I was right, even back then.

Remember Leif Garrett? Everyone had a crush on him, except me. This proves I wasn't wrong.

Of course, I had a mad, mad crush on Shawn Cassidy.

I don't have a "clique"

Those kids in school? The Jocks, the Soshes (short for "Sociable," the "in" crowd), the Loadies (stoners), the Smacks (smart kids), the Theater Geeks,the Richie Riches?

I didn't have a group. Yeah, I was in the choir, but in and of itself, it wasn't a clique. I was on the swim team, but junior varsity. I took AP English, but got kicked out of the honor society for my grades in Spanish (took me four years to complete two years of high school Spanish with Mr. Ochi. But that's a whole other post).

I had friends. It's not like I sat in my car at lunch every day to eat my sack lunch. One, I didn't have a driver's license in high school, let alone a car, and two, I was far too lazy to have ever packed a lunch. I was always annoying my friends, "Are you going to finish that? I'll have it if you aren't." What a leech I could be.


Lately I've been thinking about which group would identify me as a member. Middle-age? Maybe. I'm not quite to what I hope is my middle age, but on the other hand... Let's see. Single? That's a group that gets unpleasant at my age. Single, Never Married? Ouch. More to the point, and also very unpleasant.

There is something very wrong with being single and never married in the society in which we live. If I was divorced, I'd at least have shown that someone desired me for his one and only at least once in my life, and if I was divorced, I'd have an excuse for being single.

At almost 42 (only ten more shopping days), I'm out of excuses.

Everyone seems to have advice. Which in turn, reinforces that I'm in a situation that is wrong. "You're trying too hard," "You have to put yourself out there," "Join the Unitarian church (swing dance class, Habitat for Humanity, harmony.com)," "When it's supposed to happen, it'll happen," and my personal favorite, "Don't worry about it."

No, it's not a group that has flags and parades and banners, and political fights about anything. I've not heard of "Single Pride," probably because it's not something most are proud of, nor is it something most folk want to continue being.

Sure, there are those who prefer a solitary life, I've just never met them (due to the aforementioned solitary life).

I buy into this idea as much as the next person. Can't seem to shake it. There's something wrong with a person who is single at my age and doesn't want to be. I actually only know two other people my age who have been single all along. One is an angry, controlling woman who scares men to death, and the other is a very uninteresting, dare I say it? dull person. See, harsh judgment on my part. Harsh, and not charitable at all.


What's my reason? We feel a need to make excuses. Going back to something being wrong with being single. Remember, I'm not talking about sex here. Sex, by itself, is always accessible. It's just that now, I'm not interested in just sex for it's own sake. I can take care of that quickly and by myself, if that's all I'm looking for.

And, it goes back to something deeper. Identity. I hate that my identity seems to be tied up right now with my single status, and the flaws I must possess that being single at my age imply. Most of my friends aren't single. They have all the advice. Problem is, I'm up to here with advice. Besides, they aren't single. They don't know, and don't want to know, what it feels like to still be alone. They want to fix it, but they don't want to hear me.

Boy, I woke up in a mood today, didn't I?

One of those days

when it appears I'm the only one reading my blog. Is there anything more depressing than seeing those "O Comments" after a post? Especially after several of those in the last week or two?

Okay, there are more depressing things. Far more depressing things. I know.

But remember, it's all about me.

It's getting close to that time I need to get back to school.

ooo... Ms. Congeniality is on TBS for the seven hundredth time. I gotta go.

Finally, Kevin, Part Two

Okay, recap so far:
It is December, 1984. Kevin, Jennifer and I have all been friends since high school. Kevin and Jennifer have been having a "thing" since high school. Kevin had gotten very serious about Jennifer. Jennifer has gotten very serious about someone else. I know this, because they've been talking to me. They don't know this, because they haven't been talking.

Kevin is planning to do a study abroad program in Denmark for the second semester. After that, he's got plans to backpack through Europe for the summer before he comes back to finish his last year and earn his double-degree. I'm looking foreward to seeing him during Christmas Break, since I won't see him for almost a year afterward.

Okay, so it's the day before Christmas, around two in the afternoon. I'm annoyed about having to share a room with my 17-year-old sister for a couple of weeks while I'm at my parents' house, so I'm out in the living room, watching It's a Wonderful Life for the millionth time.

