Has anyone else noticed...

That if you compose on Blogger, and use the numbering function (right next to the alignment and the bullet button), it just reverts to bullets anyway when you post your post? A little thing perhaps, but it bugs me.

Thirteen Thursday # 13 (oo... is there something special about that?)

So today? I woke up grouchy and stayed that way. No reason to be at all, just was. It was payday for goodness' sake. Anyway, to cheer myself up, I'm going to list thirteen things I like about myself. And yes, next week will be the thirteen things I'd like to change.

1. I can laugh at myself. Everyone says they have a sense of humor; but often, let's just say, it's not really the case. Almost every situation has some kind of humor in it; and I know the difference between wit and sarcasm.
2. Good grammar. I could write a whole post on the grammar and spelling mistakes on the emails I'm getting from guys on the dating site. Some folks say my being picky about grammar is close-minded; I say it weeds out the lazies. I mean really, is it that hard to spell-check?
3. Nicely scented. Or at least, never stinky scented. I'm almost a fanatic about keeping the dreaded B.O. at bay. My mother once told me I smelled bad, and needed to start wearing deodorant. I was 10. So yeah, maybe I am a little neurotic about it, but still. And I've always got some lightly fragranced body lotion on as well. Never that overpowering stuff that makes people sneeze.
4. My thoughtfulness. I got this from my mom too, so it all evens out. I love getting little cards for people for no reason, buying some silly little thing just to make someone smile. I call, I write, I stay in touch. I'd rather invite someone to a party that wasn't my favorite person rather than hurt his or her feelings. Of course, unless I intentionally wanted to hurt his or her feelings. Which is rare. Not impossible, mind you, but rare.
5. I can remember details like no one's business. I don't know why, but I do. I can remember what I ate for dinner before the the Homecoming dance in 1980 ( Pecan-crusted Chicken), what was said to me the first time my heart was broken ("I think I like men."), and what I was wearing on the plane when I left for Japan (fuchsia tee-shirt, black stretchy pants with a purple waistband, flat black shoes and a straw hat [SHUT UP! It was 1988 for God's sake. Besides, I'm not talking about my fabulous fashion sense]).
6. It's pretty hard to embarrass me. I'll say most anything to get a laugh, or even to shock someone. Many years ago, some friends decided this was a problem, that I wasn't lady-like enough, so they started "Operation Becky" to make me more... uh... refined. It didn't take.
7. Apologies are not hard for me to give if I am wrong.
8. I'm tenacious. Almost every important thing in my life that I've attempted, I've also failed at. I'm not a shining star, I'm the little engine that could. My personal label for this? Queen of the Second Chances (which, you know, means I will go to England next time on that Fulbright).
9. I'm a good friend, and a loyal one. Most of those close to me, have been close to me since my teens. Now, some of that is luck, but I can't attract all these quality people just by chance. Once I'm your friend, you have me for life. Back to the "I call, I write, I stay in touch part (By the way, James? Sorry I've been so bad about that lately).
10. I know what's important in life. People. Oh sure, I love a nice new pair of black wedge sandals as much as the next, freshly pedicured girl, and being able to buy the gourmet brand of Buttermilk Herb potato chips, but they aren't all that compared to my relationships. A night spent playing Cranium, and laughing until it brings on a pee-inducing, asthma attack? Now that's quality.
11. I LOVE the fact that I'm smart. I didn't do anything to be that way, just happened, so I can actually say that without being conceited, although to be honest, I am a bit conceited about it, even though I have no right to be. Wait, that's next week's post. It's rare that I feel intimidated by another person when I'm in a conversation. Even when I don't get something, I have full confidence that I will, eventually. Instead of being nervous, I get excited when someone or something challenges my brain (God. I really am full of myself, aren't I?)
12. Pretty blue eyes, good smile, great chest. Again, I did nothing for these (parents paid for the orthodontics that created aforementioned good smile), but I have 'em. Glad I do.
13. Hope. Sometimes I've even thought it would be easier to give up; you know, have little to no expectations or dreams? But I never do. It goes along with faith and grace, two of my favorite abstract ideas. Hope doesn't actually make anything happen more easily or quickly or at all, for that matter, but it does make our day to day lives, those with dumb-ass drivers, or presidents, a little more pleasant.

