Just Babble

So I'm not the only one annoyed

2007-09-13T07:09:00.000-07:00

James Blunt is a singer. He had that REALLY annoying song last year, Beautiful, that was played ad nauseam during the holidays. All about this woman he sees on the bus, with whom he falls instantly in love, and whom he will never see again. Bleah.

So his new song is 1973. Owing to the fact that I don't have a CD player in my car, and the cassette player is broken ( I think Mary Black's been stuck inside for the past three years), I listen to the radio. This song is being played incessantly. It's slowly driving me insane. Here are the lyrics:

Simona
You're getting older
Your journey's been etched
On your skin

Simona
Wish I had known that
What seemed so strong
Has been and gone

I would call you up every Saturday night
And we'd both stay out 'til the morning light
And we sang, "Here we go again"

And though time goes by
I will always be
In a club with you
In 1973
Singing, "Here we go again"

Simona
Wish I was sober
So I could see clearly now
The rain has gone

Simona
I guess it's over
My memory plays our tune
The same old song

I would call you up every Saturday night
And we'd both stay out 'til the morning light
And we sang, "Here we go again"

And though time goes by
I will always be
In a club with you
In 1973
Singing, "Here we go again"

I would call you up every Saturday night
And we'd both stay out 'til the morning light
And we sang, "Here we go again"

And though time goes by
I will always be
In a club with you
In 1973
Singing, "Here we go again"
I would call you up every Saturday night
And we'd both stay out 'til the morning light
And we sang, "Here we go again"

And though time goes by
I will always be
In a club with you
In 1973
Singing, "Here we go again"

And though time goes by
I will always be
In a club with you
In 1973

Not only are the lyrics vapid and repetitive, this guy wasn't even alive in 1973. I was in third grade, but at least I have some memory of that time. Supposedly, he wrote the song after visiting some dance club in Izbara, but why was it set in 1973?

Am I spending too much time thinking about this? Probably. But it bugs me.

On a lighter note? I actually saw a coyote this morning while walking the Wonder Dog. I've lived here four years, and heard them almost every night, but have not seen one in the area until this morning. I'm taking it as a good sign.

A question

2007-09-10T06:12:00.001-07:00

Was James Blunt even born in 1973?

2007-09-05T05:28:00.000-07:00

I woke this morn to the sound of heaving
"Please not on the bed," I lay there pleading
Detected a scent rather like poo
Ain't it funny how the tummy moves
Always when you have sleep to lose
Strange how Charlie's tummy moves

(extra points if you can figure out the tune this is supposed to accompany.)

It's 5:38 right now, and I've been up almost an hour. I didn't intend to be, I was sleeping well for the first time in several nights.

I was still on the pull-out bed in the front room, and in front of the open door last night. The temp broke a little; it actually got down to 69 degrees. Comfortable.

But then, that sound. That gagging, barfing sound that only dogs can make.

Right on the corner of the bed. Where I was sleeping.

Gross.

(And as an aside? He just lost his cookies again, this time on the bathroom floor, which as far as cleaning up, is the best choice. Still, I just took care of that).

I jumped up, and grabbed the sheet, folding it in on itself, hoping I contained the mess before it soaked through to the mattress/cushion. Which I did. Until I didn't. So yeah, a pile of it dropped back onto the pristine white of the underside of my couch. Yech.

The cleaning commenced, and upon investigation, it appears the wonder dog first regurgitated his dinner in the bedroom, ate it back up and repeated his performance for me on the bed. So, Big stain in the bedroom, one on the couch cushion and a small one on the carpet under the couch (overflow). At least the bathroom is already cleaned up.

Why does this always happen when I can't call the vet?

Poor little guy, I know he's feeling crummy.

And now, for those of you still with me... a little known fact. Horses can't throw up. If they do, it's through their noses, and it's a "terminal event." Meaning they die. Wow. Good thing to remember if Trigger or Mr. Ed want to tie one on Saturday night.

Still hot

2007-09-03T18:16:00.000-07:00

This is ridiculous.

Last night, sleeping in front of the open front door, I woke up around three. The temperature had dropped to a balmy 86 degrees. No fan can help with that.

Right now? 104 outside an hour from sunset, and 92.5 inside.

Yeah, I'm going to be really sharp tomorrow after a great night's sleep tonight.

Maybe I'll go for a drive with the air conditioning with the Wonder Dog. Too bad I can't smuggle him into the movies.

Heat

2007-09-02T12:37:00.001-07:00

Okay, so it's hot. I get it. No air conditioning, and no windows that open on the Northwest side of my house, so the sun just beats down and heats up my little place.

Right now, it's 84 degrees inside my house.
Update: It's now 4:19 pm and 90.5 degrees in the house.

The high today is supposedly going to be 86 degrees.

Bull.

It's 90 in the shade outside and it's not even the hottest part of the day yet.
More update: now it's 111 degrees. I'm going to melt.

Do you think it's the media's attempt to placate the sweaty citizens? I don't know.

Spent another $250 on the Wonder Dog Friday; his allergies have got him itching and scratching and yet again, another infection. Gah. At least this time we aren't giving him oral anti-biotics. Nope, now it's a cream.

The neck spasms? Getting better, and with the drugs, just great. Still, I'm only taking them at night, wouldn't want to get all goofy at school. At least not during the second week of school.

The fused vertebrae thing? It really doesn't mean anything. The only reason they figured it out was that it showed up on my x-ray. It's a pretty rare thing, and a good number of folks are like me, with no symptoms or problems. Just a little anomaly that adds to my charm. And, I get to have a syndrome.

I've not written about anything of import lately, but I have been thinking about humor. What makes one thing funny and another not? Why is some humor offensive to some and hilarious to others?

I've posed this to my students already; every day I put a cartoon (usually the Far Side, or one from the New Yorker) on the overhead and we talk about it. I can teach them about prior knowledge, or incongruity or intertextuality in a fun way. I always ask, "What do you need to know to understand this cartoon?" and then the conversation begins. They learn that even if they personally don't find it funny, there is a reason it's supposed to be funny.

Anyway. The question I have posed to them, and now to you is this: Why are shows like America's Funniest Home Videos considered humorous? Why do we laugh if some one trips, or his three-year-old hits him in the family jewels with a plastic baseball bat? Why do we laugh when we make another person look stupid? We don't laugh when someone is punched in the face, so why is it funny when that same person falls on it? We feel awful when we've been made fun of, so why is it humorous when it's done to others?

I'm not on a ethical high horse about this either; I laugh at the same things as everyone else. I tend to be sarcastic far too often. No, I'm truly wondering what it is that makes us laugh at other's misfortunes.

Ideas?

Muscle Relaxants

2007-08-30T21:12:00.000-07:00

That's what the doctor, excuse me, nurse practitioner, gave me yesterday.

What for? Spasms. I've got muscles spasming in my neck, and have had them doing so for the last month. Yesterday was the worst day yet.

After the x-rays, he came back in and asked had I ever had surgery on my neck?

"Uh... no.?"

"Huh. How about your back? Have you ever had surgery on your back?"

"No. Why?"

"That's weird."

I got a little panicky... "Why? Why's that weird? What's wrong?"

He said he needed to check something,and left me there. Very strange. My neck is killing me, I've gone through about 500 Advil in the last four weeks, and now the person I'm seeing in the doctor's office has run out of the room.

Turns out, after he consulted with a real doctor, it appears I am one of the lucky few that have Klippel Feil Syndrome. Two of my vertebrae are fused together. It's not what is causing the muscle spasms in my neck, but it sure is interesting. Considering I'm 43 years old and have just learned about it, I'm not too worried.

So, I've been prescribed muscle relaxants, but can't take them during the day. They are working, when I take them, but school's been a bit of a challenge this past week.

Also, on a complete tangent? There's something in my computer room that smells like mildew, but I can't find it. We've had the driest summer imaginable, so for the life of me, I cannot fathom what it might be.

I'm getting punchy.

2007-08-26T21:09:00.000-07:00

Amazingly, my camera took a fairly decent photo of the cool moon and clouds last night. All day today the clouds were looking strange and wonderful. If I was Torn, I'd know what kind of clouds they were, but I'm not, so I don't.

Pretty clouds.

That's what they were.

Tomorrow's the first day with the kiddies. For the last hour I've been working on an example poem I'm going to make the kids write. I forgot I needed to do it until...uh... an hour ago. But, I remembered, and it's all good.

It's based on this poem. The kids will read it, get paired up, interview each other, then write a poem about where their partner is from. Then, when it's finished, the two go up to the front of the room later this week, present their poems, I take their pictures and boom, I have decorations and interesting eye candy for back-to-school night.

And, I think it's going to be more interesting than the "Dear Ms. Teacher," letter that so many of them end up having to write.

Oh, and I got some more cards this year to give everyone in the department for the first day of school. Of course, I've only filled out one of them so far, so I better get to it if I want to get to bed at a normal time.

Wish me luck!

A respite

2007-08-24T21:12:00.000-07:00

You know how you can be dog tired, but still want to go out? That's me.

Not going to happen though, since most of my friends are just as beat as me from this last week.

Due to all kinds of difficult circumstances, the English department at my school got... I have to say it... fucked this year.

Every single one of us has had our schedule changed from Tuesday to today. Most of us have had more than one schedule change.

"You're going to be teaching seventh grade honors."

"No wait, instead you'll be teaching a split schedule of seventh and eighth grade."

"Okay, we won't do that. Now we would like you to teach only eighth grade, but the ESL classes, and the gifted classes."

"Alright, here's another change. We'll move the classroom you're in to the old wood shop. You can share it with a history teacher. I know, it's messy, but you have at least three hours today to clear our the 30 years of stuff left behind."

Gah.

My schedule itself didn't change too much. However, we actually hired someone today. Yeah. It's such a long story, and I'm not sure I want to get into it here (you know, there are people who know me in real life that also know about this blog), but I was the one making copies and lesson plans and so on for this teacher that didn't even exist until today.

Oh, and in the middle of all this? I have a student teacher I'm supposed to be mentoring.

I'm going to be preoccupied for a while, so don't worry if I'm not posting too much. I'm still reading your blogs!

The Whirlwind

2007-08-23T06:42:00.000-07:00

Well, my schedule keeps changing, we still need a teacher in our department, another one isn't sure if she's teaching English or P.E., and classes start Monday.

I'm tired.

And this getting up and getting to work thing? I'm already over it.

Heh.

Last Day of Freedom

2007-08-20T16:22:00.000-07:00

Hmm...

I spent the morning at the walk-in clinic. I broke a glass in the kitchen a couple of days ago, and I guess I didn't clean it up enough, because last night I stepped on a tiny sliver of glass.

Trying to get it out with tweezers, I broke it off, and there was still a little piece in there, bugging me when I stepped on it.

I tried soaking it, tried to get it out with a needle (like my mother used to torture me with when I got a splinter as a kid), but to no avail.

So, yeah, I sheepishly went to the clinic. After an hour in the waiting room (still better than the August 29th appointment which was the first time my regular doctor could see me), I went in.

Do any of you know how painful it is to get a shot of Lidocaine in the bottom of your foot? "A little burning sensation" my ass. I could not believe how much it hurt. I actually screamed a little scream. I

I was so embarrassed.

But, she needed to do that so she could use her BLADE and carve out the glass. It was pretty embedded in there, and it wasn't such a little sliver.

Weird though, it was bleeding and rather open after she was done, but she just handed me a band-aid without any cleaning when she was finished. She had already told me to walk around on my foot to make sure she got all of the glass out, so there was blood on the flip flop (sorry Torn) I was wearing too.

Anyway, when I got home, there were two birthday cards for me. One from my NYC friend, with a beautiful pair of earrings tucked into it, and one from someone I had never heard of. At least I didn't recognize the return address or the handwriting.

As soon as I opened up the envelope though, I had a pretty good guess.

I keep all my birthday cards slipped into the blinds above my kitchen sink. Let's see if you can guess which card it was , and from whom I received it (Torn, you already know).

I was touched this person went to the trouble of sending it to me. You already know who you are; thank you!

I feel loved

2007-08-19T11:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my birthday party. My friend Katrina threw it for me, and she went over and above the call of duty. Lots of good food, and good friends, and laughs.

The fire cooperated, so not too much ash or smoke, but it sure was warm.

My sister bought a lovely three (THREE!) layer cake, with lemon frosting and raspberry filling between the layers, but it didn't take to the heat well:

The top layer slid off the other two into the side of the box. Those mashed up pink things at the bottom of the picture were roses. Cutting the cake was quite an accomplishment too, since all three layers kept sliding around. However, it was a delicious cake, and I'm not even going to think about how many points were in it.

My friend, Ms. Kitty gave me a bag full of odd and wonderful goodies. The best was the one I'm holding in the picture below:

Sweet Love disposable douche.

I don't know if you can really see the picture on the box, but the model looks to be about 12-years-old. Ew.

The instructions on the box are pretty funny too:

WHEN TO DOUCHE

The most obvious time is after menstruation. But you'll want to use it other times as well -- after nervous tension, to clean away contraceptive jellies or creams, after intercourse, to wash away built-up secretions that cause odor, or any time to feel clean and fresh.

Again, ew.

After "nervous tension?" What does that mean? Somehow I've gotten through my life never using a douche, but perhaps I have built-up secretions I didn't know about?

Oh, how we laughed. And so it went.

It was a good day.

A reason to get dressed in the morning

2007-08-17T12:54:00.001-07:00

My friends, I'm still in my PJ's as I write this. I knew I was going to be inside most of the day, and I've been cleaning up and so on... so just haven't gotten around to a shower and real clothes.

I was washing the dishes, and Charlie starts barking at the door.

Dang it.

My friend Jack, another teacher from school, had come by with a card and a bottle of wine for my birthday. How sweet is that?

But of course, talking to him, I had to stand with my arms crossed over my chest because I wasn't wearing a bra and I was embarrassed. And, of course, we were standing outside in the ash and smoke because of my CHAOS that keeps me from having any guests actually inside my house.

I have to shower now.

The Fire That Wouldn't Stop

2007-08-17T08:40:00.001-07:00

The picture below is from Tuesday afternoon.
Then the wind changed. Yesterday was bad, today is worse. Here's what it looks like from my driveway now.

I wish there was smell-o-vision through the blog, because the smoke is so overpowering. Yesterday they started issuing health warnings, and this morning everyone is being told to stay indoors and close up their windows. Which is all fine, except when it gets to be about 89 degrees in the afternoon, and almost no one has air conditioning.

It's not even like I can drive up or down the coast to get away from it, because this fire is so huge now, the smoke is in four different counties. Santa Barbara is 25 miles away from it; I can't imagine being closer.

The spiderwebs on the Juniper bushes are clogged with the ash. It's no longer the big fluttery bits, but a fine, dust-like coating on everything.

Tomorrow, a friend is throwing a birthday party for me at a nearby park. Maybe I should go pick up some of those paper masks?

Another indoor day for the Wonder Dog and myself.

I'm 43.

2007-08-15T19:09:00.000-07:00

My birthday.

For the last few years or so, it's actually made me a bit sad. Or maybe I'm just getting my period.

Here's a rundown of the events today:

Got up early, picked up my friend and went walking with the Wonder Dog on the beach for two hours.
Washed the Wonder Dog, changed my clothes.
Went to the Cuban-Brazilian dance class (where the regular teacher was absent; the class wasn't the same). Showered for the first time at the gym.
Talked to my well-wishing friend from New York.
Met two friends for lunch.
Went to the bakery to buy myself a slice of whatever cake I wanted for my birthday.
Left the bakery without buying anything. I'm not kicking my own ass exercising to blow it on cake.
Went home, sewed a little stitch into my dress where it was gaping open and showing my girls to the world.
Talked to another well-wishing friend from Seattle.
Picked up my mother at 5 o'clock from her job.
Went to dinner with mother at 5:15 (you know these old folks... they like to eat early).
Came home.
Checked my blog...realized nobody is interested in the songs on my Ipod.
Wrote this post.

Nights like these are the ones that get to me. I don't have a group of friends to just hang with, to go out for a drink with. I don't have a significant other to surprise me with some little card on the dining room table.

Remember when your birthday meant a party and goody bags, and inviting Richard Thompson, the creepy kid down the street because your mother said it was bad manners to invite everyone else but him? Pin the tail on the donkey, and my mother's angel food cake which wasn't my favorite but was her specialty so we ate it anyway? Duck duck goose, and prizes and Pinatas.

Oh man, Pinatas. Remember those? (I don't know how to get the Tilda on the "n" in Pinata, so forgive me please.)

Being the one who broke the Pinata sucked because you were blindfolded. You were always a beat behind the other kids who could see the loot before you did when it was scattered on the floor. I would always fake at hitting the pinata when it was my turn.

One time, next door? At Jessie Goode's party? There was the usual requisite candy in the happy face-shaped Pinata, but also two round wooden tokens. If you got one of them, you won an extra prize.

Well, when Jimmy smashed it open, I threw my body down. I mean I covered every bit of the bounty of sweets on the patio floor. When I came up for air, I had about 80% of the sweet tarts and butterscotch disks... but more importantly, I had both of the tokens.

Mrs. Goode first shamed me for being greedy.

Then she made me give one of my tokens to Jimmy.

I wasn't always the most charming of young ladies.

Are you all over the meme now?

2007-08-14T20:07:00.000-07:00

I was kind of surprised when most of the songs on my list weren't guessed.