The doorbell rings, and I see that it's Kevin at the door. Hurray! I'm rescued. I open the door, say "Merry Christmas!" and go in for a big hug.

It's like hugging a telephone pool. He looks at me and says,

"I was just over at Jennifer's house."

(Oh shit.)

"And you knew."

And he is pissed off.

I try to defend myself... but he isn't buying any of it.

"A real friend would've told me."

Turns out, Kevin had gone over to her parent's house to surprise her. He had bought a round trip ticket for her to travel in Europe with him that summer. That was going to be her Christmas present. How romantic is that? How many college boys would do something like that? As a surprise? Oh gosh. Where is my Kevin?

Her mother had answered the door, he asked for her, and mom said,

"Oh, I'm sorry Kevin, Jennifer is down in San Diego with her fiance's family."

God.

Can you imagine?

And he drove straight over to my house.

Now, in my defense, I didn't know she was spending the holidays with her new guy, and I certainly didn't know she was engaged. She and I talked more than she and Kevin did, but not much.

I look back now and wonder why I was ever friends with this person who just treated others like crap. I don't know.

I wonder how this woman inspired romantic, sweep-her-off-her-feet gestures in men, by being selfish and mean, while I, by being honest, loyal and constant, became every man's confidant and buddy.

I still wonder.

Kevin recovered. He and I are still close, and I'll be going out to Washington DC to see him next month.

This summer, I've really been reminded of what's important to me in friends. I tend to allow bad behavior and make excuses for others, rather than calling them on it. I get hurt easily, but try not to show it (not always successfully). Do I deserve it? Being teased, or chastised, or made fun of? No, I don't.

Kevin doesn't do that. He treats me with respect, he challenges me when he thinks I'm wrong, and he makes me want to be a better friend.

He's not one to get all gooshy about things, so I'll have to pour a couple drinks into him. Then I'll be able to tell him just how much his friendship means to me.

So here's my challenge for you today; tell someone how much and why you appreciate them. Tell them to their face, call them up, send an e-mail. Just do it. You'll make their day. And you'll feel better too. I promise.

Happy Birthday Torn!

Today is my good friend, Tornwordo's birthday. I've been trying to post a picture, but blogger doesn't seem to want to cooperate.

Happy Birthday Pal.

I haven't forgotten about Kevin, Part Two, but

I don't think my @#$@#$#! car is ever going to be fixed properly. I first took it in before the Vegas trip with Torn at the beginning of this month. Parts had to be ordered, so I had to bring it back in after I returned. Which I did. a couple weeks ago, I dropped it off early, in Goleta, which is about 13 miles from my house.

I puttered around at K-Mart and Home Depot down there, since the bus runs nowhere near my home, and it was about a bizillion degrees outside. Walking a couple miles up and back down the hill was not my idea of fun. At about 1pm, I called the shop and asked when my car might be finished. "Oh, Rodger didn't come in today. He's sick."

Great. So car not worked on. Air Conditioner still not working. And let me tell you, this is after driving back from Long Beach, on the stupid 405, in 15 mile-an-hour traffic, in 107 degree heat, with no air conditioning. It is not good. I needed the air conditioning fixed.

But what could I do? He was sick. I picked up my car, and hoped he would get better soon.

Brings us to yesterday. Yet again, I bring my car in early, drop it off, and this time, hop on the city bus back to Santa Barbara. I hang out at the mall, do a little shopping, eat lunch, do a little more shopping , and call Rodger around 3pm.

"We still have to order a part for the air conditioner. It's going to cost $200. Do you still want to get it?

YES! YES god damn it!

okay, so that was on the inside. I was all polite on the outside, and asked what time I should pick up my car. Vague, "Idunno" kind of answer. I'm getting annoyed at this point, but the guy has my car. Don't want to piss him off.

I go to the bus stop,where I watch the bus I need driving away. Wait a half an hour, ride for half an hour, and go get my car. And am told I should drive out to the Ford Dealership, which is several miles away, pick up the air conditioning part myself, and bring it back to the shop, where Rodger can fix it.

oi.

But I had dinner plans at 6pm last night.