Books

I love good ones. I get on a roll, and can't stop reading. Eat, Pray, Love was the one I already talked about; so good I want to buy my own copy now so I can mark it up and go back to the parts that really touched me.

Next was Hypocrite in a White Poufy Dress, which I almost finished, but then misplaced and have just found today. For any girl who was born in the 60's and grew up in the 70's and early 80's, this is hilarious. A memoir of her life, and it rings true on every page. I love that she wrote it because (in her words),

"So many of the stories women are currently telling are all about getting a man. Or about getting over a man. Or about getting laid. Or about not getting laid. Or about not getting laid and not getting a man, but deciding we're okay with it."

You can all probably guess why I like this book and the author.

And then, because I had misplaced the book above, I started reading, Bright Lights, Big Ass. It's by the same woman who wrote Bitter is the New Black, a book I definitely will have to go out and read now. This book is also funny, in the all-by-ones-self, laugh-out-loud-until-the-dog-freaks-out funny. It's also true, and tells the story of her life after losing everything in the dot-com bust, and now having to day dream about IKEA and Target and Trader Joe's. She has turns of phrases I wish I had come up with. I'm halfway through that one now as well.

Now, don't tell me, I already know, I wouldn't make it as a literary critic. I don't know how to gush properly, I know that. I also know that neither of the two books just described would pass muster at my book club.

I don't care.

Next on my list is The Time Traveler's Wife. That one's supposed to be great. So see, sometimes I read lit-tra-chure... and sometimes, well, I have fun.

One of my students asked me last week, "Ms. Teacher? Do you just sit around all the time, and just, you know, read?" As he asked me he made a face that seemed to compare reading with picking up dog doo.

And he was an Honors student.

13 days... that's all I need to get through.

Success! Sortof...

Okay, so the whole burning the CD? I think I got it done tonight.

See, I signed up with Napster. Good stuff, downloaded some tunes, all is well. Made a playlist for the road trip to Vegas with Torn (only about one month away!), transferred it to my handy-dandy little sandisk player, and just could not for the life of me get it to burn to CD.

Emails back and forth to Napster only resulted in me having to install the entire program again onto my computer. Bitter I was.

I finally gave up, and just created a new playlist on Windows Media Player. See, Napster wouldn't transfer the list over to WMA, so I had to go through all the songs again, and make the whole frickin' list again.

St. Dickybird was nice enough to offer help, but I think I'm beyond hope at this point.

Now, if I could just figure out how to copy the song titles and artists off the playlist to make a word document or label or something for the dang CD...


In other news:

I signed up, yet again, on an on-line dating site. I know, I know, why? Why do I do it?

Well, hope does spring eternal in my wee little heart, and besides, there's always blog material in it somewhere.

And this one is free. plentyoffish.com I signed up yesterday and already have had four different guys contact me. Already better than Match.com. Which should just be called "crap.com," but whatever.

Also spent 6 hours at school today. God. This is always such a frantic time. I'm supposed to give the names of the students I'm sure are earning A's for the semester by the day after tomorrow. That's the 30th, by the way. School doesn't let out until the 15th of June!

Something about the valedictorians and notifications to families and all that. Why should I even give any work at all the last two weeks?


Hey... that's not a bad idea now, is it?

Three-day weekend

Tomorrow is Memorial Day, so no school. It's the last holiday before summer break (15 days left, but who's counting?)

Barbecue yesterday at a friend's house. They have a great place with an avocado orchard, and more acreage than most anyone else I know. People brought their campers and tents and set up for the night among the trees. One of the guys, a dad, brought a blow-up screen (I've never seen one of those before) and a dvd player and projector, and we watched "A night in the Museum" under the stars. Well, most of us did. I went back into the house to go to the bathroom, thought the couch looked comfortable, and fell asleep. I'm quite a dull drunk these days. Of course, it's an improvement over the weepy mess I used to become.

