Stupid Technology

You know those mountains that you can see from the 210 freeway in Pasadena, just above the Rose Bowl? See picture above. I was stuck in the middle of them a few weeks ago thanks to my stupid Global Positioning System, or gps satellite navigation system. I was on my way back from Lancaster, CA when Daria, the voice of my gps, told me to exit the freeway and take Angeles

Crest Drive home. Having never driven on Angeles Crest Drive and only a general idea of where I was going, I had no idea what I was in for. The two-lane road began to wind and a few cars and a motorcycle zipped past me as I crept along safely in anticipation, wondering where the hell I was going. Then the windy two-lane road became a cliff and there was no chance of safely turning back. I looked at the touch screen on my gps and it said I had 25 miles to go. Dios mio, I thought (sometimes I think in Spanish) but I trucked along, nevertheless, hoping it wouldn't be as bad as it seemed. No dice.

I passed small creeks, snow and ice warning signs, nature preserves, lots of mighty old trees, and lots and lots of forest over the cliff beside me. I thought about my under-inflated tires and kicked myself for not taking care of them before I’d left home. But I was glad I’d at least filled my gas tank up in Lancaster before leaving, because the prices were much better than they were near my house.

As Daria droned on about how many more miles I had to go, I was tempted to throw her out the window and into the abyss, but I knew I needed her and was only slightly thankful that I was able to get satellite

reception way up in the middle of desolation. Yes, I was unhappy but determined to get home and meet my two wonderful friends, Patty and Becky for Becky’s birthday lunch at Souplantation. She really digs that place. But I couldn’t call either of them to let them know that I’d be late because my cellphone had no reception, whatsoever. If I had fallen off a cliff, gotten a flat, or run out of gas up there, I would have been shit out of luck because I couldn’t call a soul for help. My AAA membership would have been useless to me. I would have had to hope and pray that a Paul Bunyun-type or a tree hugger happened along to find me.
Anyhow, I’m picking up speed now, desperate to get back to civilization, worried about what lay ahead, when suddenly a family in a gigantic SUV pulls out of a nature preserve right in front of me and decides that it is unsafe to drive faster than 15 mph. It wasn’t snowing, there was no rain, and the roads weren’t slick, so in my anxious mind there was absolutely no need to be driving that slowly. I waited until I felt it was safe and then I sped around them, driving on the wrong side of the road. The guy behind the wheel laid on the horn like I was supposed to wait for him to take his precious time getting to his destination. Psht-ah! I ignored him and kept right along with 10 miles between me and the freeway, according to Daria. I got all the way up to the top of the canyon, ready for victory and relief…only to find that the @#$%^&* road was closed! I was livid, cursing at Daria and cursing at the construction workers who weren’t on duty to hear me. I turned my car around and Daria gave me an alternate route to get home: drive back down the mountain about 15 miles and take Upper Big Tujunga Canyon Road. So I did that, speeding past two other slow moving cars (I was doing about 45, 30 around the curves) and then a bunny ran across the road in front of me and was almost road kill. He’s lucky his little bunny legs were fast because I had no intention of slowing down. I would not have mourned his death. The miles counted down and pretty soon my cell phone got a few bars of reception. I called Patty to let her know where I was and that I’d be late. If anyone could relate to my adventure, it’d be her. She’s not allowed to drive anywhere without her gps. Once, she drove past Disneyland, which is more than 50 miles away from her home, and proclaimed “hey, I didn’t know we lived by Disneyland!” So for Christmas her three brothers bought her a gps.
Now in familiar territory, I turned Daria off and took the 134 freeway into Pasadena, thanking God for my safety. Later on I told my mother what happened and, after she chastised me for putting my faith in technology, she told me about a family she saw on the news that had gone missing in the forest. Turns out they had slid off Angeles Crest Road one winter and the father froze to death trying to walk in the snow to find help. The mother was able to keep her three children alive for a while with her breast milk. If you ever want to be scared straight about anything, my mom is the queen of doomsday stories.

Real life doomsday stories my mom may know:

http://losangeles.cbslocal.com/2011/04/11/motorcyclist-dies-after-crash-in-angeles-national-forest/

http://articles.latimes.com/2011/apr/04/local/la-me-hiker-search-20110404

http://www.scpr.org/news/2010/07/26/cliff-diver-found-unconscious-angeles-national-for/

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2009/11/body-found-in-angeles-national-forest.html

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2010/09/south-gate-elementary-teacher-death.html