Here's some more info about them:

1) This band is huge. Has been huge for pretty much as long as I've been alive. It's not one of their better known songs.

2) I love to sing along to this song. Think siblings, 40's and WWII.

3) She's from Ireland. I heard her sing this song first when I went to her concert in Japan. A fan sent the lyrics to her and she set it to music.

5) Country, country, country. Am I the only one who listens to it? I wore out this CD when I first got it.

6) I knew this would be hard. I have every album by this band, but their lyrics during their early years were completely indecipherable.

7) Oh gosh. He was my FAVORITE singer (okay, it was a tie between him and Rod Stewart, but still) in high school. I went with Torn to his concert just a few weeks before we broke up.

9) Mel Gibson movie? What Women Want? This was on the soundtrack.

10) Total California summer music. Mellow band that I thought was a single person because of the name.

12) A friend who reads but doesn't comment got this, except I'm thinking of the version I used to roller skate to at the rink in 1979. I always had to be on the floor when this song played.

13) The story about this? I was shopping at Macy's and this song came on (they play real music at our store). A woman near me started singing along to it at the top of her lungs. Thing was, she was amazing. It took me almost three months to figure out who it was by and what it was called.

14) Her name isn't spelled like it's pronounced. Graceful woman; her first album hit when I think she was only 19 years old.

15) The singer of this song died whilst beating off and simultaneously choking himself.

16) She's still alive, this singer. The most popular first dance song at weddings is probably one of hers.

17) This group is listed in my favorites. Very mellow, downer kind of group. Lead singer has a great voice.

I know, lazy again.

Here's a photo of the steam rising from the water drop on the Zaca fire which is still raging in the back country.

White smoke is good, brown or orange smoke? Bad.

We Waltzed Tonight

2007-08-13T22:32:00.000-07:00

My dance class I mean.

Dancer man Mark was a no-show.

Ah well, easy come, easy go. I had a minimal thrill for the summer; always a good thing. Still, it's hard not to take it personally. I mean, he asks for my number, meets me and dances (the Tango!) with me for an hour, then quits the class.

I mean, he said he was going to take the next round of classes, so, other than finding me repellent, what could be his reason for not going?

I know, I know... lots of things.

Whatever. I'm sticking with the class now just because I like it. I didn't have to dance with Patchouli woman tonight, but I did dance with chest-staring Chester. Ew.

Seriously, there are so many characters in that class. It's fascinating. I could keep going just for the blog fodder (plus of course, since I bought the fancy dance shoes, I have to keep going).

Leaving the lyrics up for a bit longer. At least # 12 somebody should get. I'll add hints tomorrow if you'd like.

Oh, I had my first massage in 15 years this morning. Not bad. This place is a chain, Massage Envy, and I got suckered in to join. I pay $59 bucks a month, and get an hour massage. And, if I want to have more massages that particular month, they only cost $39 each.

I know, I know, oh Rebekah, save your money. Well, I'm not going out and buying lotion and candles and shoes (well, not too many shoes) anymore, and spending money on the gym and a trainer and even massages are all about my health. If I don't take care of myself, who will?

Besides, it sure was nice to have someone other than myself touch me. Even if I did have to pay for it.

Wait.

Now I feel dirty.

I just don't bounce back like I used to

2007-08-12T20:57:00.001-07:00

Good thing I had this meme from Snooze ready and waiting from last week.

Here's the rules if you haven't seen them already"

1) Put your mp3 player or music player on your computer on random.
2)Post the first line(s) from the first 20 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.
3) Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from.
4) Strike out the songs when someone guesses correctly.
5) Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING.

1.
Well you bit my lip and drew first blood,
And warmed my cold, cold heart
And your wrote your name right on my back
Boy your nails were sharp

2.
Choo choo to Broadway foo Cincinnati
Don't get icky with the one two three
Life is just so fine on the solid side of the line, rip

3.
Its taste was sweet like summer wine
The heart that beats in double time.
So he waltzed right in, he bowled you over
You’re still reeling from the feeling when he’s gone

4.
Friday night you and your boys went out to eat
Then they hung out, but you came home around three.
If six of ya’ll went out, then four of you are really cheap.
Cause only two of you ate dinner; found your credit card receipt.
(Gayprof got this one, Whitney Houston's It's Not Right, But It's Okay. This was the remixed superstar edition.)

5.
I’ve climbed so many mountains just to reach the other side
I’ve neared drowned myself in freedom just to feed my foolish pride
In my journey through the darkness, I have finally seen the light
I know no one’s every loved me, like you’re loving me tonight.

6.
It's what I want hurry and buy
all has been tried follow reason and buy
Cannot shuffle in this heat it's all wrong
Try to put that on your sleeve it's all wrong it's all wrong

7.
The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.
Any fool can do it, there ain't nothing to it.
Nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill.
But since we're on our way down, we might as well enjoy the ride.

8
Chiquitita, tell me what's wrong
You're enchained by your own sorrow
In your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow
How I hate to see you like this
(Yes, it's Chiquita by Abba. You know, the first word of the song? heh.Devo guessed it.)

9.
I've got no chauffeur to chauffeur me
I've got no servant to serve my tea
But I'm as happy as a man can be
Because I've got a girl who loves nobody but me

10.
Drive west on Sunset to the sea
Turn that jungle music down
Just until we're out of town
This is no one night stand

11.
So call me a bitch in heat
And I’ll call you a liar
And we’ll throw stones until we’re dead
(Devo again got this. Throwing stones by Paula Cole. A good song when you're feeling bitter)

12.
I don't want to lose the good thing that I've got
If I do, I will surely, I will lose a lot
For your love is better than any love other I've known

13
Back when I had a little
I thought that I needed a lot
a little was overrated
but a lot was a little too complicated

14.
(Love is what the word was)
I saw a picture
How could you be so careless
How could you have done that to us

15.
You're driving all over town
In your big car
Windows down
Sweet perfume trails behind
The impression is in my mind

16.
Your dogs ain't found a good girl,
One that love you and give you warning
Now you find that you been misused,
Well how many girls can think all right

17.
I said, Mama, he's crazy and he scares me
But I want him by my side
though he's wild and he's bad
and sometimes just plain mad

18.
Guinnevere had green eyes
Like yours, mi'lady like yours
When she'd walk down
Through the garden
In the morning after it rained
(Em Rocks. Guinnevere by Crosby, Stills and Nash - before Young. This song reminds me of my brother. He didn't really sing, but spoke the lyrics along while he was listening.)

19.
Give me a kiss to build a dream on
And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss
Sweetheart, I ask no more than this
(Em got this one too. How come so many of my songs have the titles as the first line? Give Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On by Ray Charles)

20.
Them that's got shall get
Them that's not shall lose
So the Bible says
And it still is news
(Em got this first, although anyone who knew me in college would get this. I played Billie Holiday non-stop back then.)

Reunion Tonight

2007-08-11T12:30:00.000-07:00

25 years.

I graduated from high school 25 years ago.

God I feel old. I have friends who weren't yet in kindergarten then.

Meeting one of my buddies for a pedicure in about an hour... then the drinking will start. I'm sure there'll be stories tomorrow; if I'm not too hungover.

Oh, and my camera? Took it in to the shop, and it worked fine.

Maybe pounding on it worked after all.

Running out of time

2007-08-10T08:27:00.000-07:00

So yesterday I may have overdone it. I met with my trainer, who hides her masochistic tendencies under a sweet and peppy exterior.

I basically have no upper body strength. Flexibility, yes. Strength, no.

She got me to push through, but man... it hurt. I think that's the most important part of the trainer; she gets me to do things I wouldn't do on my own. Sloth is my general state, so if something is too hard, I normally just pass.

So then, I went and got my hair highlighted. It was a big deal, because I'd finally gone back to my true, mousy, light brown color over the last few months. There's a reason I've been coloring my hair since I was 14. I'm supposed to be a blonde, I know it. Now I'm back on my way. I'd take a picture of it, but I can't, because my frickin' camera is broken.

The dance class I've gone to on Saturdays at the other gym? The one my friends go to and bring me as a guest? The class that kicks my butt? I decided to go last night too. My hairstylist (who is also a good friend) said I'd mess up my just done hair, but I figured, who's going to see it except my dog? I went.

And it was too much. Yes, the class is hard, but last night? Oi vey. I think I nearly died. I just couldn't keep up. And would it kill them to actually turn on the fans? Sheesh.

The day before I went on a two-hour hike, then to the other dance class (Afro-Cuban-Brazilian something or another) I like at my gym. Made it to 20,000 steps on the pedometer.

Today? I'm relaxing. Doing the laundry, leisurely walking Charlie boy, maybe I'll even get a massage. Who knows?

Oh, and I'm going to either get my camera fixed or get a new one. See, I went to take a picture of my new dance shoes as per requested, and realized the camera wouldn't focus.

So, I guess you can sorta get an idea from this, but it really just gives me a headache. It fell off the table the other day, and I guess the auto focus is what ended up being injured. Torn suggested hitting it, "It worked for me!" but that didn't help.

I have a new camera in mind, but we'll see if the old one can be saved.

A repost of the video

2007-08-07T11:33:00.000-07:00

Hopefully this time it'll work. I really do love this song.
(thanks St. Dicky, you were right)

alright now.

2007-08-07T08:53:00.000-07:00

So I just deleted the video altogether, and everything is okay. Here's my question: When I am copying from youtube, do I paste the URL or the Embedded thing into my blog? I tried both yesterday and both were funky.

And dance class? I had to dance with a woman who smelled of Patchouli because dancer man Mark wasn't there.

Although, I must say, I'm getting better at it. Must be the new fancy shmancy dance shoes I bought.

Okay.

2007-08-06T18:20:00.000-07:00

I don't know what the hell I just did. Somehow, by posting the youtube video, I combined yesterday's post with today's. And there's that weird extra box with the little red "X" in it.

St. Dickybird? I bet you'll know what I did wrong.

Dance class tonight

2007-08-06T17:57:00.001-07:00

Last night I went to my first yoga class in about four years. I used to go every Monday and Thursday, and most Saturday mornings. The teacher was wonderful. He was calm, and didn't play stupid enya music or crickets chirping or anything like that. He kept the lights dim, and walked around checking and adjusting all the time.

I actually got so into it that I cried a couple times at the end of the hour and a half. I really loved it, and it made me feel physically strong. I believe it also helped me out of my depression (along with the chemicals my doctor prescribed).

Anyway, two things contributed to my lack of yoga practice; first, the instructor left for his own studio (one which I couldn't afford) and second, Charlie-boy came to live with me. I was gone all day at work, and couldn't see going out again at night for another chunk of time away from the little guy. I know, I know, but that's how it happened.

I stopped going to the gym all together, and the only exercise I got was from the walks my canine pal and I went on together.

But.

As you all know, I'm getting serious about this getting in shape business. I've put down a wad of cash for a trainer, I'm writing down every single thing that goes into my mouth (and stop with the innuendo... my tongue isn't tickling anything more interesting than a root beer-flavored Popsicle these days), and I'm trying to get in an hour of cardio five days a week.

Last night I went to a "flow yoga" class at my gym.

This morning I woke up in pain.

See, this class was not like my old class. For one, most of the time we were supposed to keep our eyes closed, and get in tune with our bodies. However, since I couldn't tell what we were doing, I had to keep looking at the teacher. The times we didn't have our eyes closed, we were looking down, or up or at our knees. The leader obviously knew her stuff, but on the instructing part? Not so good. Meanwhile, the florescent lights were blinding all of us, and the monrovian chant music with whale sounds (or whatever the hell she was playing) just distracted me.

No checking, no adjustments. Surprisingly, I'm pretty damn flexible, but the things she had us doing were insane. Not one of the people in the class could keep up with her.

It wasn't like she was showing off, it was more like she was just totally unaware of the group of us. Perhaps it's just not for me?

So this morning? Because I'm not in enough pain? I went and got my eyebrows and bikini line waxed. Not that I have a bikini for there to be a line, but you know what I mean. I actually had to tell her to stop from taking too much off. I may be old school, but that hair is there for a reason, thank you very much. No, I don't want it to look like a tarantula is coming out of my underwear, but please. I'm a woman, not a pre-pubescent girl.

The wind changed again

2007-08-05T09:36:00.000-07:00

This was yesterday afternoon. Part of the smoke looks like thunderclouds, but to the right is the orange-y smoke from the day before. No ash yesterday.

So, I went to the hip-hop class again with my friend at the other gym. It kicked my butt. I had to wade through all the Fiesta stuff to get there yesterday morning because there was the Children's parade. Ick. Even where I normally park was closed off. Ah well. The endorphins kicked in anyway, and not only the wind, but my mood changed.

See, several of you have mentioned that I could, you know, invite Dancer Man Mark for a coffee myself. You're right, I could.

But I won't.

How come, you ask? Don't I know it's perfectly fine for a woman to ask a man out in this day and age? That for some men, it's actually a turn-on for the woman to make a move?

Yes, I know.

However.

Not in my world. Oh yes, I've asked out men before, been assertive, made the first move; it never goes well. Now, before you all start yelling at me, this is only my opinion on the whole idea. It's not published or anything, and you can feel welcome to disagree, but please don't yell at me.

Here goes:

Men who are interested enough in me, are going to ask me out. Period. If they are too shy, then it's not going to work. I send plenty of signals, so it's not like they have no idea if I will say yes or not. Confidence is one of the top three things that attract me to a man in the first place. Not arrogance mind you, confidence.

Also, the times when I have asked a man out, confusion has occurred. Does he pay? do I pay? who makes the next move? All that crap. It throws a man off his game. In addition, most straight men don't have much practice in turning down a woman politely. Which means either they laugh (yes, it's happened. "Oh, you were serious?") or they say yes even when they aren't interested because they don't know what else to do.

Okay, I know, the whole "If a woman asked me out, it'd be hot," I've heard from my men friends who like women. What they leave out is the rest of it: "... IF it's someone I'm already interested in."

And that goes back to my other two points. If he's already interested, he should be taking the chance and doing the asking. If he's not interested enough, my asking him out isn't going to change things.

Now, once things have been established (okay, I'm interested, he's interested) then it doesn 't matter. I'm not one to stand on tradition here. I also think it's lame for the man to always be expected to pay, to always determine where the relationship is headed. I don't sit around and wait for a call; if I want to talk to someone, I call him. None of this, "He called me on Tuesday, and it's only Thursday, so I can't call him until Sunday." Rules like that are stupid.

So, I'm trying to take the advice from several friends; go with the flow, enjoy the moment, and take things as they come. You know, all that foo-foo-la-la crap people tell you when you are perseverating on something you don't have any control over.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Fire still going on

2007-08-04T12:02:00.001-07:00

The Zaca fire is still burning away. The new expected containment date is September 7th! That'll be more than two months this fires been eating up the back country.

Thursday night the wind changed, and yesterday there was more ash than ever. It looked like snow. It covered everything, and made it hard to breath.

Small, perfectly formed leaves would fall, and then crumble when I tried to pick them up. The fire is burning so fast and so hot, that they keep their shape until touched.

It's all over the yard, in little piles. I didn't work outside yesterday because of it.

All the shadows were strange and orange. I tried to take a picture of it, but my camera wasn't up to the task. It felt like dusk all day, even at two in the afternoon.

It's still not close by, but wow... the power of it all. The ash is now falling in four counties. Yesterday Ah-nold declared a state of emergency here.

I'm just glad it's not close by.

Sluglike

2007-08-03T11:35:00.001-07:00

That's how I feel today. It's Fiesta in Santa Barbara, and I want nothing to do with it. It's a big excuse for tourists to get drunk and stupid, and not one, but two huge parades (which dear reader, I avoid like the plague).

Of course, it could be because I have no one with whom to attend the Old Spanish Days festivities.

Seriously, it must be getting time for me to get back to school (I can't believe I just said that). I'm spending far too much time alone in my head. Torn said I was "overanalyzing" the other day when I was talking about the dance partner dude. Well sheesh, overanalyzing is what I do. There could be a picture of me in the dictionary next to its entry.

My friend Katrina very sweetly decided to throw a Birthday barbecue for me in a couple of weeks. She sent out Evites a few days ago; there's more people declining than accepting so far. And of course, it's because my birthday is in August, the travel month. Everyone is going camping or traveling or to a wedding or a baby shower; I shouldn't feel bad about it, but I do. Then there's the folks who received the evite and haven't responded at all. Oh, I know, some are out of town or something, but not all of 'em. It makes me feel like they're waiting to see if something better will come along before they commit.

My nerd complex mixed with some people's lack of manners is getting me down. I mean really.

Back in the day of written invitations, I had a wine and cheese party. This was about 12-13 years ago. I sent out about fifteen invitations, to singles and couples, and asked people to RSVP. I needed to know how much wine and stuff to buy.

Only one person called me to say she wasn't coming.

And only four showed up.

That was a low point in my entertaining days.

Then, other times, you know, just a spur of the moment get together? Twenty people show up at my house. I don't know if it's the invitation that intimidates people or what? And now, all you have to do is check a box on-line. Yes, No or Maybe (like those letters I used to write to Kenny Mendoza in junior high; "Do you like me? Check one of these boxes").

Am I crazy to expect good manners from my friends?

And besides all that? Why hasn't dancer man Mark called me?

Just to end on a good note, here's a picture of Charlie boy actually looking at the camera. Gosh I love the little guy.

My Elbows Itch

2007-08-01T21:35:00.000-07:00

I mean crazy itch. Like no-amount-of-scratching-helps itch.