I didn't stay the night because of Charlie boy, so drove home around 1:30 this morning. I feel like Ca-Ca right now. And yes, the capitals were intentional.

Oh, and the album I downloaded? I'm embarrassed to admit...Superstars Remixed. Oh, the shame of it all.

Now, I have the playlist ready though, and tried to burn a CD, and no dice. I've burned CD's before, but can't tell what the heck I'm doing wrong. I transferred the whole list to my mp3 player, and that went fine, so I don't know what the deal is. I tried finding a free program to switch mp3 files to audio files, but I can't seem to find one. There's lots out there for converting the audio to mp3, but not the other way around.

Or, I'm just continuing with the "lamity" Torn pointed out the other day.

Grr.

Don't you hate it

When you do something totally retarded?

I just bought an album from Napster that I already have.

What an idiot.


(But again, the best playlist in history!)

Two years today

Wow. After reading Doug's blog this morning, I went to check how long I've had this blog, and what do you know? It's two years today since my first post. Torn is the one who got me started, and here I still am. 460 posts.

Good god. Don't I have anything better to do with my time?

Thirteen Thursday # 12

Thirteen Girl Crushes:

1. Anne Lammott. She is so DAMN funny sometimes. She's someone who thinks. A Christian who counters the daily crap being presented as "Christianity." Those of you out there who bash Christians as a matter of course, read Traveling Mercies; might give you a bit more perspective.
2. Shirley Manson, the lead singer from Garbage. Are they even together anymore? I love this woman's voice. I love her great big eyes and the fact she's not stereotypically beautiful.
3. Angelina Jolie. Okay, I know, how dull, trite, and sheep-like can I be? Sorry, but I think she is just amazing looking. Those lips? Good god. I'd take her over Brad any day.
4. Dorothy Parker. Being that she's dead, I'd kinda freak out if I ever met her, but major crush I have on her anyway. Her writing gets to me. The humor, the lightness, with all the dark and twisty stuff underneath. And even underneath that? Hope. Go read the Portable Dorothy Parker if you've not done so in a while.
5. Meg Ryan. She's just so damn cute.
6. Madonna. I had to include her. In college, when she first came on the scene, there was no one like her. She bent all the rules, and really, she couldn't even sing, but the force of her personality overwhelmed all of that. She's always done (or at least appeared to have done) everything her way. She worked at becoming famous. When she did her Sex book, it was thought out; none of this flashing panties, shaving one's head crap.
7. Ellen Degeneres. She could have become bitter or mean, or her humor could have gone sarcastic after all the shit she's gone through, but she hasn't. Her show was hilarious, and then canceled when she came out. She had a very public break up with someone who I think is totally bonkers, and never said a nasty word about it. I admire her. She's also smart; a rare treat on television today.
8. Gilda Radner. She left us too soon. More with the funny and smart. I remember going to a small show she had at my university; she was probably already sick at the time. You would never know it. For all the goofy-ness and slapstick, she had class and dignity. And oh, did she make me laugh.
9. Jane Austin. How could I leave her out? I can't imagine how she chafed at the world she was stuck living in, but her books are all so wonderful. Rather than play the game that so annoyed her, she wrote about it. Wrote about it in a way that's still relevant today. She charms me every time I read her writing.
10. Debbie Gibson. Okay, now it's Deborah. But, the crush was back when she was still Debbie. I looked just the teensiest bit like her when I was 16, and I had the black hat. I loved the boppy sound of her songs, and I really was impressed that she wrote most of her own lyrics. Wow. If she could do it, maybe then could I.
11. On that same note, The Go Go's. I LOVED the Go Go's in only the way a high school senior can, playing their records over and over until my mother or father got sick of it and yelled at me to quit, studying their videos (and remember, it was the year that MTV got its start), dressing like them, putting a massive poster of them up on my bedroom wall... Oh yeah, I had it bad. And Belinda Carlisle was a little zaftig. That meant that maybe I could be considered pretty too some day.
12. Patti Novak. Who's that, you ask? She was my roommate for the last three months of my freshman year. I moved into the dorm late (another story... another post), and there she was. She had the best laugh of anyone I've ever met. She was a tiny little thing, with this belly laugh that bubbled up from deep inside her. It was infectious. If I'm 80 years old, and I hear that laugh, I'll know it's her. Everything was so much fun with Patti. The last time I saw her was in a restaurant here in town. She was getting married to a man named Joe and moving to Kansas. I have a feeling I will somehow find her again.
13. Mrs. Green. She was my English teacher in high school. I had her in ninth grade, and then again as a junior and then for AP English my senior year. I never saw her wear pants, only dresses and skirts. All the boys wanted to go out with her and all the girls just wanted to be her. She was always gracious and expected the best from us. You know, one of those teachers you want to impress? She was that. Later, when I was a teacher's aide, and saw her at the school, she continued to be my idol. She had fallen in love again at 40, had a baby at 42, and another one at 46. There was hope for me yet.