He is not the exception

My brother is kind of great. Today he confirmed what I already knew but couldn't admit to myself. He told me that island boy was full of shit. The last three conversations with island boy lasted less than ten minutes, all three ended with him stating that he'd call me back, and then he waited more than a couple of days to do just that. This last time, he waited a week. And then Friday night he called and I pressed "reject" on my cell phone to stop the ringing. So he promptly called right back and I just let it ring until it rolled to voicemail. He didnt leave a message. The following morning he called again at 8am. This time I answered. He said that he had called me twice the night before ("yes, I noticed") and if I hadn't picked up the next morning he would have figured I was done with him. Now I'm wishing I hadn't picked up. However, then I wouldn't have known for certain that he wasn't shit because he gave me no explanation for his being MIA for a week and then he ended the call after less than ten minutes stating, you guessed it, that he'd call me back. Now I have to wait until he does call back for me to tell him not to bother calling ever again. I have it all mapped out in my head, what I'm going to say.
So today I spoke to my big bro and he confirmed my suspicions, even admitting to doing the same thing that island boy is doing, to girls that he wanted to string along. And instantly I felt ten times lighter. It was the confirmation I had needed. Thankfully, I'm getting better at elimination. In this case, I was holding on to three great conversations/times we'd had and ignoring all the red flags since then. For one, I'm pretty sure he has a steady girlfriend. And even if he doesnt the rest of the flags are pretty bad and can stand on their own. Sometimes it takes experiencing what we don't want in order to know for sure that we don't want it, lol. In dealing with island boy I've realized a few more things about myself. I need more attention than I thought I did. I don't have to receive a phone call everyday, but every three days at the latest until we've built a foundation, or when you say you'll call, you'd damn sure better. I need someone who values their word, who is closer to me than a four hour drive or 45 minute flight away, whose every word I can understand and, if I can't, takes the time to ensure that I do, who cares enough that I do. I've also accepted that I love chivalry a whole lot more than I thought I did. In fact, I have to have it. It's a requirement. That's about the only thing island boy got right...in the beginning. He is no longer Mr. Right Now. He is history. Officially, when he decides to call back so that I can tell him because I refuse to call him :)

Yesterday my nephew allegedly spotted Michael Jackson on Hollywood Blvd. Not an impersonator but THE Michael Joseph Jackson. He has his days. For the most part he’s happy, practically manic, which is better than before when all he did was cry, mope around, and look spacey. His mom, my mom, and my step father were accompanying him to a group therapy session when he told the therapist that nothing was wrong with him, that his mother was his “motherfucking problem.” I honestly can’t say that I entirely disagree with him either. But at this point, whether he admits to it or not, the problem is definitely his and his mother is now a victim of it. So after he cursed at the therapist, he walked outside and yelled “there goes Michael Jackson!” then took off down the street with my mother chasing behind him. I saw him this past weekend and he seemed fine. There were a few moments where he seemed a little confused, but he didn’t scare me like before when he would just stare at me, waiting for instruction because he was unsure of what to do next. A lot has happened since last December, when he was perfectly fine. His girlfriend not only dumped him but she had a serious vendetta against him. His mother decided she no longer wanted him living with her, so she put him out in the pouring rain and tossed all of his belongings in the garbage behind her apartment building. He walked 4 miles in the rain that night to my mothers’ house and spent the following few weeks despondent. When my mother went out of town for the weekend, he left with “the devil”, the guy who my family took in when he was 12 (see my Christmas Sleepover post). He’s always been jealous of my nephew so I wasn’t surprised to learn that he’d given him crystal meth to try and then let him wander around L.A. alone for two days. When my mother returned from her trip she received a frantic call from my nephew’s best friend saying that he’d shown up at his house in the middle of the night, dazed and confused, and then disappeared again. The devil’s story was inconsistent. He still hasn’t told the full truth. Anyway, we found my nephew when he showed up at his mothers’ front door, and for days after that he was severely depressed and suicidal. He ended up being committed for about 4 days and has been improving steadily since his release. My mother remains everyone’s hero. Without her, none of us would have survived this. I believe that had he been my own son, I probably would have been better equipped to deal with it. But he wasn’t and although I love him dearly, I couldn’t handle him being sick at all. I didn’t know where to begin to help him and it was killing me to feel so hopeless. He’s 19 years old and our relationship has always been surface; nothing ever too close but as close as most extended family members are to one another. I could talk to him by phone, tell him I loved him and would always be there for him, buy him things to help keep his mind from wandering, but I couldn’t deal with him face to face for too long without feeling immense stress. We played pool and talked while he was committed but when he wanted to come and spend the night at my house, I panicked. I think we all panicked in the beginning, save for my mother who just dove right in and kept us all from falling apart. She was clearly worried sick and was crying every day, but it didn’t paralyze her like it did the rest of us. She is truly everyone’s hero. About 10 times a day he tells her he loves her.

We’re all doing a lot better now. He seems to be 90% back to his old self, thankfully. It's a happy and hopeful ending.

I’m finally at a place in my life where I don’t feel particularly antsy or worried about whether or not I’ll make it. I feel fairly secure financially, and very confident in my ability to accomplish my goals. Should anything unexpected occur, I will remain on track. I’m proud of myself. All my planning has paid off. In addition, my son will be graduating from high school next year and we’ll both be moving on to the next chapter of our lives, which is exciting. When I reminisce on where we were 5-10 years ago, I am thrilled with the progress that we’ve made. 90% of those goals from yesterday are accomplished today. And I’m excited about getting closer to reaching my other goals.

This weekend I picked my family up so that they could help me get my front and back yards in order. It took us about 2 hours, with my stepfather doing most of the work, but now my house looks lived in and not abandoned lol. I’m so thankful for them.