So, I"m heading out in a bit, back to the garage, where supposedly, I will be able to wait whilst he fixes whatever needs to be fixed so I don't have to deal with being parboiled every time I go somewhere.

Please think good thoughts.

Dolly Parton

Did a horrific version of Stairway to Heaven. Did you know that? I didn't either, until about 3 minutes ago.

See, I just got the free 7-day trial version of MusicMatch.com. I went to the artist match feature, and it decided that since I like Alison Krauss and the Dixie Chicks, I would like this song too.

Eww.

(I wonder how many of you are going to search for this song now, just to hear it.)

Time for a change

Okay, I've now been told not only do I look like I have Down's Syndrome by one "friend", but Chunks commented on Torn's blog that I looked demented as well.

So, I have changed my profile picture.


I thought the other one was funny. Oh well.

Definitely improved with age

The picture posted over at Torn's blog today made me go ahead and post this one.

I'm pretty sure this is Winter Formal, 1982.


Yes, we had better skin, and no gray hair, but still.

Thank god those days are over.

Kevin

Kevin and I have known each other for many many years. I knew of him even before we met.

When I was in the seventh grade, he was a year ahead of me at Goleta Valley Junior High School, and already very popular. That year, his 17-year-old sister was diagnosed with leukemia, and needed a very expensive bone marrow transplant. Goleta was a small community back then, and there were fundraisers for her and her family for several months. Every day the Goleta Valley Sun would report on how she was doing. I remember going door to door with a collection can for her.

Turned out the best match for her transplant was Kevin. This kid, only 13 years old, adored his sister, and both went into the hospital.

The transplant was a success, and his sister finally came home.

And then she died.

It was horrible. The hard part was over, everyone thought, but she got an infection, her body couldn't fight it, and she died.

It was very public. I didn't officially meet Kevin until two years later, but I knew all about this very private sorrow. You'd think this would set him up for a difficult life, but no matter how much crap the world has thrown at him, he still handles it all.

At first, I idolized him. He was cute, and funny, and always friendly to everyone. I never saw him treat anyone with the contempt or ridicule that so many teenage boys are full of.

Out of all the friends I had in high school, I don't think I would have guessed that he and I would have stayed so close. He was still popular, the student body president, knew everyone, and well, I was in the choir. I had a mad crush on him, asked him to the Sadie Hawkins Dance, and we had a pretty miserable time. Poor guy. He didn't want to hurt my feelings by saying no, but oh boy, was it a stilted, awkward couple of hours or what?

Anyway, it took many years before I realized that he enjoyed my friendship as much as I enjoyed his. You know how we put people on pedestals? We think they are so wonderful and amazing, but don't believe they are our equals? That's how I thought of him for a long time.

I don't know when I realized that he appreciated my friendship as much as I appreciated his.

Maybe Christmastime, my junior/his senior year in college.

He and Jennifer (remember the mean but funny girl from school whom I just recently saw? And posted about?) had had a "thing" for a few years. Neither one would take the chance to get serious, and neither one really got serious with anyone else. Kevin went to Colorado for his degree, and Jennifer went off to San Diego her junior year. They saw each other over holidays, and during the summer, wrote a letter or two, but that was it. This was before instant messaging, and e-mails and cheap phone calls.

When I got back from my lifeguarding gig at Camp Pilgrim Pines that summer before school started again, Kevin had already left to go back to Colorado. Jennifer and I got together a few times before she left too. She told me she had met someone "special" when she had gone down for the transfer student orientation a few weeks earlier at San Diego State. I asked about Kevin, and she said, "Oh, you know, he and I are just friends. I know we have our history, but we're cool."

And then off she went.

Kevin and I talked on the phone not long afterwards. He asked about my romantic adventures of the summer, and I asked about his.

"Becky, Jennifer and I got so close this summer, you wouldn't believe it."

(He was right.)

"She really opened up to me, and I think it's serious."

"Oh, you know Jennifer... don't count your chickens... you know how she is."

"No Becky, you weren't here. You didn't see how we were together. It's different now."

"Gosh. That's great. Have you talked to her lately?"

"You know how she is. It doesn't matter. It's going to work out."

Crap. I didn't know what to do. I mean, I didn't know how serious they got, but according to Jennifer, she had met someone special after a week at school. I couldn't say anything to Kevin about it yet. I didn't know what was up yet.