And the winner is...

Gayprof!

He was correct with the song "Blue" by Eiffel 65.

Because he already has my undying devotion (and really, can a person want more than that in this life?), he wins the satisfaction of being right.

Oh man, I'm going to have the best mixed tape... or playlist I suppose it's now called... in the world!

I'm off to the Brewhouse now (yes, the wonderous place of homemade potato chips with Gorgonzola and micro-brewed beer; at happy hour prices!).

what I'm doing right now...

still shivering "eww..ew!" from the tick I discovered crawling across my bare skin. That's what comes from taking the wonder dog for a walk through the tall weeds. This after picking stickers and foxtails out of his fur for 15 minutes; time to go to the beach from now on.

Also, I've been trying to find a club/dance song and I have no idea what the title is. It's an older song, and the lyrics are nonsense; something like "Da da da dee do da da da... dee do do da da..."
I know, not much help. Any guesses out there? It was very popular a few years ago. I've been searching Napster for the past half hour, but have no clue. It's very synthesizer-y.

Watched "Catch and Release" tonight. My guilty pleasure is romantic movies. Dramas, comedies, whatever, as long as they're romantic. This one was not the best movie in the world by any means, but I enjoyed it. I think it's kinda like double cheeseburgers at McDonald's. You know they're bad for you, you know there's lots of food out there that's more nutritious, but still, sometimes they just hit the spot like nothing else can.

Saw my dad this past weekend. He and I have nothing in common at all. I mean of course, except DNA. He's not interested in my life, and I'm not interested in his. I went up to ... a place... where he and his, how shall I put this? uncomplicated wife were visiting...oh, I don't know... a new granddaughter. I thought I should go and see him, since I don't plan on traveling to Arizona anytime soon.

Well, I'd been there only an hour or two before my dog was bitten by ... let's see how to phrase this... another dog which has bitten Charlie before, but who is "really a good dog." I should have known better. This time it was right on his nose. Actually, Charlie's face was basically inside this large, "just protecting the baby" dog's mouth.

No blood, which was good, but the decision was made to turn around and come right back home, instead of spending the night. This due to the fact that I would have to either put my little buddy in the next room with the door shut, or carry him around in my arms, so that the other "He's just protective" dog wouldn't chomp on him again. We had the other, "well, it is his house" dog outside for a while, but he thought he was being punished out there, so...

You get it.

Lastly, I'm reading a great book, "Eat, Pray, Love." Go get it and read it. A woman, who's gone through a bad divorce, decides to travel to Italy for four months (for the "Eat" part), an Ashram in India for four months (the "Pray" part), and Indonesia for four months (you get it now). She's making me laugh, but also making me think.

All the positive thinking, and the "I honor the divinity that resides in my heart" is something I wish I could do more of. It's a hopeful book, without being preachy.