On Saturday I was supposed to go out with my “Stuck in the 80s” friend as a rain check from last weekend, but she flaked on me. It was her suggestion that we go to this lounge a friend of hers had told her about so when we spoke and she acted annoyed, saying she’d “definitely” call me back and wouldn’t dream of flaking on me because she insisted she’s “not a flake,” I took her at her word. That is until 9pm rolled around and she still hadn’t called me back, not even to cancel. Now here it is Monday and still no word from her. But she swears she’s not a flake. Now, even if she has the worst memory on Earth, surely it occurred to her at some point between Saturday morning and Monday morning that she hadn’t followed up with me, not even via text message, which leaves me to assume that she is, indeed, a huge, disrespectful flake and cannot ever again be relied upon. She’s seen my last effort towards trying to get her petrified-to-live-ass out of the house. As far as I’m concerned, she can spend another 30 years indoors, up under her mother, God willing. I really don’t need another charity case. This is, for the most part, why I prefer to roll solo, rather than drag someone else along or have to deal with mixed interests.

My coworker wants me to go to Ibiza with her, saying “it’s the land of house music!” as if that would elicit excitement from me. I forced a grin not to be rude but I actually hate house music, ha. I guess because I’ve tolerated it while out dancing with her she just figured I liked it, but no. I’ve had my fill of it and don’t think I can stand another night out listening to it and expecting to want to dance to it. To me, house music is for the rhythm less, those who cannot dance so they merely bop along to a simple, repetitive “oontz oontz oontz” beat. It’s nerve wracking at best. So when she first said “hey! Let’s go to the Caribbean together” I thought she meant someplace where they play reggae and calypso (I don’t care much for calypso either, but I can deal with it), not house music. Ugh. I’m wondering if I should just keep my mouth closed and just go for the overall experience, hoping for the best. I mean, aside from the music, how horrible could Ibiza really be? I’ve added it in pencil to my bucket list. *Edit: I just realized that Ibiza isn't even in the Caribbean. She meant the Mediterranean. smh.

Talk about coming to the end of a wave, I’ve crashed. I feel so flat today. Nothing excites me, nothing interests me, and there is nothing that I’m looking forward to, aside from lying in bed and watching movies all day. I’m just bored and unmotivated. I’m even a little annoyed. I hope my mood changes by tomorrow.

Back to Earth

I'm grounded. It's been one week since my urban Cinderella date and the clouds have cleared. His accent is beginning to get on my nerves and I'm beginning to forget why I liked him. In this case, absence does not make the heart grow fonder. I think what won me over was the chivalry. I hadn't been treated with so much care in such a while, and the feeling was certainly missed. I wanted to hold on to that feeling for as long as I could, and I did. He was very much a gentleman and these days, they're hard to come by, especially in Los Angeles. I went to a club on Friday night with a friend (I'm officially off clubs, by the way) and towards the end of the night I found an empty corner to sit down and rest my aching feet. While sitting there a young couple came and sat across from me. Their body language was so completely off. She was catering to him and he was acting as though she didn't matter, texting on his phone while she patiently waited for his next move. Then he suddenly got up without saying a word and walked away and she followed behind him like a puppy. No hand holding, no affection, no respect. This is what it's come to in L.A. I had to go all the way to Las Vegas to find out that purple elephants do exist. That night in the club I watched another couple talking and after about 15 minutes of what seemed like a getting to know each other conversation, the guy disappeared and left the girl with his friend to be babysat. I never did see him return to her. Eventually, she left.

I've no idea what, if anything, will come of me and Island boy. At this point, I'm chalking it up as a really great experience and the realization that what I want can be obtained. For now, I think I've come to the end of my wave.

All week I've been listening to this song and smiling. It's perfect for how I'm feeling.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AJmKkU5POA

Still with one foot in the clouds

He was looking at flights last night to come and visit. I am continually surprised by him *knock on wood. I guess I’m just not accustomed to this sort of treatment. I said to myself the other night that he was most definitely not Mr. Right, but he’ll do as Mr. Right Now. But then last night I had my doubts...again. I wondered if maybe he did have a little longevity about him. This uncertainty of mines could be because I haven’t had a lot of adult dating experience, having been in a very long term relationship since my teens. But he’s much more different than my ex and any man I’ve dated since and before. He’s so open and unpretentious, I find myself worried that he may decide he doesn’t really like me after all, just when I’m discovering that I like him so much. This is only an experiment, of course. I have no better point of reference to compare him to but he’s pushing my ex and all of the rest right out of the water. I love that he believes in chivalry, and he practices it often. I love that he’s not afraid to tell me embarrassing things about himself, that he's funny, and that he’s not blatantly interested in sex with me. He doesn’t talk about it at all, he never even hints about it, yet somehow I know he’s interested. He seems to want me to know him and now I'm eager for him to know me. I find myself wanting to give him more, undress my mind for him, lay down my cares, lie up all day and marvel the world by his side. This is odd and I like it. I like it a lot. Beginnings are always nice, right?

My ex had his strong suits, and I appreciated them. But he was my first everything so it took me a while to realize precisely what I wanted and what he couldn't give me. What he was lacking, Island Guy seems to have, for the most part. We're only 3 strong conversations in so there's plenty of time to learn more. Right now I am in desperate need of a nap because I stayed up late, once again, on the phone with him, my Island Guy. I feel like I can tell him anything and he won't miss a beat. He's told me so much about himself in just a few conversations. What's bugging me is that he doesn't live here. I know I can't predict the future or where we'll end up, but that part is killing the controlling part of my personality a little. I'm just going to take a leap and enjoy this while it lasts. For however long it lasts. I have no idea how much time I have left on Earth to enjoy these sorts of things so I'm all in, lol. What a surprise he is! I never expected to meet *him when I did, or that I'd enjoy myself so much. Wish me luck!