Weird bumps and dry skin.

I've been putting heavy cream on them at night,and wearing cut off socks around them; last night I tried hydrocortisone cream.

Sheesh.

What the heck could it be?

Deserted Warehouse

2007-07-30T22:18:00.000-07:00

That's where I met Mark for our "date" tonight. My friend is actually calling it a "pre-date." She said I need to go on at least three pre-dates before the real thing.

Yeah, I didn't know what she was talking about either.

See, she said there should be no meals involved. coffee is okay, one cocktail is okay, but no dinner. She had all other kinds of advice but I kinda zoned out. Told her it sounded like the new version of "The Rules," and I was just going to go with the flow.

Well, I guess Mark subscribes to her way of thinking.

I met him at the warehouse, we danced for about an hour, talked for about 10-15 minutes more, then said goodnight. No coffee, no cocktail, just goodnight.

He did hug me though, so I suppose that's not a bad sign?

I don't know now. Maybe I just got so caught up in a man actually wanting to spend time with me that I didn't realize he might just want a dance partner to practice with.

Or maybe he's shy.

He doesn't seem shy though.

Maybe he's trying to figure out if he likes me or not.

Or maybe he has to go to work early tomorrow.

Or maybe I need to just chill.

UPDATE:

So, I just found him on Classmates.com. Guess what?

He's the same age as me.

His 25th reunion? The exact same day as mine.

heh. I feel silly.

This weekend

2007-07-29T12:51:00.000-07:00

(Before I begin, Happy Birthday to my good friend Torn. He's been on earth 42 years.)

Yesterday morning, Katrina and I took our dogs on the trail behind my house. It was early in the morning, and crossing the dry creek bed, this is what we saw:

Cool, huh?

Later in the day, the Zaca fire, which has been burning since July Fourth, flared up again. The sky was filled with smoke.

And this morning? On the car that I just had washed Friday? It looked like snow had fallen.

Don't worry, I'm not that close to the actual fire. The winds however, bring it all down the pass right to my lucky house. Not too good for my asthma either.

They are predicting to have it fully contained by Friday. That's a full month practically of fire.

Ah. Southern California in the Summertime.

He Called!

2007-07-26T10:22:00.001-07:00

Half an hour we spent talking on the phone. I know a little bit more about him; but still don't know how old he is. I'm pretty sure he's close to my age, but I think he may be younger than me.

It's happened people. For the first time, I'm nervous about my age. Oh, I know, I could pass for 35 perhaps, on a good day, but I'm not 35. I'm 42. In about three weeks, I'll be 43. I thought all I'd have to worry about is my size; now I'm worrying about age? Argh.

So far, it hasn't come up. We are going to meet on Monday, after I download some tango music and rip it to a CD. He's got a friend with an open space, with those elevated wooden floors (used to be a gym of some sorts, now it's going to be an office space or something), so we'll meet there.

It was a good conversation. He's not all stuttery or bashful. I think I could like this guy.

Annoyed I am

2007-07-25T10:08:00.000-07:00

So, I'm on the computer, futzing away, and my cell phone rings. I don't catch it in time. Don't recognize the number. Figure whoever it is will leave a message. She does. It's Mary, the trainer from the gym.

Oh yeah people, I'm going whole hog on this (interesting choice of metaphor, don't you think?) get back into shape thing. Last Sunday I went in to the gym and laid down $405 for five training sessions. "Mary" was supposed to call right away to set up the first appointment.

Today's Wednesday.

Anyway, she called at 10:01. I got the message at 10:02. I called back at 10:03. And, get this, "Oh Mary? She just left."

What?

Did she leave a message and then just throw the phone at the desk as she ran out the door? I mean really. And, it's not like she was on her own phone, because the number she called from was the gym's number (caller ID rocks).

I don't like starting out annoyed. Which I am. I wanted to get this going and solid before school starts, which is on the 21st of August this year (ugh). I should just go and change trainers right now. March myself down to the gym and do it.

I left a rather grumpy message on her voice mail.

Man.

The last time I signed up for a personal trainer, I got hard-core dude. He was pissed he had to deal with a goofy girl like me, and talked to me like I was a big blob. No laughter, no smiles, just boot camp. Kept telling me how I was "soft" and had to push myself. Shame might work on some folks but it just gets me angry. I know I'm overweight, but I also know I'm not going to row for the Olympic team. I just want to get in shape.

I'm going over to the fucking gym right now.

Grr.

Update:
Well, I went to the gym. Asked when Mary would be in. "Uh... I'm not sure..." was the answer. I explained how I wanted to get started with a training schedule before school started and that it seemed Mary was pretty busy. He gave me the notebook with the different trainer's schedules and openings.

Mary? Didn't have a single opening this week or next week. Nothing. Oh, it wasn't full or anything; she just wasn't taking any appointments. Perhaps that information could have been passed on to me? Just a thought? They sure wanted my money Sunday.

So, I went to an Afro-Brazilian dance class, and nearly passed out (actually, it was pretty fun, and one thing I can do is shake my booty), and afterwards talked to Jose, the sales director who was the one who got me started on all this in the first place. "Oh yeah, we'll get you hooked up with someone else. Yeah, you need to get started this week. Oh, I hear you."

Uh huh.

Someone is supposed to call me.

I'm not holding my breath.

The Dance of La-huv...

2007-07-24T17:28:00.000-07:00

Last night was the last class of the dance course. The new one starts up in a couple of weeks, and I’ll be there. Quite a different tune than the one I was singing a few weeks ago, eh?

Anyway, this time I got there early. I wasn’t going to be shut out again. I watched the advanced class twirl around the floor, and wondered if I’d ever glide like that. Mark (not his name, but what I’ll be calling him for the time being) came in and sat next to me. We started chatting, and he couldn’t remember my name. He thought it was Tricia, which is the name of the woman who got me to go in the first place. Oi. Oh well, it’s been two weeks.

So, the class starts, we go into each other’s arms and he asks, “Were you here last week?”

What, he didn’t even notice me last week? Double oi. I said I had been, and he was relieved. See, this week was review, and I think he was worried I wouldn’t know what to do at all. We start to Tango, and things are going well. We break for new instructions and wouldn’t you know it? Another woman snakes her way over to him when the class couples up again.

I end up with Chad, a slightly autistic, but good dancer who sweats. A lot. He has no problem telling me how I’m holding my arm incorrectly and my steps are too small and that I’m not moving smoothly enough. It doesn’t bother me though, because I just want to get better, and he’s not the one I’m trying to impress anyway. Mark and I smile at each other across the room.

Another break, a new combination, and back to couples again. Mark appears in front of me almost immediately, and away we go.

Now, I have to tell you all, what with the extra fruit and veggies I’ve been eating this week? Major gas. Not really a problem; I live alone. But, the whole time I’m at class, spinning around and trying to put my feet in the right place, I’m fighting the need to fart. Oh man, I could just picture it, ending before it was begun, all because I was trying to eat right.

But, I contained it. I’m stronger than I knew.

However, we did learn a new spin. One in which the man just basically stands there, and the woman has to spin around and end up close to the man, with her back to him, his right hand on her waist, her hand on his.

Nerves. I hadn’t had a beer or cocktail this time beforehand, I like this guy, and I’m fighting gas. I kept spinning properly, but ending up too far in front of him. He said I was too far away for him, and to remember “The Tango is the dance of … you know… seduction?” He said it in a funny fake, pepe le pew accent, and I knew right then that I did like him. "You've got to get a bit closer."

And then on my next spin? Slammed into him. Knocked him backwards with my big ass.

“Well, maybe not that close,” is all he said.

Gales of laughter from both of us. I’m sure I was scarlet. Mortified I was. Mortified. He was blushing too, but we both just kept laughing and trying to dance.

Where are the movies about this? Aren’t I, by this point in my life, supposed to be smooth? Calm? Cool?

None of those I was.

But.

It didn’t matter. I asked him if he was going to the next run of classes, he said yes, and then said,

“You know, I have access to a wooden floor. If you’d like to… if you give me your number… I could call you…. If you’d like to practice sometime.”

Squeeee!

But that was on the inside. On the outside? I said sure, gave him the digits, and he walked me to my car.

Oh the small joys of possibility.

Guess who asked for my number tonight?

2007-07-23T22:11:00.001-07:00

Time

2007-07-22T12:59:00.000-07:00

So, I'm trying to get back on the exercise routine.

Five days in Vegas and then the four days at the institute (where the only free time was between 6 am and 8 am... time I spent sleeping, showering, and getting coffee), eating more than I normally do, and exercising... well, not at all... and more weight has crept back on.

Last summer at this time I was down about 40 pounds; I've put back on 15. Why is it so frickin' hard to lose weight and so easy to gain it back?

Anyway, because it's summer, and because I have pretty much nothing to do, I'm trying to move more. You know, make it a habit now, so that when school starts up again, I'll already be in the groove?

Two hours walking on the beach on Thursday, then a total veg out on Friday. Oh, I went wine tasting with a friend, so I exercised my left arm up and down a bit. Saturday I went to a "hip hop" aerobics class, and nearly died. I actually stepped on myself. I did burn some calories though. Then to the Farmer's Market, to which I haven't been in a long time. I love it there. The fresh fruit and veggies and flowers, and all the weird Jojoba oil salespeople and the odd musicians scattered all over. I got grapes, tomatoes, nectarines and strawberries, all for six bucks.

Today, another two hour walk with Charlie; this time from my house to Starbucks. Probably about 6 miles total, but I'm not sure. He's passed out now next to me, and I don't think I have to worry about his not getting enough exercise.

Oh yeah, then there's the ballroom dance class tomorrow. You wouldn't think it would be much of a workout, but it is. You try holding your arm up in the air for an hour at a time.

Tomorrow's the last day of the class. There'll be another class starting up soon probably; but I have to talk to strawberry blond guy, or I'll lose my chance. I got to class late last week, and he was already paired up with someone else. Then he skeedaddled out of there before I could say anything witty to him.

My coupled up friends (pretty much all my friends) have this idea that I have this full, busy social life. I don't. I' m just trying to fill up all the damn time I have by myself. Charlie is great, but come on; I'm not having any kind of meaningful conversation with him. Most days anyway.

Hope you're having a good weekend.

Fourteen Friday

2007-07-20T09:57:00.001-07:00

I forgot to do Thirteen Thursday, so I thought I'd make up for it today.

Fourteen Things About Vegas:

1. Torn and I have been going to Vegas together for several years. We've gone with my mother, his mother, his father and much of the time, by ourselves. I think we've been going for at least 15 years.

2. During the last few years, we have almost a routine. We stop at the same rest stop and take a picture:The one above is from 2005, below, from a few weeks ago.

3. Vegas is like no other place in the world. There's always something that makes us laugh and laugh.

Notice that after you go up to the top of the Stratosphere, you can get a "snack" of Nachos, a bag of chips and a soft drink. Since when is that a snack, and why would you need chips if you already have Nachos?

4. At the Rio, there is a wine bar... I think it's called The Cellar, but every time I go to Vegas, I go there. It's gotten more expensive over the years.

Three guesses whose charming digit that is.

5. Torn isn't the only person I've gone to Vegas with. My 39th birthday was spent in a Cabana by the Rio pool with a bunch of girlfriends. We then went to dinner at a great Indian place, and then off to a ritzy club my sister got us into with one of her many contacts.

6. Most of my friends don't like Vegas as much as I do. It's cheap, it's fun, and it's like a little fantasy world for me. There's always the chance of winning (like I did last year), and no one expects anything of you. No responsibilities. Drinking, sitting out by the pool, playing games, what's there not to like?

7. Pooping in Vegas though. That's never fun. For some reason I always get all blocked up. "Paste Poo" is the name Torn came up with for it. My sister laughed and laughed when she heard me refer to it as that. "You name your poo?!" I guess it is pretty funny. We always (I always) bring the flushable wet wipes now. Also, lots of water. I'm always dehydrated there whether it's the winter or the summer.

8. There is a direct flight to Vegas from Santa Barbara, but I've not taken it in a long time. It's only about 45 minutes from airport to airport, but then there's the line for the taxi, and all that airport hassle. Driving takes about 5 hours.

9. Except, I've not driven directly in the last 10 years or so. I used to drive to Long Beach to pick up Torn, and the last few years I've driven to Santa Ana to pick him up. Adds another 3 hours or so to the drive. Kindof a drag.

10. This year, I became addicted to Vanilla Iced Coffees from McDonalds whist in Vegas. We drank far too much cheap red wine one night, and the next day we were both rotten with hangovers. Torn and I were taking turns getting the coffee each day from Seattle's Best at the next hotel over, and it was my turn. Ugh. In the most pitiful voice he could muster, Torn pointed out that there was a McDonald's next to the coffee shop, and could I please get him a sausage McMuffin? As everyone knows, that is the absolute hangover cure. Problem was, I made a new year's resolution not to eat at McDonald's for a year. I broke my resolution with both the aforementioned Vanilla Iced Coffee, and a McGriddle. Then of course I had to go back the next day and get another! Crack I tell you. There's crack in McDonald's food. Luckily, the MickyD's here doesn't have the coffee drink, so I've been able to stay away.

11. I bring flip flops to wear in Vegas just because it annoys Torn.

12. I'm the one who says "You can't win big if you don't bet big." Just as we were getting ready to leave, I said I was going to cash in my voucher ($20), and then meet Torn upstairs. As I was walking to the cashier's cage, I saw the "Coyote Moon" machine beckoning to me. I put in my 20 bucks and started punching buttons. I went down to 69 cents, and figured that was it. But no. I won a little, and a little more, and then... I thought, "What the heck" and pushed the MAX BET button (this was a penny machine though, so the max bet was about $2.50), and blam! I won 82 bucks! Whoo hoo! It's the reason why I went home without losing all my money.

13. Sometimes I look good in Las Vegas:

And sometimes I don't:

14. Every time I leave, I start thinking about the next time I can go back.

Why?

2007-07-19T06:17:00.000-07:00

Guess how much the cute little "hang-it-all" costs. No really, guess.

Now double that.

A few years ago, my girlfriends and I were on a garage sale kick. We'd scour the ads on Friday, make our plan, get together early for coffee, and set out. Now we're having our own garage sales, but that's another story.

One lovely Saturday, we decided to hit the chichi (I thought it was spelled "chi chi" but no, no space) town of Montecito. You know, where Oprah and assorted other rich people live?

Now, there are basically two kinds of people who have garage sales. Those who want to make a little cash on stuff they're going to give to Goodwill anyway, and those who have no clue. Those who have no clue don't understand that it doesn't matter how much he or she paid for it, because it's used now. Used items are not worth as much as new items. Most of the time anyway. I hope you aren't selling your grandmother's Chesterfield at a garage sale.

Anyway, we went to a house that was obviously being renovated. There were all kinds of building materials, and tools and things like a kitchen sink for sale. One of the items was the above coat rack.

Even though it's for children, I love colorful things. I thought it was cute, but there was no price tag on it. I asked the guy and his response?

Are you ready for this?

Seventy-five dollars!

Can you believe it? I nearly had an asthma attack. For a wire and wooden ball coat rack? He said it was a "Blahdiblah" and was new, never used. Silly, provincial me, I'd never heard of the "Blahdiblah" brand, and laughed. Said "No thank you," and went on my merry way.

Imagine my surprise this morning, thumbing through my Domino magazine (which is a lame magazine, btw, which replaced Budget Living, which was a great magazine that went belly-up several months ago now), and seeing it on the pages. No price was listed, just this website, highbrowfurniture.com, which is a really pretentious name for an on-line store, in my opinion.

So everyone, now knowing how much the guy asked for it at the garage sale, and knowing it is sold at a place with a name that really should be just "Costsadamnlot.com" have you adjusted your price guess?

That little hanger thingee, which looks like something sold at Ikea, retails at... One-hundred and fiftydollars.

Some people have just too much money to throw around.

Note: No matter how many times I go back and try to add spaces between my paragraphs, blogger won't let me. Of course, it let me once, at the beginning, but now, no way. It looks right in my draft, but then on the blog itself? The spaces disappear. No idea why.)

Weirdness this morning

2007-07-18T09:48:00.000-07:00

So, the sky is looking very orange and strange right now; the Zaca Fire is raging away. It started on July 4th, and isn't expected to be contained for at least another week. A fine coating of ash is on everything... even inside my house. Up at the Institute last week, we were only 10 miles from it, but even here, it's a bit nerve-wracking.

Also, I'm not sure what was causing it, but there were 4-5 big sonic boom type vibrations this morning. I don't live too far from Vandenburg air force base, so every once in a while we'll get them, but there's been nothing in the sky I've seen so far today. Charlie and the birds outside have gone wacko each time it's happened, and I just want to know what it is.

Lastly, remember the pictures I took yesterday? Well good thing I did. I can at least document there was something there. After going out this morning to check out the heavens, I looked down at my sad little tomato plant, and this is what I saw:

That's right. I have one hopeful little tomato, and some rotten critter stole it! I looked all over for perhaps as least the remnants of it, but nothing. We have rabbits and skunks and squirrels and rats, but none of those are really big enough to haul away the whole tomato, right? A raccoon could have done it, but I've not seen one in the 4 years I've lived here.

Gah.

2007-07-17T08:15:00.000-07:00

Ah, summer, the time of fresh-from-the-garden vegetables. Really, is there anything like a just picked tomato, warmed from the sun?