I think I'll go get in a few more chapters.

Be good to yourselves.

40 hits

That's how many folks checked in today on my blog.

And NONE of you posted a comment!

Okay, so about seven of those hits were me, checking my blog...even so.

And yes, thanks to Chunks, I'm not totally skunked, but still...


And anyway, she commented last night (thanks Roxanne).

Sheesh.

My self-esteem has just been reduced to junior high levels. You know, how you wore (what you thought were) that great pair of rainbow jeans? The ones that had rainbow-hued threads running up one leg, across the waist and down the other leg? And how you pleaded and begged your mother to buy them for you, because everybody was wearing them? And she finally did buy them, but they weren't quite the right pants? They were the Fedmart imitation rainbow jeans? But you wore them anyway because you thought it would still be cooler than what you usually wore?

And it wasn't.

The cool girls, Sue Smith and Claudia and Barbara all laughed at you?

I'm not that low tonight. But almost.

22 days (not that I'm counting).

Several of my boys have become infected with Eighthgrade-itis; they've just stopped doing any work at all. Surprisingly, most of them are my Honors students. I met with three different parents last week, all for kids who are going to flunk if they don't get it together. And still... nothing.

I'm not going to bitch right now though; I do enough of that.

Let me instead tell you about what happened right after second period today.

John Jacob Jinglehimer Smith (not his real name...) was absent yesterday. Back today on crutches. Seemed he'd broken his leg over the weekend, trying to jump off the roof into the pool, and missed. Glad it wasn't any worse.

Anyway, he's one of those whistling, tapping, commenting-on-everyone-else's-life kinda kids. Good student, but I'm rather tired of his antics by now. Today? Quiet as a mouse. Hobbling around on crutches with a cast up to one's mid-thigh in the middle of May is enough to subdue anyone.

The end-of-class bell rings, and the kids storm out the door. I'm getting papers together for the fourth time for Little Orphan Annie, who always has an excuse why she doesn't have her work and could she please have another one because she lost the first hand-out.

I hear a commotion, and look across the room. JJJS is yelling out the door, leaning on his desk. Seems that Gomer Pyle, another whistling goofball of whom I'm truly getting tired, had snatched JJJS's crutches and ran out of the room with them. Of course, I give chase.

Coming around the corner, this is what I see: Gomer is dramatically stumbling along with the crutches which are about 10 inches too short for him. The teacher next door, Aquarius (she really likes the tie-dye and Birkenstocks), is yelling at yet a third child, one who is thankfully not my student. Seems this third boy had snatched the crutches away from Gomer, causing Gomer to fall theatrically to the ground. Witnessing this, Aquarius couldn't believe her eyes. How could a person do that? Grab the crutches of someone who is hurt?

Behind her, Gomer was snickering at this poor boy who kept trying to cut in... "But Mrs. Aquarius... but he... he's not... I wasn't..." but Mrs. A was having none of it.

That is until I yelled Gomer Pyle's name, walked up to him, grabbed the crutches away from him, and told him to leave other people's things alone.

Please give me the strength to get through the next month.

Not so bad

So, I think the key here is to expect the worst.

The weekend and garage sale went better than expected. Oh, yes. I was the one putting up signs until dark on Friday night, and the one up at 5:30 am putting more signs out, getting coffee and bagels for everyone, and lugging out the tables and clothes and such...


But.

I made almost 100 bucks on stuff I was going to donate to the thrift store, so I can't complain.

Garage sale hunters are weird.

We made it clear in the ad, and the sign we posted on a rope across the driveway, that early birds weren't welcome. Guess folks can't read. And, guess some folks think by being rude and pushy, we'll back down.

Not me.

A guy parked, walked up, and said, "can I just look?" while we were still bringing stuff out. It was 7:40 am. I said cheerily, "Not yet sir. We aren't quite ready. Give us until eight."

"It's almost eight now," he said, with impatience in his voice.

Since when is 20 minutes "almost" the time?