I kissed a boy

And I really liked it. It was the juiciest, softest, most electrifying smooch I’ve had in a very long time, sans saliva, and I really want to do it again. He’s from Jamaica and we met Friday night when I hobbled over to valet in my 5 inch stilettos, my feet in agony, my ribs feeling claustrophobic from the boa-constrictor of a bustier I was wearing and dying to change out of, and my face grimacing. He asked me why I wasn't smiling, or something to that effect. He was waiting for valet to bring his car around too. We started talking and the next thing I knew I was putting my phone number into his cell phone. We spoke again briefly that night and I asked him to call me the following day. We talked the following day and he called me no less than 6 times from noon to sometime after midnight telling me about himself and trying to arrange another meeting with me. I was reluctant at first, not wanting to go out with him alone in a strange town, but my friend promised to go with me, convincing me to give him a chance and I’m so glad I did.

Kissing him at 5am on Sunday morning felt like kissing for the very first time and he was its inventor. His arms were around my waist, his chest pressed against mine, mouth to mouth, and neither of us wanted to let the other go when it was over. So we stood there for a while, in that embrace, comparing our height – he’s 6’3, I’m 5’9. We both agreed the other was the perfect height. But it was 5am and I needed to get some sleep before Keisha and I made the long trip home.

He was sweet and attentive and VERY intelligent. I had the best conversation with him that I’ve had with a guy in a long time and it was most definitely a turn on. Did I mention he was fine? Djimon Honsou better watch his back. This guy has perfectly smooth dark chocolate skin, bald head, 6'3, chiseled chest (I could see and feel all that through his shirt when we hugged and he wouldn't let me go), straight white teeth, full unchapped lips... He wasn't too pushy and never was he rude, but he was clearly interested in me and persistent and very much a gentleman even after I tried giving him the brush off. We spent the evening talking about Jamaican politics, culture, religion, plans for the future, philosophy, money, giving back, marriage…it was great! I love to hear a man talk about something he loves or is passionate about. When I say “tell me about yourself,” and he does, I’m over the moon with joy. A man who does this correctly doesn’t hem and haw and try to hide himself from me, he goes all in, confident, no reservations. And if he can do it well, in English, and sane, I’m all eyes and ears. I left home this weekend with plans for a girls’ get away. Although I’d been hopeful I would return with fond memories, I never expected him. He was such a welcome surprise.

Our day at the races

The Derby, itself, and getting dressed up was fun. Santa Anita Park charges $6-8 dollars for parking, depending on where you park your car on their huge lot, and about $5 to actually get into the park and watch the horse’s race. We paid $30 each ($90 total). Why, you may be wondering? Well, because the event that we attended, which was situated along the far north side of the park, was for a warm-hearted fundraiser for inner city youth J and I love to give back to inner city, underprivileged youth. However, this felt more like a cold hearted snake © Paula Abdul, than a warm and fuzzy fundraiser, and not because the sun was overcast by gray clouds that were threatening rain.

We were optimistic at first, figuring that, if nothing else, we could walk over to the other side, bet on the ponies and have a good show, which is what we ended up doing after a while.

The guy sitting at the will-call table when we arrived was very friendly, seemed down to earth, and was quite attractive. He kept saying that he was the fundraising-host’s brother, which made me think he must be terribly proud of his big bro. How sweet. And since he was so nice to me, I asked him his name and he told me “Smiley Guy” (alias, of course) I made a mental note to ask the guy (the DJ) who’d invited us about him. After we’d picked up our tickets at will-call from Smiley Guy, we walked through the tunnel and on around to gate 6 where none of the action was, and found our venue. The blonde girl, who worked for the park and took our tickets, was very friendly as well, so I remained in pretty good spirits. That is, until I walked over to an older black lady wearing a ridiculous chef’s hat and said to her “Hi! What are you cooking up over here?” to which she replied dryly “The free food is over there,” pointing to a table full of crap.

I repeated myself, saying “That’s fine. But what are YOU COOKING OVER HERE?”

And she says “Hot links but they cost money.”

What the hell? I was insulted but then I realized that people with no class are everywhere and we just have to deal with them. Anyway, we brought our lunch, so we found a vacant table and began to dig in. None of us wanted what they were offering for free.

About 20 minutes later, Keisha and I decided to go place our bets on a horse with a cool name. I was torn between “Leaving New York”, “King Red”, and “Sensational News”. Keisha put her entire $5 on Sensational News, which made me think “okay, I’ll forgo Leaving New York, and put $2 on King Red, and $3 on Sensational News. Maybe she was on to something. And for most of the race, Sensational News was #2 and gaining on #1. Leaving New York was nowhere to be found! Then, all of a sudden, just as the pack of horses was about to finish the race, Leaving New York came up from the rear and won the whole thing! Seemingly from out of nowhere, and he took the gold cup! I couldn’t believe it. It made me wonder if the races were fixed so that the house always wins. It wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination. That’s how it’s done in casinos. So, rather than ripping our tickets in half and throwing them on the ground when you leave, as is traditionally done, we kept them as souvenirs. That part of the day, betting on ponies, I truly enjoyed. Some of the people there for just the races, not the fundraiser, were very nice and kept complimenting us on our hats and outfits. Next time we’ll sit among the friendly folks.