These gorgeous plants are my neighbor's tomatoes. She planted them about a week before I planted mine. This year I only planted one though, because I was overwhelmed last year.

I'm thinking perhaps I misjudged.

If you look closely, you'll see a tiny baby tomato trying to grow next to the big one, but that's going to be it for my harvest.

What did I do wrong? I have no idea. That pot is about 6 feet away from the lush plants on my neighbor's patio.

The corks are a kind of mulch. Keeps the water in and the buggy critters out.

So many things to write about

2007-07-16T08:39:00.000-07:00

You know how sometimes there's so much to do that you can't get started on anything? That's how I feel right now.

Vegas, then a visit from my buddy from New York, then the four-day institute I went to... I have oodles of stuff to say, but can't get started.

I've been off-line for a while.

Let me just state though, Chunks is my current hero for her shaving-her-head-for-a-good-cause and posting the pictures of it. My hair is super short, but I don't know if I could actually walk around completely shorn.

I'll gather my thoughts. Take some photos. Then I'll "hold forth" as my mother has put it.

The last couple of weeks has stirred things up.

The promised post

2007-07-09T13:06:00.000-07:00

But before I begin, could there be a more pathetic looking pet?

He started chewing on body parts after I picked him up Thursday, and yesterday he zeroed in on his left paw. Gnawing is what he was doing to it. I went to sleep with the sound of him going at it, and woke this morning at 5:30 am to the same.

So, off to the vet we go. $156 bucks later, here's the poor little guy. Two antihistamines, one anti-biotic, and a topical spray. All because my wonderdog couldn't stop worrying his foot.

Dang gum it. Of course, I'm taking him back to the boarder's tomorrow, because I'm going to The Institute for Equity in Education for the next few days up in Santa Ynez. Our school district wants all its teachers to attend it within a five-year period.

I'll let you know how it comes out, although I don't have high expectations. What's frustrating for me, is that race becomes the only topic at these types of things. Not that I'm discounting it as a factor in the "Achievement Gap" in education, but parenting and socio-economic class always seem to be left out of these discussions.

Perhaps I'm being simplistic here, but if I have one student whose parents both went to college and have middle-class or higher jobs, that student, no matter what his or her race, is going to do better (most of the time) than another student whose parents have only a high school education or less, and live below the poverty line.

Yes, the kid in the first group tends to be white, and the kid in the second group tends to be brown, but not always. Limiting a discussion like this to race isn't enough.

Gah. Perhaps I'll be pleasantly surprised.

Oh no.

I just realized after getting all serious there, talking about poop just wouldn't work.

Sorry. It'll have to wait.

Heh.

Update: I just got home from dinner with a friend, and this is what I found:

Somehow he had gotten his head out of the dreaded cone to chew off one of the tabs, and quite a bit more of the thing.

Sigh.

So, I get home and don't post?

2007-07-08T10:21:00.000-07:00

Torn and I talked about lots of things on our Vegas jaunt (and yes Roxanne, poop was one of the items discussed), but one that did come up often was blogging.

Torn is much more disciplined than I; he writes almost every day. In turn, his blog is far more widely read than mine. He has a niche as well; he's on the list of "Best Gay Blogs." He also reads and comments on many other people's blogs, while I have only a few that I visit regularly.

He has stalkers too. So far, none that he knows of in real life, but lurkers on the blog. Anonymous posters who write weird or mean comments. Not too often, but enough. Even my friends in real life rarely, if ever read my blog.

We talked about those whose lives have been messed up simply because they voiced their opinions in writing. People who lost their jobs, lost custody of children, lost friends. There are so many ill-spirited people out there; people who don't feel good about themselves unless they are hurting others. Blogs can be fodder for these people if care isn't taken.

Torn has met quite a few fellow bloggers, I haven't. Mostly because so many of you all are in Canada, and I go there about once every 4 years. I don't know though. Is it like on-line dating? All awkward and so? Hmm...

Sometimes, it feels like a job to some of you. I've never felt that way, simply because I don't feel obligated to write. I know that if I'm gone for a while, some of the folks that read my blog will be gone when I return. Yes, I like the comments; some days I live for the comments. But still. I always have something to say. I talk too much. My friend last night (with whom I had delicious blue cheese hamburgers with Chipotle Garlic Fries) said I talked more than anyone she knew.

I know that.

What she didn't know, which I told her last night, was that whenever I go out, whenever I'm going to be with friends, I give myself a pep talk beforehand that goes something like this, "Shut up, shut up, shut up. Don't talk tonight. You are just going to be quiet for once. Shut up, shut up, shut up."

And then I get to where ever it is I'm going, and monopolize the conversation.

The thing is, for me? The blog lets me do that, monopolize the conversation. I don't feel bad about it afterwards, no one tells me that I'm not letting them get in a word edgewise, and if someone doesn't like what I say, they don't read it. All good.

I've always kept a journal or diary, starting with the mustard yellow little book with a lock in second grade. This is an extension of that. The difference is that I have made friends, through it, through my words. Since my thoughts and ideas are what I want to be noticed, it's never felt like work to me.

So thanks for reading, and thanks for commenting.

(I promise I'll write about pooping in Vegas next.)

Oh my goodness... too much to drink

2007-07-03T19:14:00.000-07:00

We're here, and Torn thinks I'm going to the bathroom.. I ran over here to check on my online banking situation, and all is well. No, we aren't winning, but we are having a good time.

Gotta get back to the Pai Gow table; I'm doing slightly better right now, but overall, Torn is ahead. Yes, we are talking about you all; I've known him for 25 years, but still, we have different ideas of who you all are.

Can you tell I've had about 6 glasses of wine so far?

Gotta get back to the table.

Love to you all.

Tomorrow it's Vegas Baby, Vegas!

2007-06-30T15:18:00.000-07:00

I'm joining the crowd and leaving tomorrow for the next few days. Torn and I are going to Vegas. We'll stay downtown (Free!), gamble, drink, eat, repeat. Maybe we'll go to a show. we've been going to Vegas for at least 15 years, and in all that time we've seen one show. Mama Mia, last year, after I won the big pot. This year it's Torn's turn to win, I feel it.

Today we celebrated Mumsy's 71st birthday. Brother, Sister-in-law, Sister and Niece all drove up for her lunch. It was nice. Mom's favorite place is the Beachside Cafe. Not mine, but it's right on the beach, and she likes that. From one of my relatives she got, a framed picture of her granddaughter, and then, another framed picture of her granddaughter, and then...let's see... a third framed picture of her granddaughter. Don't worry, that's not all she got. She also got from this same relative, a photo album of aforesaid granddaughter.

Heh.

However, it seemed Mom was pleased with it all, and the baby is a pretty darn cute baby. I'm no longer allowed to post pictures of her here, but take my word for it.

It's damn hot right now, about 95 outside, 84 degrees inside. I could tell it was going to be warm this morning, so took the Wonder Dog for a long walk when I first got up. Knew I was going to be out for a while, and wanted to tire him out a bit.

However, when I got home a while ago, he was acting weird. Underneath the dining table and not jumping around like he usually does when I return. He always seems so relieved to see me...
"Hey, it's that girl! She came back again."

Not today. Nope.

I puttered around a bit in my bedroom, got a drink of water, then walked in here, the computer room.

Yes, it appears Charles, my perfect little angel, had gotten into some mischief whilst I was gone.

Those big gray tupperware tubs? and the two smaller bins of CD's? They had been stacked on top of each other. I've been ripping all my CD's to my computer, and so the boxes are out.

Now, I don't think he was looking for music ("You Ain't Nothing But a Hound Dog," " Puppy Love," "Who Let the Dogs Out?"), but you never know. Truly, he is a climber, and I think he thought he could get to the window that's above the blue fabric on the top left of the picture.

I actually freaked out a bit, thinking he must've hurt himself, but no, he seems to be just fine. Contrite, but just fine.

The more I think about it, the more I see not having children does have its advantages.

ps: What are other Canine song titles?

Tea doesn't do it

2007-06-29T08:21:00.001-07:00

Two cups, even with sugar and cream, doesn't help a hangover very much.

Book club went swimmingly last night, although it really should be the book/food/wine club. We drink A LOT when we get together. There were six women, and we went through...six bottles of wine (I just went and checked). Oh, and when we started this, we said, "Let's not get crazy. Just appetizers." However, each of us loves to cook, so it seems we keep upping the ante with our food. If we can, we try to make the food match the book we've just read.

So, I went Italian last night, with the "Love" section of Eat, Pray, Love, the book we all read.

And I must tell you, I did a fine job.

First, an Antipasto plate - feta-stuffed peppercinis, olives, hard-cured provolone, Asagio, and buffalo mozzerella cheeses. Salami and Pepperoni.

Then the salad - Arugula, dried cranberries, toasted pecans, crumbled gorgonzola with balsamic vinegarette.

Main course? Pasta Alla Checca - raw tomatoes, garlic, basil and olive oil with cooked spaghetti. One of my favorite summer dishes. Here's one recipe for it (although I used four cloves of garlic, not one). Parmesan isn't called for, but goes great with it.

Dessert was my proudest moment. I made Zabliogne with Raspberries and Blackberries. Have you not heard of it? I don't know why it's not more common. Here's the recipe:

5 large egg yolks
1/3 cup sugar

1/3 cup dry or sweet Marsala wine

5 1/4 cups raspberries, blackberries, blueberries or quartered strawberries.

Combine the egg yolks, sugar, and Marsala in a bowl. Whip together, using a hand-held balloon whisk, until thoroughly blended. Place the bowl over a pot of simmering water and heat, whisking constantly, until the mixture is thick, foamy and has reached 165 degrees F.
Cool slightly and serve immediately or transfer the zabaglione to a container. Cover with plastic wrap placed directly on the surface to prevent a skin from forming. Zabaglione may be served warm or at room temperature. Serving Size: 1/2 cup zabaglione with 2/3 cup berries.

Oh my goodness it was tasty.

I think I must have gained back the 2.5 pounds I lost last week (yeah, I'm still going to Weight Watchers).

I did get my house clean. Well, most of it. My bedroom looks like a bomb went off in there, but I just closed the door. No need to go totally crazy with this tidiness business.

Because of it's rare state of cleanliness, I took a photo of the huge, former-kitchen-turned-bathroom to finally share with you all.

So much counter space! That window is actually level with the driveway outside, so I have to remember to close my windows on Wednesdays when the landlady's gardener comes. Why? Because they use one of those god damn ridiculous leaf-blowers, which blows grit and dirt directly into my bathroom. So gross.

I also took a picture of the closet. I think it used to be a pantry at one time, but can't tell. Who puts a closet in the bathroom? I fight mildew constantly, and so far have won.

My shoe problem on display for the whole world to see. Up top? There is a whole other layer of shoes behind the stacks of three in the front. I actually had more, but sold about 10 pairs at the garage sale a few weeks ago.

I don't have to host for another 6 months; yahoo! It's fun, but man, I was cleaning forever.

Sloth is a much more comfortable state for me :)

Thirteen Thursday # 15

2007-06-28T06:58:00.001-07:00

Of all the senses, my olfactory one is the winner. Unless one is a "nose" for a perfume house or a bloodhound, I'm not so sure what benefits come from having a great sense of smell. Although, I have read that scent memory is one of the strongest.

Thirteen Scents:

1. Chanel # 5. I know, I know, one of the most recognizable scents ever, right? My Nana used to wear this, and as she got older, she wore more and more of it. When she died, all her items that had been in storage still smelled of it. You'd think every time I sniffed it at the fragrance counter, I'd smile. Nope. I hate that scent. Overpowering, invasive, and selfish. Hmm... kinda like my Nana.

2. Eucalyptus. There are hundreds of these trees (native to Australia) in Goleta, the town I grew up in. Even so, I didn't really notice them until I went to UCSB for college. They lined the walkways and bike paths there. Every day I would ride my bike to campus, and smell the lemony, green of the trees, and see my world in front of me. Every time I go back for a concert or whatever, the scent surprises me again.

3. Turkey roasting in the oven. Back in the day, Mom would get up at 4 or 5 in the morning to get the bird in the oven. I would wake up to the most tantalizing smell, and have to wait hours before actually getting to Thanksgiving dinner. The relatives would come over, my Nana would bring her fabulous, homemade roasted nuts, but still, nothing would compare to the crackling skin and juicy white meat on my plate when we finally sat down.

4. Bleach. We used this to clean the latrines when I worked at Pilgrim Pines, a summer camp (and where I met Torn) in the San Bernardino mountains. My mother didn't trust me with the wash at home (she said I'd break the machine), so I'd never used bleach before. And didn't realize it would wreck the best pair of 501's I owned. I rarely use it now, but even the scented stuff has that unmistakable odor underneath.

5. Cigarettes and Herbal Essence shampoo. Both my parents smoked like chimneys when I was growing up. They still do. Mom was the one that got physically close to me though, hugging me, sitting on my bed, reading me bedtime stories, kissing me goodnight. Those two scents, mingled together, will always make me think of her; even though she doesn't use the same shampoo anymore.

6. Sawdust. My father was always making something. The garage was his special place. He had his desk out there too, and what seemed to me, thousands of paperback novels on shelves he made. Most of them were boring to me; all war and westerns. After he left my mother, I don't think anyone used any of the tools in there again.

7. Japanese incense. I can't be more specific about what it was. I know every time I went to a temple, I'd smell it there, but it was also somehow tied up with the humid nights during the summer. The humidity there was insane, something I'd never before nor since have experienced. I don't know if it magnified everything, but whenever I catch a whiff of that particular scent, I think of heavy, thick heat, and loose clothes, and a slower time in my life.

8. Mr. Sketch scented marker, in Licorice. I don't think they called it huffing back then, and really, it was just a pen, but I couldn't stop myself. Mrs. Hurst's class, 1975, I'd never seen such a thing before! Debbie Swanson and I would fight for the black pen, just for the chance to sniff it. What little weirdos we were.

9. Red. This is 80's all the way, but I still love it. I'd go to Zelo's or PCDC (Pacific Coast Dance Company), all decked out in black with big hair and big earrings, and this perfume. It's by Giorgio of Beverly Hills, and is too strong. Way too strong. But still. It was my secret weapon. Men were always asking me what I was wearing. Oh man, those were the days. I know, most of you would have a hard time imagining it, but I certainly enjoyed my twenties.

10. Strong coffee. I hated coffee growing up, didn't like coffee candy or ice cream, or even the smell of it. I think I was 25 before I started drinking it. But, Dad always had a cup every morning, in his thick, Marine mug. It had the dates of his service on it, and when I was sick, he'd let me drink tea out of it. He always put milk in it, and that scent, mixed with his Dry Look hairspray (he had a comb over of magnificent proportions), started most of my days.

11. Diesel exhaust. When I was in high school, I sang in the Acapella choir. Every year we would go "on tour," which meant taking a week off from school, driving up or down the coast of California in two rented buses, and sleeping on high school gym floors. I remember waiting to get on board, our bags already stowed, and the sounds the bus made as it idled. Later, I traveled to big cities in the states and beyond. Always that same smell. Diesel exhaust means I'm in a new place, full of adventure, somewhere other than my little town.

12. Sweet peas. Our back fence was always covered with these. My mother's favorite flower, and one of mine. Delicate flowers, but in a big bunch on the dining room table, or sometimes even on the bureau in my room? Wow. I don't think there's ever been a synthetic reproduction of this flower's scent that's even come close. Sadly, every attempt I've made to grow these myself has been a failure.

13. Fermenting grapes/wine. This isn't the same as wine from a bottle. And it's not the same as that icky alcoholic smell that comes from under the mat when you sit at the bar. No, this is from working at the winery, and many wine tastings. It's a raw, earthy scent. Something humans have been inhaling ever since wine began. I loved walking through the cool barrel room, surrounded by the French and American Oak; the varietals written by hand on the side of each. It's all possibility at that point; nothing's a sure thing. Kinda like meeting someone new, having shared that first kiss, but the future is unknown. God, I love wine.

Yesterday

2007-06-27T12:40:00.000-07:00

I was up early, cleaning my house, getting all into those boxes o' crap that have been sitting in my computer room since I moved her almost four years ago. Or is it five? God, I'm getting old.

Anyway, the reason for my mad cleaning is that my book club is coming over on Thursday night. Last time it was my turn to host, we went to a wine bar in town and I paid. Remember my CHAOS problem? Well, I was not able to tidy up in time, but it was expensive, so yeah, it's at my place.

I'm going to barbecue, and wanted to replace the crappy, $4.99 plastic chairs I've had for several years.They're stained and rickety.

You would think that buying patio chairs, at this time of year, wouldn't be so hard. But no. Not so easy. Oh, easy I suppose if you are willing to spend 50 bucks apiece on the chairs, but I wasn't. There had to be something in the middle.

I found them at Target a couple of weeks ago. Mesh, sturdy, and $19.99 each. I could do that. But, of course, I was with a friend, and Target is 35 miles away, and there was no room in the car for the chairs.

So the search here continued. Everywhere, the chairs were either out of stock, or the same type of chair was crazy expensive. Finally, on Monday, at Home Depot, there they were. Four of 'em, stacked together, beige and comfortable looking.

With no price tag.

Have any of you tried to get help at Home Depot? Then you can guess what happened next.

No price on any of the chairs, nor a barcode, nor a sign anywhere near them indicating the price. I picked up the four chairs and walked over to customer service. There I waited in line for ten minutes while a customer was being helped. There were three to four employees behind the counter at all times, but only one was helping customers. As I was fourth in line, I decided to just go to the checkout stand and hope they could figure out the price there.