Phone call to Jennifer:

"Becky, this guy Travis is perfect. He's not like anyone else I've ever known. I think he's the one."

"Have you talked to Kevin yet?"

"You know how he is. We were never going to get serious. He and I both know that."


Basically repeat these two phone calls about three times before Winter break. All of a sudden, I was in the middle of something I wanted no part of.

If I told Kevin what I knew, Jennifer would be pissed at me. I kept telling her to call him, but didn't let on how serious he was feeling because I didn't think it was my place. I also knew that if Kevin found out I knew that she was seeing another man, and I didn't tell Kevin, he would be pissed at me.

There was no winning this. And I personally had done nothing wrong!


(This is getting rather long. I'll leave you there to await the major finale to this drama. Oo.. it was a biggie.)

Memories

This summer I chose not to work. So far, it's been great. I've been visiting with old friends, walking every day on the beach with the dog wonder, getting some things done around the old homestead, you know, all the things we wish we had more time for.

I've also had quite a bit of time alone in my head. This isn't always a good thing, since I'm basically a narcissist, and think about me, me, me, most of the time.

Lately, I've been thinking about the relationships I have or have had. Over the last couple of weeks, I've been able to spend time with several old friends. Why do we choose the friends we have? Sometimes we pursue the friendship, sometimes we are the ones pursued, but what makes it last? What's the glue in the first place, and what cements it (or causes it to fall apart) later? Why am I willing to put up with crap from one person, yet cannot tolerate the same crap from another?

How does love factor into this? Romantic attraction? Physical attraction? And in the case of old friends, history? How does our history affect our present situation?

Then, factor into this equation that three of the friends I've seen over the last month, all have histories with each other in addition to me. How does that further complicate or enrich our relationship?

And really, does it matter at all?

Being that I'm my favorite topic, yes.

Watch for future posts about each of these people.

Or don't. It's not like any of them read this anyway.

What I've been Dreading has Happened

A couple nights ago, I was out with some friends (all teachers, by the way) in a weird little bar called Elsie's. It serves only beer and wine, only takes cash, and has the weirdest pool table of all time. It's my friend the department chair's favorite spot.

Anyway, I was on my second beer, when two young girls came over to talk to me.

"Hi, I'm Brittany, and this is Lindsay. Do you remember us?"

Oh no.

No.

It can't be.

"We were your students, uh... nine years ago."

Oh my.

Not until that moment have I run into a student in a bar. My friends who teach high school? It happens often enough to them. Me? Never.

Well, it used to be never.

Funny thing was, I had a really difficult time placing them. One of them looked familiar in that worn-out-at-the-cuff jeans, shorty-hoodie-over-a-longer-tank-top kind of way. I remembered her face anyway.

The other girl? Wow.

Where do I start? She was smoking a cigarette, had a pierced nose, upper and lower lip, had a ton of tattoos all over her chest and arms (not a cute little heart or Japanese Kanji mind you, she was COVERED), and had short, jet black, every which way hair.

Finally it dawned on me.

I did remember these two girls. They had been together in my class, and had been inseparable. They were smart and funny and charming (still were, it appeared). I remembered a book one of the girls had been reading, Sophie's Choice, which I went out and bought at her suggestion. I remembered that for the poetry memorization, Brittany had chosen Rapper's Delight (I still let kids choose song lyrics back then). I remembered that they were the kids that actually asked for more work to do, if you can believe that such a being existed.

They were cute back then, in a very suburban kind of way.

No way would I have guessed the young woman in front of me was the little girl from several years back.

They were friendly and silly with me, and I asked them about school. I expected both of them to say they had just graduated or were going on for their Master's degree from some great school.

Nope.

One was in her fourth year of City College, working two part-time jobs, and the other? She was vague about the details, but I got that she wasn't taking any classes at all.


Again, I was surprised. These were the kids I'd never doubt going on to university for a second.

You just never know.

None of these come close. 

I love Ebay

So, there's this stuff, Spun Gold Hair Balm by John Frieda.


When I had short hair a few years ago, I discovered it. It was perfect. Not too gloppy, but sticky enough to hold my hair the way I wanted. It didn't make me look like I had a helmet on my head, but really controlled the hair. It wasn't funky smelling, nor did it dry crunchy. It also had a tiny bit of sparkle to it.