There were many fine, traditional derby hats at the fundraiser. Some were more for Easter Sunday at church, which is okay, but most were appropriate for the Kentucky Derby. Everyone put forth a valiant effort to dress nice; however, many fell miserably short. One guy was dressed well from his neck to his waist – his jacket was too long, his pants were too long and they fell in pools over his shoes. A lady in a peach colored, form-fitting halter dress had on inappropriate undergarments – a thong and an ill fitting bra, no body smoother. And boy was her butt dimply. You could see the outline of her thong, which was tacky. And, as it turns out, she was the only nice woman we spoke to the whole day. I complimented a portly lady on her black and white hat and asked her if I could take her picture. She rolled her eyes at me, never said “thank you” for my compliment, and snarled out “I don’t like having my picture taken.” So I asked if I could just take a picture of the back of the hat then, since that’s all I really wanted, anyway. She rolled her bubble eyes some more and turned and placed her order with the bar tender while I snapped the picture in the post below this one. I tried making small talk with the table next to us and they acted as if I wasn't even there. We had obviously intruded on a college reunion soiree with clique’s and in-crowds, and not a fundraiser for children. Not once did the host of the event make his rounds to say hello and thank people for coming out and spending $30 when we could've just spent $5 and gotten better seats. If he did, he missed us. I didn't even know what he looked like until I got home and saw a picture of him taken at the event online . The photographers went around interviewing particular people and snapping their pictures, but none of them were smiling even slightly. It was the surliest fundraiser I’d ever been too, so guess where I kept my wallet? Locked up tightly in my purse! There was no announcement, no Master of Ceremonies explaining where the proceeds of the event would be going (I only knew because I Googled it before we got there), just a horribly off-key guy singing old soulful music with a lot of passion.

I did remember to ask the guy who’d invited us about Smiley Guy, though. I just asked him if he knew whether Smiley Guy had a girlfriend or was seeing someone. He said, and I quote:

“I think so…I mean, I think he USED to have a girlfriend…but everyone used to, huh? Lol. He’s younger than me, though, only 25.”

“That’s fine,” I said. So he told me he’d find out and get back to me, although he thought smiley guy might be moving to San Diego for a new job soon.

I never heard back from the DJ guy about it so I figured it was a no-go. It would have been nice to get an update, though.

We left the event about 30 minutes before it was scheduled to end and on our way out, I heard someone announce that they would be having a best hat contest. So more than 5 hours later, they decided to start the festivities.

The Derby really could have been a true success had they organized things better. The idea had loads of potential and I just might suggest it to the PTA leader at my son’s high school. Ah well. So a portion of my hard earned dollars will continue to support the kids in my own neighborhood who I know quite well. My son throws a get-together about twice a month and yours truly buys the pizza, drinks, burgers, and games that keep them off the streets.

Derby Day photos

photos now, rundown of the event later.

The budget conundrum

I’ve been experiencing a lot of buyers’ remorse lately. For instance, I let a sales woman, the pushy kind that I typically ignore and shun like a pesky fly, convince me that a star made of sticks and draped in Christmas lights was a good buy for $3.95 at Pottery Barn. The price was so good I was tempted to buy two. But considering I didn’t know where I was going to put the one I was purchasing, let alone a second one, I opted to buy just one of them, instead. And then I got home and my son saw it and said “Ha'omnam'? Shalom. When did we become Hebrew?” Which roughly translates to "Really? Peace be with you" in Hebrew) That’s when I realized that the star was marked down from $60 to $3.95 because it looked like the Star of David! So I didn’

t hang it up. And I was sorely disappointed at my foolish waste of damn near $4. The star is currently sitting up against a wall in my living room. It was on clearance so I couldn’t return it.

And take my trip to the races this coming weekend. I’m no longer excited about it. Yeah, at first the thought of getting dressed up and wearing a schnazzy hat sounded like fun, but it’s been raining all week and they are predicting more this weekend. So not only will the grounds be wet and muddy, at the very least, it will be too cold to wear a sundress. I won’t abandon my plans though, they cost me too much. I’ll go just to get out of the house and see a horse race and eat and have that experience…in jeans, a sweater, and an Audrey Hepburn black hat, instead of the cute pink Sinamay hat that I had planned to wear with a strapless sundress.

I’m still going to bet $5 on a pony with a cool name and, hopefully, I’ll win and end my losing streak.

In addition to that, I promised myself that I wouldn’t go berserk spending up my tax refund money. But what did I do? I bought a carpet steamer, two additional hats just in case I changed my mind about the other two hats that I’d bought, two more dresses as if I needed anymore clothes, memory foam mattress pads for me and my son, an iPad, a comforter from Ikea, and a new duvet cover from Target. I am returning the hats, the comforter, and the dresses as soon as possible and shutting down my spending spree. I must train my brain; absolutely NO internet shopping. I have to be extra diligent if I want to reach that tipping point and save up enough money to remodel my kitchen, or do any of the other big ticket things that I often lust and dream about. Ginger, my 11 year old car may be circling the drain, and I said I want my next car to be an Audi (a girl can dream, dammit!) so I have to get my mind right and stop wasting money on worthless crap. I derive great joy from donating the things I no longer want or need to the less fortunate, but I get even greater joy and sleep much better at night when I save money.

