compassion.

Hope you enjoy! Oh, and by the way, his name is "Dash". I mean, could you just die???

Peter and Twiggyman

Favorite Peter Murphy song + Twiggy (whiskeyandspeed) Ramirez on guitar=
ONE VERY HAPPY VALLEY GIRL.

If I ever saw these two in a room together I'd probably faint on the spot.

Enjoy.

Grass Is Greener Preview!

Hi kids,
My friend wrote and directed this fabulous new pilot. Take a minute to watch. You won't be sorry.



Going to see BRMC tonight- will post about it tomorrow. I can't wait!