Then, there was the couple of older ladies, who kept asking "how much?" and no matter what we said, then muttered "So expensive."


Yeah, three dollars for a pair of Puma shoes that have never been worn? Ten dollars for a silk Donna Karin dress that had been worn once and dry-cleaned? Really expensive. We decided to just keep upping the price if they kept being snotty.

After about 45 minutes of that, they bought one shirt.

And I love to haggle as much as the next, but sheesh. I was selling my old microwave, and said it was $15 when asked.

"How about $10?" was the next question.

"Okay," I said.

Then,

"How about $5?

What?

Who makes an offer and then lowers it?

But again, I'm just kinda laughing at myself here. I sold all kinds of clothes, and had more money in my pocket at the end of the day than I did at the start, so it's all good.

Hope your weekend was lovely.

This weekend

Not as much fun as the last...probably.

A garage sale in another town; which was on again, off again for the last two weeks. I'm helping, and at first was glad to have a chance to get rid of all the crap I've been accumulating. When the person called (who shall remain unnamed due to request), I had just decided to take all my bags of too large clothes to the thrift store that morning. Great timing, I thought.

Anyway, my mother is also involved in this garage sale. She at first didn't want to do it this weekend, she needed more time to get her things together for it, but we brought her around to it. Then, she bought a ticket for the Amtrak, not thinking that since I was going too, I would drive her. We then had quite a discussion about how she could get a refund. She was adamant that she couldn't get a refund, and that she would have to use the ticket. Tried to get her to see that yes, she could get her money back, and that going with me would be better, and finally, I gave up. Stupid thing to actually have a disagreement about...

Then the wiffle-waffling began. Should we or shouldn't we? Then the ad didn't get in the paper as planned. Then, a couple of days ago, this conversation:

"Hi honey. I'm just called about Friday. What time are you going to pick me up?" (she had decided sometime in the interim, that going with me was yes, a better idea.)

"Hi Mom. What time were you thinking?"

"Oh, you're driving, you tell me."

"Okay, I'm thinking about six?"

Long pause...

"Uh...um...that's very late."

"Don't you work until five?"

"No, I got off early that day because I was going to take the train."

"Well, what time were you thinking I'd pick you up?" I'm annoyed already at this point.

"I was thinking three or four. We have to get there, and take care of lots of things Friday night."

See, she's going to get off work, go home, and wait for me. Really tough.

I guess she forgot I have a JOB. One in which I get four 4-minute breaks and one 33-minute lunch between 8 and 2:30. One in which grades are due by Monday for progress reports. One which I normally don't leave until five or six at night most days. Also, that I still needed to take everything out of my car which was in it to make room for all my crap and all her crap that is going to the garage sale. Oh yeah, and that I would need to take the Wonder dog to my friend's house before I go to mom's house.

An argument ensued. Mother called person-who-will-not-be-named, and that person called me and suggested cancelling the sale.

This after I'd gone out to my car, to clean it out early, and had accidently poked a hole into a can of soda that in a bag of papers and such, thereby soaking through my tax papers from 2006 and 2005, ruining my copy of The House of the Scorpion, and various other mishaps.

I said some foul words.

Even though I could go on and on, suffice it to say that the garage sale is back on. Wednesday night I went to my friend's house and brought Charlie's crate over early, because it's so bulky. Then, last night I packed up my car with my stuff, then to my mother's to pack up her stuff. This is the longest build up to a garage sale in the world. You'd think it was a matter of life or death.


So, perhaps because I'm so annoyed now, everything will run smoothly, and I'll make lots of cash, and there will be all kinds of love this Mother's day.

Peace (I hope).

A great weekend

I just had the best weekend so far this year. What did I do, you ask? I went to Silverlake, where my friend just bought her first real house. Silverlake is close to Hollywood, and it used to be quirky and artsy and full of rentals, but it's now becoming quite the hip place to be. Her house is a bungalow from the 1930's, lots of charm and built-ins and LOTS of pink tile in the bathroom.