I don’t profess to be the world’s best dresser by any means, but I’m starting to wonder if most people ever really put any thought into what they wear. It’s a sad state of affairs out there, people. Yesterday I was in Chipotle waiting in a long line to order a chicken burrito, and I noticed a trend of sloppiness. From the beginning to the end of the line, with the exception of yours truly, of course, nobody was well put together. An overweight girl in a pair of too-tight work slacks with visible panty lines, a woman wearing a bra so small it looked like she had four breasts, another was in work pants that were about two sizes too big, a few people with shoes leaning to the side, lack of coordination/mismatching abound, just a bunch of slobs who looked like they’d all just hit the alarm clock, rolled out of bed, wiped the spit from the corners of their mouths and showed up to work looking like a fashion crime scene. So, if you’re looking at your own get-up right now with a smile turned upside down, here are a few fashion commandments to live by:

- Panty lines should never show, ever. This is why the right pair of boy shorts are a must have in every woman’s lingerie drawer.

- If your shoes are leaning, it’s time to retire them to the trash, or MAYBE Goodwill if they’re not too much of an embarrassment.

- Victoria’s Secret offers FREE (yes, FREE!) bra sizing, so please take advantage of this offer. Your breasts and the community will thank you for it.

- And please don’t buy items simply because they are on sale. If they don’t fit or flatter you, leave them on the rack no matter how much they cost. Even if they’re free! You wouldn’t wear a burlap sack if it was on-sale or free, would you? Some things just shouldn’t be worn, period.

- Color coordination is a nice gesture if you’re living above the poverty line. Otherwise, what’s your excuse? Don’t you care how you look?

Let’s all take the time to show that we care about our appearance. It’s really not that much of a commitment and I guarantee it will lift your spirits. If it helps, sort through your wardrobe the night before so when you roll out of bed in the morning, a decent outfit is ready to be thrown on. When you look good, you feel good and somehow everybody wins. Each one, teach one.

This has been a public service announcement

Quickly...What's going on?

Since this iPad keyboard is too small for me to really type, I'm going to keep this entry brief. Here's where my life has taken me:
- I have a date! He's 35, speaks well, likes to cook, and looks and dresses decent enough. We shall see about the rest of him this weekend when I meet him for coffee.
- My "Stuck in the 80s" friend came over and stayed the night with me last weekend. I've concluded that, like most people, she is tolerable in small doses so she gets to stay.
- I went to the L.A. Weekly Food and Wine event at the Peterson Automotive Museum this past Sunday with my pal, Jenny. She scored us free VIP tickets inside and I sampled everything I could get my hands on. Then spent the rest of my day in bed with a migraine from having eaten so much, so fast, and without any breakfast.
- My 19 year old nephew wants to die. It's the hardest thing I'm hoping to avoid dealing with in my life. His little sister and my mother can't stop crying. I am refusing to think the worst and don't want to cry until all hope is lost. I'm confident that he'll pull through and we'll get through this alright. He is currently under medical care.
- I bought an iPad. So far, it's pretty cool.

Derby Day

I’m going to my first horse derby and I need an extravagant hat. We’re going to take a picnic with us and I am going to place a $5 bet on a horse with a cool name. $5 is my limit as I do not derive any joy from handing over money without the explicit understanding that I am to receive a reward in return. If I place my dollar into a vending machine and the Snickers bar does not descend, I will shake that machine until it does. And if getting tough with the machine still doesn’t present me with my candy bar, I’m dialing the number on the machine and requesting a refund immediately. I may even write a letter if I feel it’s necessary. And I am not above a vending machine boycott. I doubt this behavior would bode well at the horse races, so $5 is all they’ll be getting out of me. A friend of mines placed a $5 bet on a horse she thought was the prettiest, and she won $35. That’s well worth the risk of losing 5 of my hard earned bucks.

I’m excited about my day at the races and can’t wait to find a schnazzy new outfit to wear. But my main objective is the hat. Man, oh man! I am excited about this hat! I’m going to fashion the rest of my outfit (dress, shoes, and accessories) around the hat, which will be the main attraction, the piece de resistance! The bigger, the better since I won’t be wearing any sunscreen and it might be pretty warm out. And I don’t want to squint. I’m close to 40 and the soft skin around my eyes is already threatening to betray me. I can deal with the wayward gray hair here and there, but crow’s feet, bags and wrinkly eyes I cannot. (Lord, help me.)

I’m going to put on my best modern-day southern belle charm and make sure to sashay a little when I walk. This is what a child’s dress-up game feels like for adults. As a little girl, I spent countless hours in my mothers’ high heels, slathering on Cherry scented Chapstick until the red pigment transferred to my lips, pretending to be a sophisticated belle of an imaginary ball. This is my shot to make a long awaited dream come true and I don’t aim to muck it up.

Another perk about Derby Day is the park itself. Santa Anita Park is very well maintained and they’ve kept every bit of old nostalgia that they could. It’s where the film “Seabiscuit” was made and there’s even a Seabiscuit tram tour. I can already hear the thunder of a bunch of thoroughbred horses stampeding down the race track with the San Gabriel Mountains looming in the backdrop overlooking us all. So excited I could squeal!!

Anyway, I’ll be sure to snap lots of pictures and post some here, and I’ll definitely let you know if I win.