There was only one cashier open, plus two self-checkout lines. There were at least four people in each line.

The cashier however was having trouble with his register, and it wouldn’t work properly. A second employee came over to help him, but I spent another 10 minutes in line waiting for him to get his register working. Of course, opening a new register didn't occur to anyone.

I get to the cashier finally, and he couldn’t help me and sent me to one of the employees manning the self-checkout station. That employee couldn’t help me and a third was asked to help me. This third employee and I walked back over to the patio display area and confirmed that yes, there was no sign anywhere indicating a price. Then walked back over with me to the register to try and find it listed on the computer. It wasn’t there.

This took another ten minutes. Up to this point, all the clerks were trying to be helpful, and were polite to me, but had no idea what to do. No manager was called. I was being all sugary and sweet, but inside was wondering what the hell was going on. One of the guys paged someone (three times!) from the gardening section, but no one responded.

I was then sent back to customer service, who had no idea what to do, and who finally found someone from the garden department to help me.

This cool cat, named Ken, and I once again (my third time) went back to the patio furniture area to confirm that once again, no, there was no price anywhere for these items. I guess this is because my word and the other clerk's word weren't good enough. He said finally, “Well, we would have to call a manager to figure out what to do.”

And I'm thinking, "You think?"

Yet he didn't call a manager. He told me to go home, see if I could find the chair online, print out a picture and bring it back with a SKU number (I live about 15 miles away, no biggie, but come on). I did ask him at that point if Home Depot had a computer on which that information could be looked up. Ken said, “Yeah, we could look it up,” but again, didn’t.

I was so pissed, but didn't let on. At that point, 45 minutes of my life was gone, and I didn't want to waste any more time with this dork.

After thinking about it yesterday though, I called and asked to speak to the manager. Within five minutes, he had sold me the next chair up (a $45 chair mind you!) for $20 each. Totally cool and charming. Apologetic for my wasted time the day before.

Picked up the chairs, was on my way home, going up the hill to my house, when a bunch of Quail ran across the street right in front of my car. Thankfully, they just made it past me.

Except for one straggler. I saw it only a second before a cloud of feathers went up in the air. Couldn't even feel that I hit it, but looked back and...

All I can say is I'm sure it was instantaneous. Oh the guilt.

I just hope it wasn't one of those babies I saved a couple weeks ago.

Dance class, part II

2007-06-26T11:59:00.000-07:00

Well, I wiffled and waffled all weekend. Should I go again? Make a fool of myself? It's good to put myself in the position of student instead of teacher once in while, right?

So Doreen called me yesterday afternoon (she happened to be at the last class; she works with me at school), and got me to commit to going.

I am so glad I did.

This time, I only had one beer beforehand, and we went over the dance (I think it was the Samba, but damned if I know) we learned last week. Nothing new, just review. Which meant I was a teensy bit better than last week. Not that that's saying too much, a comatose monkey could probably do better than I did last week, but still.

And here's the fun part.

I danced with a cute man! A cute, red-headed man (my weakness)! A cute, red-headed man who looked directly at me and smiled at me for most of an hour!

Oh the thrill of it all.

His name was unusual; I'll just call him Mark. He started the class last week too (some people take this class over and over before going on to the next one), but was more confident than I was.

As you all know, it's been quite a while since I've been near an attractive man... sorry, an attractive, hetero man; I didn't quite know what to do with myself. I talk and laugh a lot when I'm nervous, which I did, because I was. Then I blush, which is sweet in a 16-year-old, but not so much in a 42-year-old. Then I start "glowing." You know, horses sweat, men perspire, women glow? Yep, I was glowing alright.

My friends, he was sweet, and charming, and did I say cute? I did? He was. Tall, slender, toned but not pumped-out arms, freckles, and those light amber eyes that only redheads seem to have.

And he would look right at me and smile.

Now, I know we were dancing, and that was the cause for being so close to each other... but I sure didn't feel like this dancing with too-much-cologne man last week.

I told him I wouldn't be in class next week, and he seemed... could it be... curious as to if I was coming back after that. I said I was going to Vegas, but would be back the week after...

Girls and boys, rebekah has a crush.

Sigh... here we go again

2007-06-25T09:59:00.000-07:00

So, my dad? He's one for forwarding the ridiculous e-mails to me. He's a gung-ho, my-country-wrong-or-right (although our country is NEVER wrong) kind of guy.

A few years ago, he sent me a hateful email about Muslims, I replied, and he stopped talking to me for two years. We didn't start talking again until I contacted him.

It's been stilted since then, but we've rebuilt a wary relationship; I called him and sent a card on Father's day... you know.

Anyway, today, he sent this email to both my sister and me:

Fwd: Fw: Will you give this to my Ddy? PLEASE READ - I found this on Beergre...>Date: Mon, 25 Jun 2007 10:49:20 EDT

I thought this might be of interest.
Love ya both,
Pop

Will You Give this to My Daddy?
Last week I was in Atlanta, Georgia attending a conference. While I was in the airport, returning home, I heard several people behind me beginning to clap and cheer. I immediately turned around and witnessed one of the greatest acts of patriotism I have ever seen.

Moving thru the terminal was a group of soldiers in their camos. As they began heading to their gate, everyone (well almost everyone) was abruptly to their feet with their hands waving and cheering.

When I saw the soldiers, probably 30-40 of them, being applauded and cheered for, it hit me. I'm not alone. I'm not the only red-blooded American who still loves this country and supports our troops and their families.

Of course I immediately stopped and began clapping for these young unsung heroes who are putting their lives on the line everyday for us so we can go to school, work and home without fear or reprisal.

Just when I thought I could not be more proud of my country or of our service men and women, a young girl, not more than 6 or 7 years old, ran up to one of the male soldiers. He kneeled down and said "hi."
The little girl then asked him if he would give something to her daddy for her.

The young soldier, who didn't look any older than maybe 22 himself, said he would try and what did she want to give to her daddy. Then suddenly the little girl grabbed the neck of this soldier, gave him the biggest hug she could muster and then kissed him on the cheek.

The mother of the little girl, who said her daughter's name was Courtney, told the young soldier that her husband was a Marine and had been in Iraq for 11 months now. As the mom was explaining how much her daughter Courtney missed her father, the young soldier began to tear up.

When this temporarily single mom was done explaining her situation, all of the soldiers huddled together for a brief second. Then one of the other servicemen pulled out a military-l ooking walkie-talkie. They started playing with the device and talking back and forth on it.

After about 10-15 seconds of this, the young soldier walked back over to Courtney, bent down and said this to her, "I spoke to your daddy and he told me to give this to you." He then hugged this little girl that he had just met and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He finished by saying "your daddy told me to tell you that he loves you more than anything and he is coming home very soon."

The mom at this point was crying almost uncontrollably and as the young soldier stood to his feet, he saluted Courtney and her mom. I was standing no more than 6 feet away from this entire event.

As the soldiers began to leave, heading towards their gate, people resumed their applause. As I stood there applauding and looked around, there were very few dry eyes, including my own. That young soldier in one last act of selflessness, turned around and blew a kiss to Courtney with a te ar rolling down his cheek.

We need to remember everyday all of our soldiers and their families and thank God for them and their sacrifices. At the end of the day, it's good to be an American.

RED FRIDAYS

Very soon, you will see a great many people wearing Red every Friday. The reason? Americans who support our troops used to be called the "silent majority". We are no longer silent, and are voicing our love for God, country and home in record breaking numbers.

We are not organized, boisterous or over-bearing. We get no liberal media coverage on TV, to reflect our message or our opinions. Many Americans, like you, me and all our friends, simply want to recognize that the vast majority of America supports our troops.

Our idea of showing solidarity and support for our troops with dignity and respect starts this Friday -and continues each and every Friday until the troops all come home, sending a deafening message that Every red-blooded American who supports our men and women afar will wear something red.

By word of mouth, press, TV -- let's make the on every Friday a sea of red much like a> homecoming football game in the bleachers.

If every one of us who loves this country will share this with acquaintances, co-workers, friends, and family. It will not be long before the USA is covered in RED and it will let our troops know the once "silent" majority is on their side more than ever; certainly more than the media lets on.

The first thing a soldier says when asked "What can we do to make things better for you?" is...We need your support and your prayers.

Let's get the word out and lead with class and dignity, by example; and wear something red every Friday.

IF YOU AGREE -- PLEASE SEND THIS ON.

And here's my response:

Hi Dad,

I'm guessing your surgery went well.

I support our troops; always have. It's our government and the choices which were made that put our young men and women in harm's way every day that I don't support.

It's our government's lack of support for these men and women when they come home (see http://www.medpagetoday.com/Psychiatry/AnxietyStress/tb/5239), and give them less than adequate care for their injuries.

I believe the majority of Americans do support our troops, just not this ridiculous war that continues to kill both our soldiers and innocent civilians in Iraq. I've heard that people say that if you don't support the war, you don't support the troops. I don't agree.

I love this country, and want it to be the best it can be. Right now it isn't. Just because we are the strongest, doesn't mean we get to do whatever we want. Well, unless we want to be a bully. That's how a bully gets his way. Not with respect and admiration, but with fear.

That's not who I am, or what this country is supposed to stand for.

Hope everything is going well for you out there in the land of heat.
Love,
Becky

I probably should have just deleted the whole thing, but man, it drives me nuts that he keeps sending me this shit.

How the hell do I share half my DNA with this man?

Happy Birthday

2007-06-24T06:24:00.000-07:00

Today is my best friend Carol's Birthday. She's not one for a big celebration, but she does always do one thing.

See, several years ago, she was a young thing, living right on The Strand in Manhattan Beach. Okay, one block back, sharing what was called "The House of Sand" with two other girls. The place was, uh... quirky is probably the nicest word. Tiny and unfinished (the closet door actually opened to a storage space of... you guessed it, sand), fleas infested the place for the six years they lived there, even though they never had a pet. But, it was right next to the beach. I would visit all the time, and we would spend hours just lazing away on the weekends.

I digress.

Carol played sports in high school, and was very good. She ran track and seemed to always be moving. In college, she rowed for the school team, and continued to be one of the most fit people I knew.

Meaning, she could eat anything she wanted. And she did. Remember when Muffins were THE thing? I mean the ones as big as your head? Oh, she was all over those. She would eat the Chocolate chocolate-chip ones almost every morning.

Those of us with reason tried to tell her, "That's not breakfast Carol, that's dessert," but she'd have none of it. She had a sweet tooth that put even mine to shame. We'd just laugh at her, have our oatmeal or egg-white omelet, and shake our heads.

Now, Carol is almost 6 feet tall; she needs to eat. "Petite" has never described her. However, after the real world set in, and working long hours replaced running and rowing and biking? She realized what the rest of us had already known; one can't eat cake for breakfast every day and not pay the consequences.

Today, Carol is 43 years old. She and her partner had a beautiful baby boy last year, they own a home, they're responsible adults. Carol eats well, rarely has candy or sugar in the house, only has a beer once or twice a week now.

However, on her birthday, every year, Carol goes to Jake's Cafe in Santa Monica for breakfast. And every year, she orders the same thing: a slice of the seven-layer, chocolate blackout cake.

Usually, I go with her, but I've got a christening to go to. And then the reception afterwards. I've never even heard of a "reception" for a christening, but whatever. The service starts at 10 am, which means I better get a move on, since I need to leave in the next half-hour.

I'd really rather eat cake.

Beginning Latin Ballroom Dance

2007-06-19T08:37:00.000-07:00

I don't think I'm going back next week.

Yesterday, as I was cleaning out my classroom, trying to figure out how to shove nine months worth of files into the two inches of space left in my cabinet, Tricia came by. Said she was going to a dance class, and I should come. It was for beginners, and was just an hour on Monday nights; from 8:30 - 9:30.

My dancing has been compared to Elaine's on Seinfield. I have crap coordination and my rhythm is... well... let's just say I can sometimes get off beat. I can carry a tune fine; just don't make me dance.

Yet, off I went. Of course, this was after a G and T and a pint with some other friends beforehand for fortification. Maybe not the best idea.

So, the teacher? I think she was about 80 years old. Very cute, with a faint Irish accent. We did the... Samba? Tango? Hell, I don't know. It started with a fox trot (I was reasonably successful with that) then moved to some turns and a "Cuban walk" and then some other kinds of turns and me turning red and stepping on my partner.

Who, for most of the night was a kind, but far-too-much-cologne-wearing older man, who seems a little frustrated he got stuck with me.

I started peeking at my watch 15 minutes in. I even thought about just checking out early, hoping no one would notice. Of course I shamed myself into staying the whole hour. Who can't last an hour of embarrassment?

Dancing is beautiful to watch. I just don't think it's the thing for me.

Besides. Even if I was the most fabulous dancer there, who do I have to dance with anyway?

I'm sticking to drinking cocktails. Now there's something I know how to do.

Last day today

2007-06-15T20:13:00.000-07:00

With the kidlets anyway. I still have to go in on Monday, clean up my room, finish grades, check out and all. But I'm done.

And exhausted.

Went out after promotion/graduation with my teacher friends, had a couple of beers, came home, read a book (An Idiot Girl's Christmas), and fell asleep.

Good way to start the summer, I'd say.

And I'm off to Silverlake tomorrow.

Whoo hoo!

Holy Moses

2007-06-11T23:13:00.000-07:00

I've been sleeping around 5 hours a night the last few nights, and still am not getting everything done.

It's like finals week at college; a week from now I'll be totally finished and have only myself to think of. Right now I am crazed. Crazed I tell you.

A little shit of a kid gave me a blood blister today on my right index finger (you know, the one I type with?) I'll tell you the story later.

Everyone, including myself, is a total stressed-out bitch right now at school (uh-huh, even the guys), and I've not come out at lunch for days because I've been trying to help those kids who are madly trying to pass at the last minute.

And of course I started my period today.

Don't even get me started on the behavior of certain boys in my second period class. Let's just say I pulled 6 pen refills out of the ceiling last Friday. Yeah, future rocket scientists. Right.

And of course, I spent most of yesterday in lovely Chatsworth.

To end on a positive note? I'm LOVING The Time Traveler's Wife.

Thirteen Thursday # 14

2007-06-07T06:24:00.001-07:00

(As promised) Thirteen things I would like to change about myself.

1) Resentment. That great memory I talked about last week? It works on bad stuff too. I hold grudges far too long. If I’ve been wronged, or feel I’ve been wronged, I never forget it. It sits and festers. I know, I know, the whole poisoning myself and hoping the rat will die. I want to change, just don’t know how.

2) Worry that people don’t like me. A friend of mine calls this my “Nerd Complex.” I sometimes feel that everyone just tolerates me. Could be why I don’t directly confront the folks I should, and thing # 1 happens.

3) My big fat aspirin ass. The secretary at work used that expression once, and it describes mine well. Round and flat. It looks like it might have been a nice one in theory, then got smashed flat somehow before it was finished being formed.

4) Procrastination. I will do anything to get out of grading papers. Anything. Every time I actually sit down and do it, it’s not so bad, but still, I avoid grading like I avoid snakes and cockroaches. I read somewhere this week that the only reason they have to pay teachers is the grading.

5) My dateless status. But you all know that already.

6) The extra weight. Still going to Weight Watchers, still plugging along. Weight is such a loaded issue; there’s the whole “quit whining” crowd with, “Eat less, move more,” and then there’s the whole “love your body the way it is” crowd with, “You have to love your body the way it is first.” Neither one is enough. I wonder sometimes, why is there more sympathy for the addiction of smokers than there is for overeaters?

7) I’d like to not to have to wear glasses. Looking into Lasik, but it’s so darn expensive.

8) The inability to save much money. Again, I’m working on it, and I’ve been slowly paying off bills, but still have very little savings. The idea that one is supposed to have at least six months in reserve is just out of sight for me at the moment.

9) My lack of housekeeping skills. I live alone, so any mess is mine, all mine. I say I suffer from C.H.A.O.S., or Can’t Have Anyone Over Syndrome, because of it. There are just far too many more interesting things than cleaning my home.

10) I’d like to have more of a social life. Ever since I turned 40, it feels like I don’t have a gang to hang with anymore. Even my younger friends are all coupled-up, and what would you rather do? Go out with your bitter single friend, or home to your significant other? Most of the friends my age have children, and a big night for them is eating pizza and renting a movie. Which is fine, but I do that by myself all the time anyway.

11) My lack of organizational skills. Actually, I do have them, just look at my closets or my drawers. It’s just that if something doesn’t have a place to be put, or isn’t put there right away, it’s a lost cause. My students will even remark on the fact that I lose things. I’m going to become like my grandmother, wandering the house for her glasses, when all the while they’re on top of her head.

12) Materialism. I have gotten better about this, but I still like buying shiny new things. However, something I’ve noticed this year, since I’m making more money? I’m less tempted to spend. How does that make sense?

13) Okay, don’t laugh. I’d like to exchange my stubby, nail-polish repelling fingertips for long, tapered ones. I had those fake acrylic nails for 10 years, if you can believe it. I’m not going to do that again, but… I have two friends, Carol and Cynthia, with lovely hands, and beautiful nails, just naturally. My stumpy hands go along with my stumpy feet. Yes, they are strong, capable hands (cue Jewel’s song about same), but gosh, it’d be nice if they were elegant.