All in all, good stuff. Cheap too; you could buy it at a drugstore. None of this $18 hair gel for me.

Well, on one of our many Vegas trips, I saw that Torn also used it for his locks. We talked about it's many wonderful qualities. Good times.

Then he moved to Montreal with his spouse. Not such good times for me. I missed my friend.

We talked on the phone often, made plans for me to visit over Spring Break.

A few months after he left, during one of our calls, he reported sadly that the Spun Gold wasn't available in Canada, and could I bring some out? Oh boy, a mission!

So I brought him some, but by then, it was gracing the shelves in Montreal's drugstores, but he said "thank you" anyway.

Then, I grew my hair out. No need for Spun Gold, or any other gel or goo for my hair. Just lots of conditioner to keep it smooth.

A year ago, I cut it off again. Saw my pictures from wedding I was in and realized two things: I was not meant to have long hair, and I was fat. Took measures to fix both problems.

But.

Alas, the Spun Gold was no longer in the stores. I talked to Torn. Had he seen it lately? Nope. He said he was bummed because he couldn't find it anymore.

We both moved on to other hair products. He found something he liked, some Got2B Hair Glue or something like that. I wasn't so successful.

In the picture, you can see all my attempts at a replacement hair product. None were satisfactory. I did my best with Chunky Monkey and Out of Bed, but nothing was as good as Spun Gold.

I made do.

Then, in the bathroom at our hotel in Vegas, I saw, in Torn's open dit'ty bag (am I the only person who uses that term any more?), and lo and behold, a shining silver tin of Spun Gold!

"Where did you get that?" I demanded.

"Oh, it's back in the stores. I may have even bought two."

So, for the remainder of our trip, I used it every day. Still as fabulous as I remember. He said he'd get some for me when he went home.

Then, the other night, I had the idea. What about Ebay? They always have everything.

Sure enough.

Three tins of Spun Gold are on their way to me right now. $18, including shipping.

I'm set.

Oh Boy! 

Hard to catch up

Remember back in the days of handwritten letters? I do. I was a big letter writer. When I lived in Japan, computers weren't yet commonplace. I was there from 1988-1991. A fax was still a big thrill.

Anyway, I saved all the letters I received during that time, and my mother, Katrina, and Carol all saved the letters I wrote to them. I had these big plans of writing a book based on all of them. I could still do it, but it would be dated in this time of emails.

Do you also remember having not written for a while? How hard it was to write about everything that had happened since your last letter? So you kinda gave up and even more time passed?

That's how I feel about this blog the past two weeks. Yes, I know posting pictures is a wussy way to post, but I just had too much to write about, so I avoided it all.

Isn't that always the way?

First off, I had the best time EVER in Vegas this time. And I've been at least 30 times; probably more. Of course, winning over $2000 didn't hurt. I only have won one other time, and that was also on a trip with Torn, also at the Rio, and it was $700. Most of the time I lose what I came with or break a little even.

What was so fun about this win was that I didn't realize I was playing a progressive machine. I mean, it was a penny machine for goodness' sake. Torn was sitting beside me, and I was rather mindlessly pushing the spin button. We were discussing where to eat lunch, and I got a bonus screen. If you've been to Vegas lately, you'll know that all the slot machines have this "bonus" screen deal. What I didn't know, was that this wasn't a regular bonus screen, but the progressive screen.

Next thing you know, both of us are looking at the machine, stuttering a little bit...'uh..I think... I just won... the big... uh.." and then the screaming commenced.

Of course, the screaming was just me. Torn had a smile as wide as his ears, and kept saying "Gahwd!" and hugging me.

We went to a show, which we have discussed doing for at least the last 10 years, but we never do, and we ended up staying an extra day. Four nights! I've never stayed in Vegas that long. Never. But wow. What a good time.

Oh yeah, they also kept comping us for our meals at the hotel. "Is $15 each good enough for lunch for you?" "I can give you free breakfast at our buffet."

Yes! And the rooms were free, and I even got Torn a free tee shirt from my "player's gold" card play points. Main Street Station is not the most fancy hotel in which you'll ever stay, but it was clean, and looked great inside the rooms, and all in all, veddy veddy good to me.