Because Prince charming isn’t coming

I tried to read through a book with the same title a couple of years ago but the author seemed to focus more on her personal issues with being a dependent than on discussing independence. Long story short, her dad started H&R Block and she lived a good portion of her adult life in denial, leaving her security in the hands of her husband who squandered all of her money away and then divorced her, leaving her with a heap of debt and two daughters, then he remarried. But if you flip through the book you will find a few pages that offer practical advice that you might want to remember or earmark for future reference. Anyway, I’ve lived my life as independently as possible knowing that there is a very strong possibility that I may never find a Prince, or even a guy decent enough to trust with my well-being. This is only sad if you believe in fairy tales in the first place. Although raised on them myself, I’ve long since realized that I was sold a hefty wolf ticket so I put away such childish thoughts. Prince C. is up there with Santa Claus, in a sense. Why lie to your children, people?

When I first met my ex and we were on date #3, I think, walking back to my house after seeing The Bodyguard at the Baldwin Theater (RIP), he asked me what I was looking for and I told him, with the night stars in my eyes and whimsy in my voice, that I was looking for my prince on a white horse to come and save me. Try not to puke. I gag at the thought now. And he responded, as in love as he claimed to be, although now I just think he was horny, that he was that “guy on the horse! I’m him!” As romantic as I was back then I didn’t for a second believe him but I wanted to. And his willingness to entertain my fancy, as absurd as I knew it was, endeared me to him even more. Shortly thereafter I became pregnant with our son. And after 7 or so years almost all of the whimsy and romance had worn off and my rose tinted glasses lost their tint. So here I am today, somewhat newly single after more than a decade of playing house, and I know precisely where I am, where I’m going, and what I’d like to find along the way. But things aren’t as simple now as they were back when I was 16 or even 25. I think that without my old pink blinders on it’s become much more difficult to find a mate. This is a tad bit disconcerting. In some ways my standards have become a bit more lax; in others they’ve become more stringent. But you can’t see all that by looking at me, can you? When I do get approached, which isn’t as often as it used to be, it’s by the guys who can’t string a sentence together properly, who dress like they just stepped out of the 70s and 80s, or hopped fresh from their mothers’ womb, leaving me quite perplexed. *Le sigh. Having been bred on romance and fairy tales I’m still hopeful that the day will come when I meet my match. It’s not #1 on my list of things to do before I die, but it’s on the list, nevertheless. So in the meantime, I’ll enjoy being newly single, traveling as far as my budget will allow me, making new friends, learning new things, and smelling every gotdamn rose I come across that doesn’t look like it’ll kill me. I am patient.

Valerie's Arc

At this moment, if I were approached by God and asked to build an arc and load it with things that should be kept and saved before a massive flood wipes out everything on Earth, I’d select more family members from my ex’s family than members from my own family. My own family disappoints me immensely. So, on my arc I would keep my mother and son, one of my 7 aunts and four of my 5 uncles, 4 of my 30+ cousins, my brother, Daryl…and that’s about it. Whoever said that you can only choose your friends and not your family, was an idiot.

Bizarre uses for tin

I'm looking for inexpensive tin sheets for a few craft projects that I'm planning and ran across this very odd review of tin/metal sheets on Amazon:

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

2 of 8 people found the following review helpful:

3.0 out of 5 stars Not Good for Bedding; Awesome for Hats, March 20, 2010

By

silo - See all my reviews

Durability:5.0 out of 5 stars Fun:3.0 out of 5 stars Educational:2.0 out of 5 stars

This review is from: 16254 .008 Tin 6x12" Sheet (Toy)

I recently bought these tin sheets because I feel that metal has many purposes, and you can never have too many kinds of metal. Already having such metals as "hard," "cold," and "shiny," I figured adding these tin sheets to my collection would increase my value to humanity.

My first application for these tin sheets was to use them as bedding. After a night of rustling around, constantly crinkling the tin, I decided to go back to my wood chip bedding. It was an honorable try, but just didn't work out the way I wanted it to.

Next, I decided to make a tin sheet hat. No, not tin foil; I mean tin sheet. The difference is that the tin sheet is a bit thicker, which greatly adds to the strength of the tin to inhibit psychic attacks. I even made a small bill to shield my face from evil bird doo doo. When using the tin for this purpose, nothing else compares.

One drawback to these tin sheets is that while they're great for making hats, other clothing manufactured from the sheets is a bit restrictive and noisy. For example, a shirt I made from the material made me look more like a cardboard cut out than a sexy beast. The reflective power of the tin did not attract any women, but did seem to attract hippies who thought I might be able to hook up to their electric cars as a sort of solar panel. This too did not work.

Nevertheless, I do recommend these tin sheets for purposes including but not limited to constructing shelving units, making antipsychic hats, and as bathroom decoration.

Candy hearts, flowers, balloons, bah

A friend of mines just sent me a message complaining about the women in her office getting delivered bouquets of flowers. She jokingly asked me to send her one so she could pretend that an admirer sent it to her. This sort of thing confuses me as a woman. Am I broken? Do I not have enough estrogen? Have I had so many Vday dates in my lifetime that I’m now immune to the delights of candy and flowers? What is so novel about getting a bunch of balloons and/or flowers and a card on Valentines Day? It’s nice to know that someone cares about you but does it mean more to you if their affection is shown on February 14^th? Is romance simply a bunch of balloons and/or flowers and a card on Vday? Surely, it’s more than that. Or am I defective? I know that I am loved. It helps me sleep well at night, lol. And the people that I love in return will get giant Ghiradelli chocolate chip cupcakes this evening, if I get around to it. And even if I don’t get around to it, they’ll still know I love them and we’ll all be alright. We don’t need no stinking cupcakes or flowers or expensive gifts on February 14^th to prove it. We prove it when it matters the most – all year long, when nobody’s looking, when everybody’s looking, when it’s least expected, and when it’s needed most. It comes as second nature, not because of a calendar reminder. Our love kicks into gear right on time and not on schedule. Our love isn’t novel. Isn't that how it should be?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZkD6wgdggyk

I couldn't go to preschool in the morning until this song was played. I was a stubborn little girl. And my parents played it for me every morning.