Rats

2007-06-05T05:57:00.000-07:00

Got up this morning to take out the trash, and what do you know? Three little baby quail running around again.

And one that didn't make it.

I put the three back into the bush again, and now am trying to figure out how to make a step for them. They are so small, I think it would need to be a ramp somehow.

And I'm worried about touching them too much.

Saving the Quail

2007-06-04T21:04:00.000-07:00

I got home from work today, and was lugging in a bunch of groceries, when I saw what seemed to be a HUGE fat lizard run by my foot. Nope. It was a baby quail. When I went to look, turned out there were five baby quail. Mama quail was always close by.

So, of course, I ran to get my camera. I wanted to get a shot of these cute little guys.

Then, the worry. See the big Juniper bush on the left in the first picture? That's where the quails live. I know, since it's right below my bedroom window, and they do make a racket.

Anyway, I wasn't positive that's where they belonged, but I could see them trying to jump up on the steps; they were too small and couldn't make it. So then, I put on my pink "for the cure" gardening gloves, and tried to pick them up to put them back through the hole in the Juniper bush.

No go. The first one I picked up, jumped right out of my hand. I was close to the ground, so it wasn't hurt, but still.

So then, I waited until one of my neighbors got home. Waited and watched.

Mama decided to sit and keep them warm, since the sun was going down.

Finally, my male neighbor got home, and I called him over. I was all worried now, because I was sure a cat or a hawk or an owl or a coyote or a Grizzly bear was going to eat the babies before the night was through. My neighbor also pointed out that it would get too cold tonight for them on the cement, out in the open as well.

What to do?

Well, thank goodness for neighbor guys who don't wiffle-waffle. Between the two of us, we rounded the five little ones up, got them back into the Juniper thicket, and all was well.

Today was a good day.

Perhaps I'm just too silly

2007-06-03T12:22:00.000-07:00

So, the lovely picture below? You know, with the messed up hair and the goofy visor? I had just won not only one, but two prizes at our annual school golf "Open."

I've worked there for 10 years, and I've played golf 10 times. If you could call it playing golf. I truly suck at the hand-eye coordination stuff.

However, I do make an effort to win the best outfit award. And, yes, I won for that again this year. On the left of the picture is my prize; purple golf balls which will roll around in my car until the tournament next year.

In addition to the fabulous K-mart head wear, I have on brown/green/white plaid Bermuda shorts and green tennis shoes. Oh yeah, I got it down this year. I'm going to be hard pressed to top it.

The surprise was that my partner and I won the tournament itself. I didn't realize it until I heard his and my name. Of course, he's the best golfer in school, and since we played the best ball... you see I really had nothing to do with it except to hit balls in the water and scare birds with my crazy hits.

Two weeks people, two weeks! That's what I have left before the freedom of summer vacation.

Of course, in the meantime there's a certain person's birthday I have to attend, and a cradle I have to get down from my mother's attic and get into my car to bring with me for the birthday , and oh yeah, the presents for unnamed person's birthday from my mother because she can't take all that on the train, which she is taking down next Friday (and of course I'll be driving her to the station, and taking her home after the birthday party on Sunday), and then two weeks later a christening I am attending for the same unnamed person's baby which is fine but there's going to be a party afterward, and I'll have to pick up my mother to take her home from that shin-dig, because, like I've said, she doesn't drive on the freeway, at night or any distances over 10 miles.

However, I should count my blessings I suppose, since both times I am only going for a few hours, instead of overnight, due to Charlie's attractiveness to Gargantua (unnamed person's dog) as a snack rather than a playmate.

So, let's just say I am impatiently waiting for July first, and leave it at that.

Bachelor # 1

2007-06-02T07:15:00.000-07:00

Okay, so the following is an exchange I had this week with someone on the dating site I just joined.

5/28/07 1:57 pm
From:
Forever07
Love UR profile!

The above image was inside the email.

Glenn

5/28/07 1:58 pm

From:

Forever07

Did you get my last email?

And this image is enclosed.

Glenn

5/28/07 6:47 pm
From:
Weebekaloo
Re: Did you get my last email?

Why yes I did. How sweet.

Weebekaloo

6/1/07 4:19 am

From:
Forever07
Re: Re: Did you get my last email?

T.G.I.F.

Hi,

Are we ever going to connect?

Glenn

6/1/07 7:13 am
From:
Weebekaloo
Re: Re: Did you get my last email?

Good Morning

Hi again,

First, what the heck do you do that you are up at 4:00 in the morning? Wow.

Tell me about yourself. Why the incredibly short e-notes? I'm not one to chat on line forever, but I would love to have a little more conversation with you.

What's an adventure you've had lately? What fun things are you doing this weekend? Lastly, you say you are a catch in your profile; why?

(I'm good with the questions, no?)

Rebekah

6/1/07 7:43 am
From:
Forever07
Re: Good Morning

Hi,

I hit the gym at 5:00, and then i get ready for work and I do this about 3 times a week.

I work for a local company here and we are a Department of Defense contractor, and I work in Operations.

I love hike, go tot he beach, dinner, dancing and I hae fun whatever I do.

Now, I'm not going to keep sending endless emails.if you in-to meeting fine or talking on the phone, cool!

We both live in the same town and it's all about chmeistry.

So, you are either in or out..

Bye!

6/2/07 7:12 am

From:

Weebekaloo

Re:Re: Good Morning

Okay then,

I'm out.

Good luck!

Rebekah

Has anyone else noticed...

2007-05-31T21:38:00.001-07:00

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?)

2007-05-31T20:51:00.000-07:00

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.

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.
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?
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.
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.
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]).
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.
Apologies are not hard for me to give if I am wrong.
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).
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).
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.
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?)
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.
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

2007-05-29T20:30:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-05-28T22:08:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-27T11:10:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-25T20:38:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-24T07:23:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-24T06:19:00.000-07:00

Thirteen Girl Crushes:

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.
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.
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.
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.
Meg Ryan. She's just so damn cute.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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...

2007-05-22T16:24:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-05-21T22:26:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-16T22:50:00.000-07:00

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).

2007-05-15T20:11:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-14T21:07:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-11T06:05:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-07T19:36:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-03T21:43:00.000-07:00

Thirteen Bathrooms:

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

Bad Cold! Bad, Bad Cold!

2007-04-28T06:40:00.000-07:00

(Trying to sound like I do when chastising Charlie for chewing up yet another pair of my socks.)

Oh man. I haven't even logged on to my computer at home this whole week. Four of the last five nights I've gone to bed between 7 and 8 o'clock. It's not turning into anything evil, just a rotten cold. I've not gotten sick this whole school year, so I suppose it was overdue. Missing school for a day or two to take it easy is almost more work than sludging through, so I've not taken any time off.

What a whiner I be. I don't know how moms do it. I mean, you still have to take care of the kidlets, no matter how crummy you feel. Ugh. I was feeling guilty because I wasn't taking the wonder dog for his usual long treks, but he dealt with it.

The weather today is supposed to be gorgeous; I'm hoping some sunshine will help me feel better.

Two more months left, 35 days left of school, not that I'm counting. We are in the middle of standardized testing right now, so the schedule is all wonky; the kids test in the morning for 90 to 125 minutes, and then we have shortened classes. It's a drag, because it's hard to work within a 26 -minute period. I mean, I take roll, ask the kids to take out a pencil. Ask them again to take out a pencil, begin something, and boom, end of period. Frustrating for all.

I don't usually write about school here, but I'm going to. We are reading The House of the Scorpion right now, and I got a call a couple days ago from a parent. She didn't want her child reading it, and could I suggest something else? Hmm... I had a parent last year request the same thing, and her reason was that the book was "Junk. It's just junk."

Not too enlightening for me.

So, I asked politely, "What is it about the book you find unacceptable? Is it the cloning?"

See people, I've searched the Internet for anything negative about this book, and I can't find it. It's won award after award after award, and it's a great book. Not just for teenagers, anyone. It's enjoyable, and thought-provoking, even if it does drag on a bit at the end.

I digress.

"Well no, it's not that. It's just that we want our child to read something more... wholesome. Something with a positive message."

"Oh. Well, it really does have a positive message. You know, we have finished reading the Diary of Anne Frank, and we're going to be drawing comparisons to it, and how people should be defined by the content of their character, rather than the labels others give them."

"To be honest, I haven't actually read the book, but I just don't think it's what we want junior to read."

ARGGGHHH!!!

How can someone make a decision about a book he or she has not read? This drives me absolutely insane. Bonkers. Nuts.

So, being that it's junior high, and the parent is always right, I said I'd give the student another book to read.

And now I have even more lessons to prepare because of this one single student. Although it's not her fault. I would have dug a hole and hid if my mother had ever done something like this to me.

35 more days.

Torn's Questions

2007-04-21T21:01:00.000-07:00

Torn gave me these questions. He prefaced it with:

Okay five questions. But I already know everything about you.

Oh really?

1. Tell us the sweetest memory you have with mom.

There's many. When she threw me a surprise birthday party for my 30th birthday at my least favorite restuarant so I wouldn't suspect anything. When she cried when I didn't make the Madrigals (the elite singing group of my choir) my senior year in high school. How she still thinks every man around is checking me out. The care packages she would send to me when I was in Japan; taping shows she hated because she knew I liked them (even though she'd have to miss her own shows to do it, since she never figured out how to tape one and watch another at the same time). All the times we went to Las Vegas with my sister; all of us having a good time together.

Oh, and the time she told me where babies come from. I really didn't care, except I was being teased by the other fourth graders. She was in her bathroom, doing her hair, and I was sitting in the doorway, in my pink bikini, because I was going to go swimming at my Grammy's place. I was aghast. I was never going to do it ever, and she'd only done it three times, right? Just to have kids right? I mean, I had a brother and a father, I knew what a penis was; that's what they PEE out of! No one is ever going to stick that thing in me. No way. I remember she just laughed and said that I might change my mind one day. I did.

2. What is your favorite dessert?

...ur... uh... just one? I don't think I can do that. I really love sliced strawberries and Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream. Crumbleberry Pie with Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream. Homemade cherry pie with Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream. Most any dessert-y thing with Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream.

3. What is your worst moment with Charlie?

Definitely this time. It's part of a bigger moment though, because Poopala-fiesta happened again two days later. It was horrid.

4. Who did you lose your virginity to?

I totally thought I'd written about this before. Nope. It's a story I've told many times. It's the reason why I'm going to teach my little niece that just because she's a girl, doesn't mean she always has to be nice.

His name was Tony and he was horrible to me. He was the first person to lie to me just because he could.

We had gone out a few times at the beginning of my freshman year in college. Tony was older; was my manager at Jack-in-the-Box (I worked graveyard shifts to pay for school at first) and went to UCSB as well. I actually had had a crush on his roommate, but Tony was the one who noticed me. I had a feeling he was a bit smarmy, but after I got back one night after being out with him, my dad met me in the dining room. Dad said I could continue to go out with Tony, or I could live at home, but I couldn't do both.

Dad's a racist and Tony was black.

So, I did what any 18-year-old would do; kept dating Tony just to prove my independence from my father.

Big mistake.

Tony wanted to "lay with me" as he so delicately put it, and I thought it was time I finally slept with someone, so I made an appointment at the school med-center to get birth control. Tony had informed me that he didn't like condoms. Oh a charmer, that one.

So, that November, on a Sunday, my grandmother died. That Monday, my father was laid off from his job. And then, on Thursday, I failed my second mid-term in Comparative Literature, which meant I was going to flunk the course. I went to Tony's apartment to be consoled. At first, he was very sweet, telling me things were going to get better. We stood up, and we were hugging. He kissed me. Then, still holding me, he started walking toward his bedroom. I stopped at the door. Put my hands on the edge of the doorway, asked him where were we going.

"It's just more comfortable in here."

On the bed, clothes started coming off... I was down to my underwear when I said "Stop." He didn't. I said we needed to wait, that I wasn't on the pill yet, that I wasn't ready, that I wasn't comfortable...

He threw my clothes at me and said "Fine. Get out."

I couldn't handle his being angry at me. I was a good girl. I didn't make people mad. I was polite. Said "excuse me" when someone else bumped their cart into mine at the grocery store.

He knew it. Instead of telling him to go to hell, instead of storming out of there, I instead stayed. Told him I didn't want him mad at me, but I didn't want to get pregnant.

"I can't get you pregnant."
"Huh? What do you mean?" I knew he was lying... he had to be, right?
"I mean I can't get you pregnant."
"Are you saying you're impotant?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Someone who knows told me."

(Okay, at this point, if you are still reading, you are probably slapping your head and yelling at 18-year-old rebekah, but she can't hear you. I wish she could, but she wasn't even listening to herself. Remember, it had been a very bad week.)

"Oh right. Like who? A doctor?"
"Yeah, a doctor."

In my muddled mind, I let a little part of me believe him, and sat back down on the bed.

It didn't last long, and it hurt like hell. Unpleasant doesn't begin to describe it. All that kept going through my mind (besides the lyrics to Asia's Only Time Will Tell, which was playing on the stereo, and the words of which were rather prophetic), was that all the books and movies and so on, totally had left out the part about sex HURTING so damn much. I was actually wimpering.

He finally stopped, we got dressed, and since it had gotten late, he drove me home (I usually rode my bike the five miles back and forth from school).

In the car? On the way back? He casually said to me,

"By the way, I don't shoot any blanks."

I stared at him.

"I'm a real man."

Yeah, I bet his mother's really proud of him.

5. If you had to choose another job, what would it be? Would you ever want to be principal?

I would want to be a writer. You know, a real writer, not just moaning on the blog. I'd love to be able to write the book that makes someone else wish he or she had written it first. Imagine being able to inspire others the way Anne Lammott or Dorothy Parker have inspired me.

And no. No. Way. In. Hell. I would never, ever want to be a principal. The joy of my job comes from being with the students every day, and using my creativity when I make a lesson plan, and all the learning I do myself. Not the bureaucracy and politics and bullshit of education. Yeah, a principal makes three times as much as I do, but no thanks.

Thirteen Thursday # 10

2007-04-19T06:13:00.000-07:00

Thirteen things in my purse:

1. Six pens. Pink, purple, green, and three black ones. I’m always grading papers, and don’t like to use red. Whenever I’m waiting somewhere, I pull out papers and go to work. Don’t ask me why I need three black pens.

2. Empty eyeglass case. I wore my sunglasses yesterday afternoon, and never put them back. Notice the swanky Valentino name on the outside though? That’s because I’m swank.

3. 68 cents in change. It piles up inside the depths until it gets too heavy and I put it inside my…

4. Overstuffed, black leather wallet. There’s some receipt hanging out of it (remember my habit from last week?) and $23 in bills. Also my driver’s license with a good picture. I have to renew it this summer, and am praying to the gods of the DMV to let me keep the old pic.

5. A receipt from an Amtrak refund. Dated 11/21/06. It’s from my trip out to New York last Thanksgiving. I had no idea it was still in there.

6. Ticket stub from the Dodger game I went to Sunday night. They won, 9-3. I don’t really care about baseball, but I go once a year on “teacher’s night.” It was also Jackie Robinson Day, and someone had to explain to me why all the players were wearing the number 42.

7. Three old band-aids, an emery board, a metal nail file, eye drops, Advil, one Imodium tablet, and my asthma inhaler. One can never be too prepared. Or, maybe I’m just practicing to be a mom.

8. Lime green checkbook. Mom got it for me for Christmas a couple of years ago. One of my favorite colors, but it doesn’t stay very clean. Last check I wrote? To myself for $40.

9. Cosmetics. A girl’s gotta look good, right? Let’s see, there’s a Labello hydro care lip balm. I got it the last time I visited Torn in Montreal. It’s by a German company, made in Mexico, and distributed in Quebec. I’ve never seen this brand in the states. Then there’s a Pure Spring lip gloss in Chocolate Mint; it’s a Rite-aid store brand. I bought it for half-price in Seattle when I was there in February. A MAC lipstick in “Tease Me…” (yes, that’s really the name of it), and a benefit creaseless cream eyeshadow in “Scrapin’ the Rail.” Just in case my eyes need to be sparkly.

10. Two butter rum lifesavers. It’s the end of a roll I’ve been hoarding. It’s not like I couldn’t go out and buy another package, but I never do. They remind me of my Grampy.

11. Instant Hand Sanitizing spray from CVS. Impulse buy. After all these years working around kids, I’m a little weird now about germs. Never used to be. And yeah, yeah, I know, these kill the good bacteria too. Whatever.

12. Little packet of tissues. I have really bad allergies. Really a drag to sneeze and have nothing to…uh… mop it up with. I always have tissues.

13. Coupons. That pink one is for a Pria energy bar. Buy one, get one free. I love a a bargain.

Supposed to be breaking out my sandals by now

2007-04-18T06:36:00.000-07:00

I can't truly complain, but dang, it's cold for this time of year. The wind has me thinking I'm going to wake up in Oz any day now.

Nothing to compare to what's happening out East or around my Canadian buddies, but still.

On the bright side, it's easier to teach when the kids aren't staring out the window and pining for the beach. Teaching when it's beautiful outside is torture, for both them and me. So, the cold weather is a good thing.

(If I keep saying that, maybe I'll believe it).

On Center of Gravitas, gayprof talked about how he became the prof part of "gayprof." As a student he thought he might become a teacher. I teased him a bit about this.