It's going to be hard to top this one.

This is Greta The Grouch. Her people watched Charlie The Dog Wonder whilst I was winning in Vegas, so I'm watching her now. She's a grand dame of 15, and I keep checking that she's still breathing. 

I think this is my favorite picture from the trip. laughing at ourselves before going out to Mama Mia. 

"Blue skies, smiling at me... nothing but blue skies, do I see..." This was taken on the way to Vegas... a summer storm was abrewing, and Torn was thrilled. 

one more thing

Ever since I wrote about the boob-a-la-fiesta photo my sister took of me (and framed and gave to my mother as a present), I've had at least one hit a day from someone googling "boobs picture."

How do I know this?

Site Meter. Very addictive. I get about 15 hits a day, yet only one or two of you ever comment.

Harumph.

Although anyone looking for a boobs photo doesn't have to let me know, thank you very much.

Ew.

Okay, this was fucking confusing. Then I saw the arrows. However, it still was confusing, since this sign was several carlengths ahead of where I parked. Just behind where I parked was a sign stating that there was "temporarily" no parking. Where I ended up, there was no sign at all. I hate L.A. sometimes.

Whirlwind

So, all of a sudden, my vacation has really begun.

A couple of days ago, I saw my high school friend, Jennifer, and her new boyfriend. They were in town for the 4th of July to visit her mother. We went out for dinner and then drinks afterward.

It wasn't really weird, but it wasn't like old times either. I mean, dinner was great, and the bartender at the bar flirted with me (and asked for my number, which was a shocker), but I actually had more fun talking to the boyfriend than I did with her. Those bosom buddies from high school, aren't always the longest lasting. I'm lucky though, because so many of my true friends actually are from that time in my life.

Like Carol, who just became a mommy on Monday. Actually, her partner gave birth to the little guy, but you know what I mean. I drove to Santa Monica yesterday to see the little peanut, and he's bee-yoo-tee-full. It was a C-section, so they were still in the hospital. Did you know about the little baby alarm they put on infants now? Yeah. I couldn't believe it. That yellow box around his ankle? With the "13" written on it? It goes off if anyone tries to take the baby out of the room. A baby Low-Jack.

Wow. What is this world coming to?

There was also $12 parking. Whether I was in there for one hour or all day, 12 bucks. So, Rebekah tried parking on the street. The picture above explains it all. I made it out of there without a ticket.

However, not without my air conditioner deciding to take a nap during the hottest part of the day while I was stuck on the 405 North trying to get back home. It took me almost 3 1/2 hours to drive 90 miles. Yech.

Last night I caught up with some friends from school, two of whom will be going on a 10-day vacation together with their mountain bikes... felt a little left out, but then again, I've got Vegas with Tornwordo on Sunday (YAHOOLAMUNGA!)

Going to a "going away" get together tonight for another friend who's moving back to New York after 25-30 years away. I'm going to miss her. I hate when people leave. Although, it's at Arnoldi's, a great old Italian place which I love, so dinner will be tasty.

Tomorrow, there is a 25-year high school reunion for the class of 1981. Just a class ahead of me, so I've got lots of friends coming in. One of 'em, at the last minute, decided to fly in from Washington D.C. just from Saturday to Sunday. Even with that tight schedule, he and I are going to try and see each other tomorrow afternoon. He's not seen me since I've lost weight, so I'm hoping for a good response. Of course, he's gay, so I'm just hoping for a compliment folks.

And, then it's Sunday. Whoo hoo! This is going to be the big win weekend this time. I just feel it.

After 14 tries, the Dog Wonder finally looked at the camera!  

Another day in Paradise

Went for a long walk with the dog wonder today... lots of people already at the beach at 8 am. Lots of smiles and friendly folks. Love when that happens.

Okay, so the stupid personals thing. I finished it... and the matches that are coming up for me are frightening. The number one match for me is a 52-year-old man in a pirate's outfit in his picture (which he spells "pyrate" by the way), and who, in his little write up about himself, uses what he thinks is a "pirate" dialect...

"Aye, me compass doesn’t not always point to where we be goin n’ many a time I be losin’ me way but when ye loses yer way is when the adventure begins n’ ye discover new lands…"

He goes on like this for a while.