Cynthia has been a friend of mine for a long time. I've known her since she was in Kindergarten and I was in first grade in elementary school. She's calm and quiet, and funny as hell, and I always have fun with her. Even better now, because now she's closer (she lived in San Francisco for several years) and because she has a house, I can bring the wonderdog.

Anyway, the first thing we did was go to a fabulous, dog-friendly, bakery/cafe for lunch, which was just a couple blocks from her house. Then to check out a new wine shop around the corner, and taste some lovely Sauvignon Blanc, then shopping at our favorite store, Marshall's.

The fun began Saturday night. Well, breaking my toe (see lovely picture below) before we went out wasn't so fun, but the rest of it.



(Don't I have the stubbiest, chubbiest toes you've ever seen? Ew.) See the third toe in? Yep, the purple-y one? Broke it when I tried to walk through instead of around, the foot of Cynthia's couch. God it hurt.

But, I didn't let it slow me down, she played some fun music, and we got ready.

We didn't even leave the house until nine. That's crazy talk for me nowadays. I'm usually in my jammies by then, on my second glass of wine.

No, we were two fun-loving gals out on the town.

We went to El Conquistador, which is rumored to have the best margaritas around. Because it was Cinco De Mayo, it was VERY crowded, so we climbed up the stairs to the pantry-sized bar to wait for a table for dinner.

Lots of men up there. Lots of gay men. Silverlake is a very gay-friendly neighborhood, which even I knew, but Cynthia didn't before she moved there. Not as easy to get a date if you're a single, hetero woman. I digress.

Immediately, three of the aforementioned gay men took us under their wing; Bobby, Matt, and some quiet guy who just kept drinking and winking at me once in a while. We weren't there 5 minutes before they bought us a drink.

People, do you know how long it's been since a man I've never met before bought me a drink? Me neither. Bobby fell in love with Cynthia, and I offended Matt somehow (really, I don't know what I said. We were talking, and then he made a face at me, then he turned around and kept his back to me from then on), and drinking/winking guy just smiled. Just when Bobby started hugging on my friend, and kissing her on the cheek, our name was called.

Dinner was wonderful. Torn, you must go to this restaurant when you are in California this summer. You will LOVE this food.

Then, back upstairs for another drink. And yet again, two gay guys took to us right away. John started talking to me, and Lawrence (actually pronounced "Lu-raan" because he was French, but I don't know quite how to spell it) began chatting Cynthia up in the line to the loo. Turned out they were exes that still hung out together. Actually, they weren't gay, because they both also liked women. John was saying how he had a boyfriend and a girlfriend, and how they'd be upset that he was out with Lawrence.

Now folks... I'm not telling this story well at all. I know, you had to be there. I'm not even being witty.

But, as we sat there, we watched John eye this really drunk (and yes, I'll say it, skanky-looking) woman at the end of the bar. Next thing you know, he's gotten up, walked over to her, and started madly making out with her.

Lawrence then starts telling me how great my boobs are. Well, after he says, "you must be at least 40."

Wha'?

I guess that's flirting for him, but both Cynthia and I tried to educate him that saying that was probably never a good idea.

Oh how we laughed.

We closed the place down.

And not even a hangover the next day.

I really need to get out more.

Thirteen Thursday # 11

Thirteen Bathrooms:

1. Growing up in Goleta, we had two bathrooms in our home. One for my brother, sister and me, and one off the master bedroom for my parents. The kid's bathroom didn't have a shower, only a bathtub. Kindof a drag once I became a teen, and wanted to shower every day before school. My father would leave early each morning, and Mom would sleep in. One at a time, Brother, Sister, and I would trapse through her bedroom, take a shower, and leave quickly. We were not allowed to blow dry our hair, or put on make-up in the bathroom. We had to get out for the next person.
2. In high school, the locker room had one small toilet off the door to the gym, and a large open shower area. Several poles with shower heads on four sides and a pink tiled floor. I was on the swim team, and we practiced late at times. I remember one afternoon in particular, when about 10 of us decided to slip and slide on our bare asses in the showers. God. If there were hidden cameras, I'd bet they'd have made quite a tidy sum with a video of that. Of course, that was in the days before the Internet.
3. The dorm I lived in at school, once I moved out, had "suites" instead of simple rooms. Double rooms, connected by a toilet and shower/tub combo for four girls. There was a sink actually in each of the rooms. My roommate Patti and I used to throw ice water over the shower curtain when the other was taking a shower. When I was a resident assistant there, I held more than one freshman girl's hair back as she barfed her guts out in one of those toilets.
4. My first real apartment on Mathilda Way had one of those bathrooms where the toilet and shower had a door, but the sink and counter was an extension of the one bedroom. My roommate got up and blow dried her hair 10 feet from my bed every morning at 5 am. I worked night shifts. It was not good.
5. I lived in a renovated garage off the main house when I was the live-in supervisor at Project First Step. It was a group home for severely behavior disordered, developmentally disabled adults. The bathroom was right next to the "office" (a former pantry closet), in the main house. The wall between was really thin, and I used to make fart noises with my hands and laugh hysterically with whomever was working that night. Yes, I'm still that immature.
6. For six months, I lived in a great big house with four other roommates. A couple, and two guys. The two guys and I shared a bathroom. About a week after I moved in, I cleaned out under the sink. There were about 10 penthouse and hustler magazines under there. Did I check them out? No. They were completely damp and moldy. Boys can be gross.
7. Japan. For the first time in my life, I had my own bathroom. I didn't have to share it with anyone. Japanese bathtubs are marvelous. I think my love affair with the bath started with that bathtub. It was blue, and square, and deep. In Japan, folks shower first, then bathe. Very civilized, actually, instead of sitting in one's own sludge. It had only two settings: Arctic and Sear. I'd have to play with just the right proportions, changing them according to the weather.
8. When I got back to the States, I moved in again to a big house with lots of roommates. Three single guys and another girl. She and I and one of the guys shared a bathroom, and clean-up duties rotated. Jenny was the girl. Do any of you remember that Indian Earth powder bronzer? Jenny must've had stock in that company. She would put it on every morning, and somehow, that crap got into every nook and cranny in that bathroom. On the knobs, on the towels, in the cracks in the tile, even on top of the lightbulbs. I pleaded with her to put her make-up on in her bedroom, but no go. I lasted 10 weeks.
9. Top floor corner apartment was next. God, I loved that place. I had the master bedroom, with a master bath. Wow. I could stay in there as long as I wanted. I lived there almost four years, with an assortment of revolving roommates, including this one. One of the sexiest nights I ever spent was had partly in the shower in that bathroom. Oh how I missed it when I left.
10. Next was a little house on Cliff Drive. I had one roommate, a guy this time. The bathtub was old and huge. Far too big for the little water heater we had. I would boil water on the stove and add it to the tub so it would be hot enough and full enough. We only lived there six months before the owner wanted to move back in.
11. He and I moved to another house together, and lived there for five years, until he got engaged. I once again had my own bathroom, but it was tiny. Also, my bedroom was upstairs, but the bathroom was downstairs. Kinda a drag when I wasn't dressed decently. The shower was a cruel thing. Had one of those mean little "water saving" shower heads. What that meant was that far less water came out, in miniscule streams, but at a rate that would exfoliate skin. Have you ever been in a sand storm? That was the sensation of my shower every day.
12. Moved to my very first apartment by myself. Huge bathroom again. Great bathtub. A glass of wine, candles, music on the stereo and a magazine. I had a fine time. That's also when I got a waterproof "foot massager." Oh yeah. I never got out of the tub.
13. Finally, where I am today. I've written before about my massive bathroom, and tiny shower. It's like a boat shower. I knock the door open when I turn around. And no tub. I've had no tub for three and a half years. I miss my baths. I'm just going to have to find me a man with a tub.