See, he got it right. Too many folks do well in school, feel safe in that known world, and think, "hey, I'll be a teacher!" They don't realize that teaching isn't the same as being a student. I see student teachers and pre-professionals (to become a student teacher in California, one must log at least 120 hours of volunteer work in classrooms or other situations with children and teenagers), all the time. They are overwhelmed by what it truly means to do this job.

I never wanted to be a teacher. Not me. No way. Too much work, not enough pay, and no respect at all. Nope, I was going to work for a publishing company. Or as a technical writer (hah!) or write the great American novel. No teaching for me.

And here I am.

After graduating with an English degree, in 1986, there was a recession going on. No one wanted to hire me. I ended up at Seven-11 and a Hallmark store, riding my bike to both, because I couldn't afford a car. I shared a tiny 1-bedroom apartment with a girl I knew from school. When she was mad at me, she wouldn't tell me, just eat my food and then vomit it up.

Not a good situation.

So, teaching? How did I get here?

Little by little, I got better jobs. I had several working with developmentally disabled children, and then adults. It was teaching, but not really.

Then a friend who was teaching in Japan told me to apply, and I did, and boom. I was a teacher.

Three years in Nishinomya, teaching 400-450 students a day. I was a teacher already, but still, didn't want to face it. I was "on an adventure," not prepping myself for my career.

Back home, I got a job as an instructor for adults with mental illnesses... yes, a teacher again.

Finally I got it. Whether I fought it or not, a teacher was who I was. Ten years after leaving school, I was back, getting my credential.

Even that wasn't easy. The first time I applied to grad school, I was turned down. Yeah, okay, I was on the "waiting list" and they only accepted 10 people, but still. I called and asked what I needed to do to be better qualified (seeing that I'd taught for three years in Japan, taught as a teacher's aide in several special ed classrooms, and had volunteered in several more). I asked where I was on this "waiting list."

After some awkward hemming and hawing on the other end of the phone, I was told that they wanted to maintain a certain level of "diversity" and that they were trying to keep a "balance" of teachers in the program. That the "waiting list" wasn't a numbered list, but rather a list of "matches." She went on to explain what this meant; "you see, you white, middle-class female, you are a dime a dozen in the teaching profession, and don't even get me started about English teachers specifically. You don't have a snowball's chance in Hell in getting into this program this year."

I may have paraphrased somewhat, but you get it.

Reverse discrimination? I wouldn't call it that. I believe that students need to have teachers with whom they can identify. Does that mean I have to be the same gender, color, ethnicity and from the same socio-economic background? Of that, I'm not so sure. Could I have made a stink about it? Maybe, but even though I was hurt and disappointed, it made me think. I still think about it. We do need more diversity in the teaching field, and I'm not adding any (except of course, my sparkling wit and charm...), but should I be punished for that?

Another post.

I actually got an emergency credential, was paid for teaching, applied the next year, and got into the credential program.

Ten years later, here I am. I've never gotten tired of this job, this profession I've chosen. I get paid to care about other people's futures. Could I get into research? Sure. Do I still want to write that novel? Of course.

But day to day? I'm a teacher. And I'm happy.

Thirteen Thursday # 9

2007-04-12T07:35:00.000-07:00

Thirteen Habits of Mine:

1. I blow my nose very loudly. Crazy, old-man-with-a-hanky loudly. Just like my father. Sister told me recently that she doesn’t use Kleenex because she never blows her nose. She said she never wanted to sound like Dad or me, so she just sniffs.

2. I remove tags from clothes almost immediately. Tags on shirts drive me nuts. I’ve destroyed shirts by ripping out the tags, which have been fastened with some super-strength thread, just because I couldn’t take the time to find a pair of scissors.

3. I wash dishes in the morning, not at night. Right before I go to bed, I don’t want to get my hands all yucky in the food and drink and soap water. I do it when I get up, drink my coffee and take a shower.

4. I save gas receipts. No reason. I have a little pocket in the driver’s door, which has receipts dating back five or six years. Some are so faded I can’t even read them. Suppose I should throw them out.

5. I use all kinds of things to scratch my back. Pencils, rulers, closed scissors, a coat hanger. I have a wooden back scratcher thingee, but never know where it is. It kinda of cracks my students up when I’m in front of the class and stick a ruler down the back of my shirt to satisfy an itch. I’m unaware I’m doing it until they start laughing.

6. My dresser drawers and closet are VERY organized. Things are sorted by style and length. Sleeveless, then short sleeves (woven on one side, knit on the other) long sleeves, etc. Nothing is ever squished in anywhere. And, that’s my problem. If something doesn’t have a place, it doesn’t get put away, and that’s why most of my house is a mess.

7. I make faces in the mirror sometimes just to crack myself up.

8. After a shower I dry off, use face moisturizer, spray stuff into my hair, then body lotion. Always in that order.

9. Going out of the house without earrings or a watch makes me feel naked, but I often wear no make-up.

10. Diana Ross and the Supremes is usually what I play when I’m cleaning the house.

11. Clothes I buy will come home with me from the store and visit for a while. I leave the tags on them, look at them, try them on again, and sometimes months later, return them to the store. But no, I don’t wear something and then try to return it.

12. My name and the date I bought/started to read it is on the inside cover of most books I own. It must be a teacher thing (I put my name on all my classroom books), but the date? Don’t know when I started that.

13. Every time I see a penny on the ground, I pick it up for good luck. If I start to walk past it, I inevitably turn around to get it. I don’t really believe anything will happen, but then again… on the other hand, if I drop a penny, I always leave it for someone else to find.

Is there a reason

2007-04-10T21:50:00.000-07:00

why people are jumping all over Imus or Amus or Anus or whatever-the-hell-his-name-is about being racist and saying nothing about his sexism?

Nothing. I 'm hearing nothing.

He called the female basketball players, "Nappy-headed 'ho's." I'm not saying it wasn't racist but wait a god damn minute.

Has he given any reason he used that phrase other than "poor judgement?" Why would he say that? Why?

He was calling the whole team a bunch of prostitutes? Who does that? Okay, rappers, but they're jerks too.

I would love to see how men come to the conclusion that calling a woman a "'ho" is acceptable. Me, I don't even like the term "chicks" but 'ho?

Okay, if the woman is actually a "Lady of the night," then I suppose using the term, while rude, would be accurate.

I'm trying to think of a comparable term to call men, perhaps call a whole team of football players, but I can't. One doesn't exist.

Linguistically, or culturally, when did this word become a catch-all phrase? It's purpose is to demean. Why would this radio guy say it?

Scratching my head here people.

Pissed off

2007-04-09T20:16:00.000-07:00

I'm so angry tonight that I can't write.

Everything I do put down looks whiny and sophomoric.

I wish sometimes I could just be a demanding bitch, and get everyone to do things for me.

But I can't.

fuck.

Thirteen Thursday # 8

2007-04-05T06:48:00.001-07:00

Thirteen Things That Make Me Happy:

1. Clean, 100% cotton sheets that have been dried on the line. It’s something about the sunshine or the fresh air, or maybe just my imagination, but it smells so darn good!

2. Walking on Hendry’s Beach with the Wonder Dog. It doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold, whether it’s early morning or sunset or the middle of the day. It always makes me feel good about living.

3. Going to Las Vegas with Torn. We’ve been going for many years together. We used to go with my mother, and sometimes twice a year, but now only in the summer. Last year was the first time I won anything of note, but it’s always a great time. It’s like a little fantasy world; no phones, no responsibilities… just the chance we might win big, free drinks, and laughing, laughing, laughing.

4. A clean house. It’s rare with me these days. Okay, it’s unheard of with me these days, but it has been known to happen. It’s a curse really; I hate keeping house, but love to have folks over. It’s the one thing that keeps me from going over the edge into pigsty-dom.

5. Fathers enjoying their kids. This gets me every time. It doesn’t matter if the child is a toddler or a teenager. You can tell when a dad is having a good time just being with his son or daughter. It can actually make me cry (if I’m PMSing).

6. Getting a pedicure. Bright red polish is my favorite toenail color. I have the feet of a hobbit, and this is my one indulgence. I never get manicures though.

7. Getting a card or little something in the mail for no reason. This doesn’t happen too much. People are just too busy. I try to remember that and do it for others instead.

8. Going out to lunch after 8th grade graduation with my teacher buddies. We’re all dressed up already, and we usually go somewhere kinda swank. We usually have a few glasses of wine, and it feels a little sneaky, like we’re playing hooky on a school day.

9. Saturday barbeques with my friends. This doesn’t happen much anymore, but I’ve just bought a little gas grill for my backyard. I’m going to start it up again. There was a time I used to bbq with my roommate and our friends every weekend. I haven’t had a roommate for eight years now.

10. Wine tasting when I’m not the designated driver. The Santa Ynez Valley (just inland from Santa Barbara) is an awesomely beautiful place, and when have you ever met grouchy people wine-tasting?

11. The first kiss. You know, when you aren’t sure it’s going to happen, and then it does? So, it’s been a while for me. I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t remember. Way, way back in my memory. It’s there. If I dig deep. Really deep. I mean China deep. But yeah, I love the first kiss, when everything’s a possibility, and nothing is a given.

12. Shopping in the Misses clothing department rather than the WOMAN’S clothing department. Yes, I’m in the largest size of the Misses department, but who cares? I’m no longer in the tunic and tracksuit community. The choices I have now are wonderful. Especially the dresses. Yahoo for dresses!

13. Being recognized. This is a huge deal for me. It can be something as small as saying “thank you for being such a good friend” to winning the Fulbright. For some reason, I have a lot of friends who aren’t comfortable with the “warm fuzzies” so even though I know they love me, it always makes my heart swell a little when they actually do tell me why they’re glad I’m their friend. And then, my job does not lend itself to commendations; the people that see me perform it are 13 years old. And, many of them take it upon themselves to keep me from performing that job. So, when a parent tells me I’m junior’s favorite teacher? Whoo boy… I can live off that for a long time.

A Good Day

2007-04-03T18:21:00.000-07:00

I got up early today, got a load of wash going before 7 am. At 7:19, I got a phone call.

This friend and I used to walk our dogs together almost every weekend, and most every day during the summer. Then her dog died, and my friend took it hard. She didn't want to walk with me and Charlie-Boy; too painful.

She's been having a tough time all around this year, and I've seen her outside of school maybe just once or twice (and like gayprof, when I say "year" I'm always referring to the academic calendar).

Imagine my surprise when she suggested we go walk with the wonderdog at a new park that's been created nearby. We met at The Daily Grind, sat and drank our coffee and talked and talked. Went to the new park and walked and talked and talked. Stood by our cars and talked some more. Walked around the park a second time and kept talking.

At 11:45, we decided to go to The Brewhouse (place of oh-so-delicious homemade potato chips covered with melted Gorgonzola), and eat and talk some more.

It was great.

This Spring Break has not been the best, but today made up for it a little. I'm lonely, and most of my teacher friends are away on some fun kind of trip. I'm here, doing laundry and cleaning my bathroom. Three different people I've called haven't seen fit to call back. It hurts, because I know all of them check their cell phones, which means they just chose not to call back.

The Fulbright exchange was going to shake my life up, in a good way... but now it's not.

And I'm still here, a little adrift, trying to figure out what I need to do to meet people.

Today was a good day.

What Not to Wear

2007-04-02T10:51:00.000-07:00

I so love this show. I'm home on break still, and was vegging out in front of the marathon of this last night. The hosts are horrible to the women that are on the show, but if I could get $5000 for new clothes and a trip to New York, I'd deal. The whole new hair and make up thing I could get behind too.

Although, I don't have much hair at the moment for them to fiddle with.

However, the kinds of women they choose never seem to be, how shall I put it, the full-figured types. Oh, they'll have some big-breasted size 10 woman, but not a truly large woman.

When I talk about losing weight, so much of it is wrapped up in the clothing choices I would have. We all know that no matter what our size, we have problem areas; our butt is too big, too small, too flat, too shelf-like. Our arms are too fat, too jiggle-ly too scrawny. Our waist is too big, our hips are too big, our thighs are too big, our chest is too small.

It seems to me though, that at least, if I was just a couple sizes smaller, a whole world of clothes would open up to me. Just a size 12. Which is still considered "big and beautiful," which is the size of most "plus" size models.

Wait a minute, I thought plus sizes started at 16?

Oh yeah, that's the real world.

Because I have some control over my size, it allows the world, society, snotty teenage boys, the right to make fun of me. To discriminate against me. To expect me to work harder than a skinny little petite woman at appearing "presentable."

Eh.

I don't have the energy for a rant. And the whole non-complaining thing is keeping me subdued as well. I should go walk the dog.

Isn't she sweet?

2007-04-01T08:32:00.000-07:00

(and no, I wasn't the one who bought that shirt. It actually was a hand-me-down. Sister made sure Ethel was wearing it when I went down last weekend. How cute is that?)

Saturday Morning

2007-03-31T11:56:00.000-07:00

I have this great picture of my niece I want to post, but it's a bitmap, and it's not working. I've been trying to figure out how to save it as a jpeg, but nope. Won't work. I didn't take it with my camera either. Poop. Any suggestions?

Walked Charlie this morning, and started my personal three-week challenge of no whining. I got the idea from this website. Even though it's a church, I kinda like what it stands for. I don't have one of their special purple bracelets, but I can try anyway. My two New Year's resolutions were to not go to McDonald's for a year, and to stop comparing myself to other people. I've been good about McDonald's so far (I did have one ice cream cone my mother bought for me a couple weeks ago) but not as successful with the comparisons. And often, that's what leads to my complaining.

So the whole "Complaint-Free World" is something I could get behind. I've gone three hours... let's see if I can make it three weeks.

Did I tell you? D is back home! The last post on his blog (by his wife) is from a week ago, so I don't know how things are exactly at the moment, but he's home. Good good good stuff.

I met with the head of personnel Wednesday, and now we just have to figure out how to decline the assignment in the most politically correct fashion. Remember, I'm letting down this woman in Hungary as well. Darn it. I know it won't work, and I've dealt with the fact that I'm not going, but now she's going to have to deal with the same thing. And, I know this, and she doesn't.

Rats.

Now, what to set my sights on?

Thirteen Thursday # 7

2007-03-29T10:35:00.000-07:00

Yeah yeah, I know, I've been remiss with this the last couple of weeks. I've been busy, okay?

Thirteen Things That Annoy Me

Ice cream that gets knocked off the cone because it wasn't placed there securely enough by the scooper person at Baskin Robbins. This always happens right after you've gotten the rocky road, never after several licks
Permanently embedded bluetooth headsets, especially when they aren't in use. What? They need to show the world they are important by wearing an earpiece like Uhuru on Startrek?
Olives. Nasty poisonous fruit soaked in brine. They can't keep to themselves either; they have to leave their foul-tasting residue on everything they've even slightly touched.
Those window stickers with Calvin peeing.
A snagged nail and no emery board.
Finding the most beautiful dress I've ever seen, in the size 16 section, for less than 25 bucks, and upon inspection, seeing that it's a size 10 that's been hidden in the large marge section.
No "thank you" when I hold the door for someone.
Cigarette smoke when I'm eating.
Parents who say, " I'm a single parent, I'm busy. I can't check junior's homework every night," even though junior is flunking three classes.
My aunt making jokes about how messy I am, even though she's only been in my house once in the last 13 years.
Spitting. Okay, spitting in public. No, hawking up a lung, then spitting in public.
The wailing infants and apparently motherless toddlers careening into me at Ross, or some other crowded store.
Stepping onto a wet floor in my socks.

Getting what I want, almost

2007-03-26T15:51:00.000-07:00

I'm glad I'm going home today.

Okay, on to more interesting things.

See, the thing is, about Hungary and all? I applied to go to the UK. I wrote my application letter about wanting to teach English in the UK. My interview? Back in December? All three interviewers were former Fulbright teachers in the UK. All we talked about was teaching in the UK.

Hungary was never mentioned.

At all.

So, Saturday morning, as I was going out to my car to load it up with stuff for Sister and Niece, I saw the big fat FedEx package. I grabbed it, and ran into the house.

And in the second sentence, saw that my exchange was to be with a woman in Hungary.

Tears immediately showed up.

HUNGARY? I don't know a thing about Hungary, except the language there is one of the most difficult in the world to learn (language is actually scaled linguistically... One being quite easy to learn, such as Spanish, and Four being quite difficult, such as Chinese. English is considered a Three).

Okay... I know Paprika comes from Hungary, and it used to be a communist state... but that's all.

And, of course, I'm actually sent no information about my exchange partner, except her name. Nothing else. No e-mail address, no location, nothing about the school, nada, zip.

I'm told in my letter to contact my administrator, who has been sent all this information and more to get her contact information.

Which, is a problem.

Why, you ask? Well, our two-week spring break just started. No one will be back at school or the district office until April 9th. Yeah.

Oh, and I am supposed to accept or decline the assignment within 10 days of receiving the notice.

Argh.

I'm trying to be open-minded. I mean, this is my fault. I did check that teensy weensy box on my application stating that yes, I would consider other countries than the ones I selected.

What was I thinking?

So today I called Washington DC, and at least got her e-mail address. We've exchanged just the barest of details.

Well, she actually has all my application materials at her perusal. Even though we aren't supposed to see the other one's application, I guess her administrator over there handed mine to her.

Get this. She's married with three little girls. Wants to bring the whole family over. That means that they can't stay in my apartment. That means I'd have to find them a place to stay. Because Hungary is so much less expensive that the United States, I'd have to pay part of their rent, in addition to my rent there. Which, wouldn't be so bad if I could come back to my apartment now. Which I couldn't. Which means I'd have to sell or put in storage all my belongings I want to keep (my grandmother's dining table, and my mother's china and all).