I'm with cold guy on this a bit... I feel left out around all my couple friends, but when this is what I have to deal with in trying to get a guy... ew.

Another guy seemed interesting, spelled everything correctly (I mean really, how hard is it to use spellcheck when it's part of the website?), and he was funny, but funny in the way my friends and I are funny with each other... here's part of what he said:

"I like to sit here and assign people new nicknames that would be a LOT more appropriate: 1bigheadache; Nocarbs4you; Nurserachet; Likesvicodin; Watchurwallet; Botoxgonebad; Cautionwideload; Lifeofquietdesperation; Bobdylansmother; YulBeSorry; Vergeofpanic; Venusflytrap; Threedatesandgone; Harpsicordlover... you get the idea."

He would be good to laugh with, but sheesh, what would he call me?

What have I gotten myself into?

Oi.

A good day

Yesterday was great.

After another beach walk with my dog (and three girlfriends and their three dogs), I went to lunch with a couple other girlfriends from my writing group. No writing involved, just eating.

Thank goodness for cell phones though. We were to meet up at C's house, and then go on to the cafe on Santa Claus Lane. I got there, but S. wasn't there yet. She's usually never late. I am, but she isn't. After about 15 minutes, we get a call, "Where are you guys? I'm already here." She was at the cafe already, not realizing we were going to meet and go on over together.

So, C. and I get into the car and drive over. A bit of a crowd due to the 4th of July weekend, but we can't find S. We call again on the cell, "Where are you? Are you here?"

Turns out she was at the Luna Cafe, not the Garden Cafe. So more shuffling, and we finally sit down together, all at the same place. Good food, then back to C's house for Sofia Rose from Coppola vineyards and then another Rose I brought back from Paris. Then, since that wasn't enough, we opened up a sparkling Rose from Australia. C's spouse, T., joined us, and we had a great time.

Even the part where they decided it would be a good idea to set up a profile for me on Yahoopersonals.com.

We worked on it all afternoon, but didn't post it. I didn't think a drunken photo of me would be the best way to attract the kind of person I'm looking for.

Although, I'm going to work on it some more. I'm so damn tired of being the single one all the time. I'm tired of complaining about it. This is not necessarily going to do anything, but how can it hurt?

Yoplait White Chocolate Raspberry yogurt

It sounds kinda gross, but it tastes wonderful.

Only 3 points.

Off to the beach again

Summer finally feels like it's started for me... I know I got out of school over a week ago, but I had 24 hours before I was in Denver at the Writing Project conference, and then, I didn't get my classroom clean until just a couple days ago. Mom's birthday took quite a bit of time and well...phew.

Katrina and I, and our dogs Jelly and Charlie went on a honking long walk yesterday. Walked on the beach from Montecito to Summerland, where we went to the wonderful Summerland Beach Cafe, which lets people bring their dogs and sit outside. They even have a sneaky outdoor gate so we doggie folk don't break any regulations by walking through the actual restuarant with our canines.

The walk takes about an hour and a half, but we hadn't planned on the tide being as far in as it was (yes folks, I do check the tide tables, but there are other factors, like the lack of sand that seems to be on the beaches this year). We had less than 1/4 mile to go, and we hit a point. Frag's point, or some such name the locals have given it.

The waves were breaking on top of the sandy part, and what was left for us to walk on were slimy, kelp covered rocks. Both Katrina and I tried to just walk through the knee to thigh high water, but there were also rocks there. Not only a little scary when I couldn't see what I was putting my foot down on, but also, around the rocks were deeper places. Take a step there, and the knee high water becomes almost underpant high.

Argh. Jelly had no problem, bounding back and forth in the waves and water; he loves to swim. Charlie? Not so much.

The water was over his head, so he got frightened, took refuge on a rock, and wouldn't budge. I had to pick him up. My soaking, dripping wet dog was hoisted over my shoulder as I forged the rapids.

Not really rapids. But they might've been if someone had seen me afterwards. I might as well have gone swimming in my clothes. Only thing dry I had was my pair of shoes, that Katrina so nicely held for me as I saved my bedraggled dog.

And Katrina? She kept her shoes on, to protect her feet, so the two of us were quite a pair as we sloshed up our way to the eatery.

Oh, but the biscuits and gravy sure tasted good.