Also, she teaches religion and English. At the only Jesuit school in Hungary. It's a Catholic boarding school folks.

Catholic. Mass, and communion, and rules galore.

Where's my open mind now?

Dang it.

If I go, it also negates my chances of going to the UK for at least six years through this program. If I don't accept, it means my partner gets screwed too. She doesn't get a second chance this year either. It's a one-shot deal.

Damn it.

Yes, it sounds all exciting and cool, sort of.

But see, the thing is, I've taught ESL before. At a private Christian school... that's what I did in Japan. I don't want to do that again. My skills, my expertise, is in teaching all of English. Not the American pronunciation of "Aluminum."

I don't know what to do.

Shh...

2007-03-25T08:21:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm at my sister's right now, stealth blogging.

She truly is overwhelmed, and yes, she brought it on herself, but if I can help out, just a bit, it's better for my little, beautiful, princess niece.

Sister is napping; Ethel was up every hour on the hour, screaming her tiny lungs out, making herself known. They're both asleep now. I've been to Von's, Starbucks, and taken Gargantua for a half hour walk already. I asked sister when was the last time he actually got taken for a walk -- she said "probably the last time you walked him."

That was in November people! My mom and I have been trying to get her to hire a dog walker; this guy is 75 pounds and an Australian Shepherd. He needs activity, and he's not getting it. Might be why he tries to chomp on Charlie? Barks like he's going to kill whomever comes to the door?

Sister said to me today when I brought it up again, "Nope. I'm not going to hire a dog walker, I don't want a dog walker."

Okay, so she's sleep deprived, but still.

I feel bad if I don't walk the wonder dog for an hour a day, and he's a little lazy boy.

Anyway, I have to go. I guess I bought the wrong things at Target yesterday, and have to return them. I also wasn't told I needed to buy milk when I went to Von's so I have to go back there too.

Oh, and right before I left the house yesterday? I got a thick FedEx package from the Fulbright people.

They're sending me to Hungary.

It's been a while

2007-03-24T09:20:00.000-07:00

I know. I do check in on your blogs when I'm at work, but I can't comment there. I'm leaving in an hour or so to go to my sister's house to help out for a few days (read: slave labor). She said to me the other night, "I can't ask my friends to do the things I ask you to do... you're my sister."

Uh-huh.

So my spring break starts with getting a crate again for Charlie-boy, driving to Mom's to get some kind of casserole (American Chop Suey? what the hell is that? Was I out every night mom served that for dinner?), and a playpen thingamagig Sister needs to put Niece in when Sister is out in her office.

Then drive to Carol's house to drop off Wonder dog, because the little 22-pound guy makes Sister's dog, Gargantua, "nervous" (which actually means that he bites Charlie for no reason), and then back to Sister's house for three fun-filled days of fetching things and cleaning things and cooking things for Sister.

I know. Bitter, party of one?

Selfish is how I feel. I mean, it's my niece, right? Shouldn't I be thrilled? I am. I am thrilled there's more to my family now. Family does mean everything to me.

But I didn't have the baby. I didn't choose to have a baby all by myself. And I'm a little resentful that there is an expectation that I'll just be there like I always am.

I'm sure a shrink would have lots to say about all this.

Let me end on a lighter note.

We had a great big windstorm two nights ago. Patio furniture flying across my little yard, flower pots falling over and breaking, and electricity that went out for about 12 hours. Anyway, coming home from work yesterday, I saw this little guy.

I'm guessing he somehow got in there, and then couldn't get out because the sides were too slippery. Can you see the beautiful blue-green spots on his back? I ran in, got my camera, and snapped a few pictures, and wished I had a better camera. Then I tipped the pot over to let him get back to the business of being a lizard.

I promise to be in a better mood the next time I post.

She has a name

2007-03-18T19:31:00.000-07:00

Cassandra. A big name for such a little baby, but Sister is already calling her Casey. Not sure if that's how it's spelled, but sister is very clear; it's not Cassie, it's Casey... pronounced "Kay-See."

I think I'm just going to call her Ethel. For fun. Besides, it'll piss sister off.

Mom is still down there, helping out, and last night they spent three hours in the emergency room. Baby has Jaundice (like so many do at first), but Saturday night, on Saint Patrick's Day, in a Los Angeles emergency room? It took some time.

Looks like I'm going to have to drive down there and pick mumsy up on Tuesday night and bring her back here. Remember? She won't drive at night or on the freeway or on any road with which she's not familiar?

Yeah. She told me on the phone that Sister-in-Law had offered to do it, but I bet a million dollars I end up being the one.

Gah.

I was at a poetry conference all weekend (stop laughing, it was good!) but I've not had any time to catch up, let alone write much here.

There are stories, including the one that explains why I'm going to have to throw away the shirt I was wearing in the delivery room, but they'll have to wait.

And, the good thoughts for D are working again; it looks possible that he'll come back home next week. Things are moving in the right direction for him. Slowly, yes, but it's all good.

I'm wiped out, and I'm not the one who gave birth yesterday

2007-03-15T21:07:00.000-07:00

So, I'm just going to post a couple of photos... there's more in my sister's camera, but we'll all have to wait for those.

Baby Girl and Rebekah

Baby Girl and Grandmommy

She's Here!

2007-03-15T07:49:00.000-07:00

And the 7 pound, 15 ounce little beauty still has no name.

Sister labored hard and long... and the doctor said, "We're going to give it two more pushes, and if she doesn't come out, we're going to have to go cesarean," and that was enough to give sister the extra umph to get tinkerbell out last night.

I'll tell the whole tale later, with pictures, but right now, I'm trying to get sister's house ready for her and the little one's return (Sister never got the nesting urge you hear about... the place needs some... uh... organizing).

Have a good one.

Today is probably Baby Day!

2007-03-14T09:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, coming out of my faculty meeting, I got a call... Sister's water had broken and she was on her way to the hospital.

Mad dash to my room, called the sub service, left two days of plans for my sub, and tried to organize everything in the classroom so the teacher doesn't have any problems. Well, they always have problems with the kids, you all know that, but at least no problems with supplies and whatnot.

Race home, run around trying to get everything in order, talk to my mother about 1000 times whilst trying to get my act together, and calm her down that Sister will not have the baby in one hour. I had to get the crate for the wonder-dog, I had to get the diaper genie thingamagig that was sent to me instead of her, I had to get clothes, I had to clean out the car so that my stuff, Mom's stuff, Charlie and his stuff, and aforesaid diaper disposal all could fit.

Then the drive to the hospital in West Hills. Then the drive to Sherman Oaks to drop off the pooch and set up the crate and leave instructions with Carol's partner for his feeding and all.

Then the drive back to the hospital (oh, my car turned over 100,000 miles on the way back, btw).

Then the wait.

And the wait.

We got silly, and there is a hilarious picture I will post after I retrieve it from sister's camera.

And the wait.

Mom and I were in reclining chairs, but they were cruel pieces of furniture. Sister had an epidural, and all three of us finally got some sleep between 4 am and 6:30 am. Sister's nurse said she was only 3 and a half inches dilated, so we had time to go to sister's house, shower and possibly take a nap.

So, Mom is taking her shower now, and I'm on her computer, waiting for my turn. It's almost 10 am now, so I don't know how much nappage is going to occur.

But...

I'm going to be an aunt today! Who cares if I miss out on some Z's?

Wish her luck (and send good baby name vibes).

Cheers.

A Sunday walk

2007-03-11T13:34:00.000-07:00

It's gorgeous outside today. Supposed to break some heat records, but I don't know about that.

Makes me feel just a teensy tiny bit bad for Torn and Chunks up in Canada way... but, we all make choices, right?

Anyway, yesterday kinda sucked as days went, so it was great to get up early, walk the dogs from Montecito to Summerland, and have a big breakfast at the Summerland Cafe, a place where dogs are allowed at the outside tables.

Here, these should help you imagine our walk:

A frolic in the water...

Charlie boy getting his tootsies wet.

As usual, Jelly is much better at sitting still for a photo. If you look in the lower right hand corner, Charlie decided he would deign to look at me for the picture. Of course, I was not taking the picture of him at that moment.

Not high art photos by any means, and they are kinda small here, but gives you the idea.

Have a good Sunday.

Thirteen Thursday # 6

2007-03-08T06:10:00.000-08:00

Keep those thoughts and prayers coming for D, okay?

Today I went hunting around my bathroom for the post. I'm not taking a picture of it, because it would scare you, the mess it's in. I do have a clean sink, toilet and mirror. It's just cluttered beyond belief. Before it was remodeled into two apartments, the bathroom was the kitchen in the original incarnation of this quirky little building. It's huge, but odd.
Here goes:

Thirteen things in my bathroom:

53 pairs of shoes. But that counts the brand new pair of lovely, black-pebbled-leather, wide calf boots with a kitten heel I got in the mail yesterday. The thing is, no matter how much I weigh, shoes always fit. Size 8 is such an easy to find size.
127 pairs of earrings. The other item that always fits, no matter what. I rarely have lost any earrings, but have narrowed down the collection. I used to have over 300 pairs. I finally got rid of the florescent, golf-ball width ones from the 80's. Funny thing is, I usually just wear my $9 silver hoops every day.
Several rocks. Every time I go to the beach with Charie, I pick up a beach rock. Don't ask me why. I have a small ledge that runs below the mirror and above the sink, and the rocks (and the occasional shell) live there.
Opi Nail Polish in Kenebunk-Port. My favorite red polish. I never get manicures but get pedicures as often as I can afford them. This is on my toes right now.
Pair of scissors. Hum. Wonder what I was cutting?
Oxi-clean, Miracle Foam. Miracle my ass. I don't know if there's anything that will clean up the dinginess of my shower floor. This is one of a long line of cleaning products I've tried to no avail. And it smells awful too.
Yesterday's mail. I tend to pick up the mail, come in the door and head to... you know. The school bathrooms are not the best place for taking care of business. Besides the fact that I have 4 minutes between classes to run, do my stuff, wash my hands and run back.
Two pairs of trousers, a pair of track pants and a pair of shorts. All on the floor. What a slob I am.
Rubber cleaning gloves. Okay, so I don't get manicures, but does that mean I want washer woman hands? I've got a pair in the kitchen and a pair in here.
Two plants. Used to be five, but I've killed three of them. The one that's doing the best is one I got from Torn before he moved to Canada. It's in an old copper tin thing that doesn't drain... yet I think it's at least 1o years old. Hm.
Victoria's Secret and Ikea catalogues. Guess which one I like better?
About 75 different bottles and jars of lotions and creams. Even though many of these are 1 oz trial sizes, I realize I have a problem. I was a little addicted for a while to ordering the strangest scents (black pepper pear? Vanilla Cedar?) of these from small, online shops. I've not ordered any for over a year. I've thrown out several and am working my way through the rest. You all have your vices, this is one of mine.
Zip lock baggie of travel size items. Yes, it's a quart size baggie, and all the travel items are three ounces or less. I just keep it ready to go. Makes it easier when I'm packing to go. Although, don't think I'll be flying anywhere in the next couple of months.

Now you know a bit more about my secret single life. Maybe it's good I don't have a partner; I'd have to change some of my habits.

Come on now...

2007-03-06T06:30:00.000-08:00

Okay, so the other day? the anti-infection thoughts for my friend D?

We need more.

He's got pneumonia and a staph infection. One of those awful, antibiotic-resistant, needs-to-be-in-isolation-for-10-days kinds of staph infections.

Makes my last post look even more whiny than normal.

Please please please... any extra thoughts, prayers, intentions, chants... send them D's way.

Sometimes

2007-03-05T19:44:00.000-08:00

I feel like a fraud.

Being a good person, caring about others, being honest when it's necessary... doesn't mean anything.

All those stories and songs and movies and stupid trite sayings? I've actually tried to live my life by them.

And instead of the happy ending, I'm the one who ends up with nothing.

(Oh, I know, so dramatic. Don't worry... I'm not in the abyss.)

It's just that I sit back once in a while and take stock.

I bought into the fairy tale, and it was a lie. Sometimes there is no happily every after, or prince charming, or even a nice little cottage somewhere.

Sometimes, the heroine of the story keeps trying and trying and gets nothing for her efforts. Taking a chance, going for broke, sometimes just leaves her empty-handed.

This year, I've been trying to do for others; you know, not feel badly for myself by getting outside of my head. Be there for those that need me, be the ear, the shoulder, the friend who says what needs to be said, and hears what needs to be heard. Forgive what needs to be forgiven.

And?

It hasn't worked.

Sometimes, you can be the best person possible, and no one notices. Sometimes, it doesn't matter.

Sometimes, you're still left wondering:

Why isn't it ever me?

Songs for my movie

2007-03-04T09:58:00.000-08:00

I shamelessly copied this from Gayprof.

Opening Credits: “Over the Rainbow” by Johnny Mathis and Ray Charles
Just over the rainbow? Is that the gay pride rainbow? Is it because I’m always falling in love with gay men? Do I just have to get over it? Will my dreams come true?

Waking Up: “My Man” by Billy Holiday.
Yeah right. It’s been eight years since there’s been a man waking up in my bed. Oh, unless you count the wonder dog.

First Day of School: “Two Sides to Every Story” by Etta James
“Ms. Teacher! Johnny pushed me!”
“Well, Timmy took my pencil!”
“He did, he did, I saw it!”
“Shut up Ralph!”
“Ms. Teacher, Timmy just pinched me!”

There’s more than two sides. I know it’s true.

Falling in Love: “Finest Worksong” by R.E.M.
Is that because it’s work, but it’s fine? I don’t know. Haven’t fallen in love in a long time.

First Song: “I Can’t Believe You’re in Love With Me” by Louis Armstrong
Yeah, I’d probably go into anaphylactic shock at this point.

Breaking Up: “You Try to Find a Love” by Bill Withers
And keep trying and keep trying…

Prom: “Bloody Mary (A Note on Apathy)” by Five for Fighting
Hm…more like Carrie’s theme song. My prom wasn’t so bad. It’s definitely a post in and of itself.

Driving: “Prince of Darkness” by Indigo Girls
Uh. Yeah. Most folks don’t like to drive with me. Say I don’t pay close enough attention to the road. Don’t know if I’d compare it to Satan and all though.

Flashback: “ Lie to Me” by Chris Isaack
Now, this is a good one. I was lied to, royally lied to several years ago. Found out that not only had I been cheated on, but that I was someone’s beard. That kinda sucked.

Starting a New Relationship: “Cat’s in the Cupboard” by Pete Townsend
Someone’s hiding in my closet? My new boyfriend is hiding? What?

Wedding: “Stuck in the Middle With You” by Steeler’s Wheel
Oh, that’s charming. Romantic and all. Maybe because I’m so vanilla and suburban and all?

Birth of Child: “Whisper” by Evanescence
Wouldn’t that be great? Didn’t Katie and Tom have a silent birth? Am I going to become a scientologist?

Final Battle: “And When I Die” by Blood, Sweat &Tears
It’s a kicky song, I’ll give you that.

Death Scene: “Drunken Angel” by Lucinda Williams
If I have to go, being drunk and an angel wouldn’t be the worst way.

Funeral Song: “If It’s Magic” by Stevie Wonder
Then I’ll come back to life.

End Credits: “Fragile” by Kylie Minogue
So people can leave dancing in the aisles I suppose.

Good anti-infection thoughts

2007-03-03T10:36:00.000-08:00

are needed.

D is back in the hospital; he has some kind of infection they've not identified (after 12 hours of tests) and is expected to be there the next five or six days.

I'm glad he's where he needs to be, but oh gosh, I just want him to get stronger and better.

Think a good thought for him today if you can.

And the name meme continues

2007-03-03T10:24:00.000-08:00

YOUR REAL NAME: Rebekah

YOUR GANGSTA NAME (1st 4 letters plus izzle): Rebeizzle

YOUR DETECTIVE NAME (fave color + fave animal): Green Dog

YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name + childhood street): Smith Lancaster

YOUR STAR WARS NAME (last 3 letters of your last name + first 2 letters of your first name + first 3 letters of Mom's maiden name):Arsresit

YOUR SUPER HERO NAME (2nd fave color + fave drink): Teal Zinfandel

YOUR IRAQI NAME (2nd letter of your first name + 3rd letter of your last name + any letter of your middle name + 2nd letter of your Mom's maiden name + 3rd letter of your Dad's middle name + 1st letter of a sibling's first name + last letter of your Mom's middle name): Elmiods

YOUR WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM NAME (Grandma/Grandpa's first name + Jones): Midge Jones

YOUR GOTH NAME (Black + name of one of your pets): Black Charlie

YOUR AMERICAN IDOL NAME (fav car and sea food): Carmen Ghia None

NAME OF YOUR DREAM BAND (name of computer + printer): Gateway Epson

MOVIE STAR NAME (sibling's middle name + mother-in-law's maiden name): Graham (I don’t have a mother-in-law, so I’m one of those single names)

YOUR ALTER EGO NAME (name of one your childhood pets + popular brand of clothes when you were young): Hezekiah Chemin De Fer

YOUR LAWYER NAME (fav actor's last name + fav hard liquor): Stewart Gin

YOUR HIP HOP NAME (fav candy + fruit): Peanutbutter Cup Boysenberry