The Wine Mixer

Wine tasting was really nice. It was probably the best twelve bucks I've ever spent and not because of the wine, it sucked, but because of the experience. J's Lounge in downtown L.A. is a pretty decent spot for a night out, and the California Wine Tasting people really know how to spoil their guests; they kept the h'ordeuvres coming. I looked around at some peoples plates and it was like they were sitting down to dinner, lol. And this was before the waiters began coming around with trays full of goodies. I don't understand how some people can pile those little appetizer plates so high with snack food and not feel shame. How much crudite can one person stand? I think one guy was trying to make a Scooby Doo-like sandwich with his cheese and salami.

We both chose the white wine as our complimentary glass and sat outside underneath a gazebo with ruby red drapes and a fire pit, the downtown L.A. skyline loomed above us. After my glass of wine, the bartender mixed me a "French Kiss" that he swore I'd love. It's a martini with vanilla and cranberry in it. It smelled better than it tasted, which made it the worse twelve bucks I've ever spent. My girlfriend and I were looking pretty dynamite last night; she had her hair done, nails done, everything did (c) some rap song. I wore an old black lace dress that I had picked up from a sample sale many years ago that still looks good and not dated, some heels that I bought about 6 years ago and never wore, and I washed and styled my own hair, nails were bare. Which reminds me, I seriously need to get back on those sample sale mailing lists. Anyway, since I'd taken a two hour nap yesterday afternoon after work, I was energized and ready to take on the night. She wasn't. As we sat under the gazebo talking and drinking she began to get too relaxed and threatened to fall asleep. So we decided to go upstairs and dance a little. The crowd was well mixed, different ages and races. The dj was okay. He played a lot of pop radio stuff and a bit too much Michael Jackson (two songs), but otherwise it was music I could dance to, so I did. As soon as the first MJ song came on a few dorks on the dancefloor started dancing like Mike. It was so funny to watch. Then some guy asked my friend to dance and while she was working hard out on the floor, she naturally began to sweat and her hair began to lose it's luster. She didn't look a mess but that was enough to deflate her self-esteem and she was done with the night. The next thing I knew she was asking me when I wanted to leave and it was barely even midnight. I didn't complain; I'd had fun up until then, which was my goal. But I would have liked to stay a little bit longer and get a better feel for the place and the people there last night. I saw a handful of cuties that I wanted to ogle a bit and the bar area seemed to be popping. It was okay, though. I still had energy to spare this morning so I got up and went for a much needed run/walk around my neighborhood. Now I'm feeling like Rocky, except with the sniffles. I'm getting over a cold.

One of my absolute favorites

and so appropriate with vday right around the corner. I wish I had someone to dedicate it to.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pto5lqEi5to

I really should start proof reading these things before I post them. I cringe every time I reread a post. Ah well!

I DO like wine!

I’ve changed my mind J. I had a flavored martini the other night at Geisha House for dinner at a friends’ birthday shindig, and while it wasn't enough to get me drunk and probably not even tipsy (I've no idea what either feels like but I think I’d know if I were drunk or tipsy), it damn sure helped me sleep well that night. What a sleep aid! I slept like a brick, and at 10am I thought my ringing cell phone was my alarm clock going off. So I kept hitting the snooze button wondering why it wouldn't shut off. I can’t recall the name of the martini I had – something with pomegranate and milk in it – but it was quite tasty. No alchy here, but I’m starting to see what all the hub-bub is about. Certain flavors are pretty damn delicious and the buzz you feel afterwards is a nice bonus. I’m a fan now, but not enough to over indulge. In fact, for the remainder of our night I drank water, while the other girls boozed it up. Until now, I never saw the point of alcohol. It tastes bitter and too much of it makes you feel like crap in the morning. Plus, alcoholism was a problem for my father and his mother, so I’d always been told that I may not be able to handle liquor – I was predisposed. But unlike them, I think I’m more level headed and have much more willpower.

Last night I couldn’t sleep, so as an experiment I cracked open one of my many bottles of wine (I get one every year for Christmas from a doctor I know who owns a wine bar), mixed it with a little grape juice, and voila, a decent nights rest. I won’t make doing this a habit as I know the consequences, but I could see myself sipping something nice every once in a rainy evening. I waited until my mid-thirties to start drinking and I’ve no regrets about it. I don’t think many who are younger than thirty are as responsible as they should be with alcohol, nor do they fully realize the consequences of over-indulging. Being sober, I still managed to have a good time in my 20s. I don’t feel like I missed out on anything great. A cousin of mine, who is a kindergarten teacher, got drunk once when she first started teaching and took out half a block of cars while drunk driving one night. She flipped over and totaled her car and is lucky to be alive today. That’s not an experience I wish I’d had.

So, all that to say that I’m really looking forward to this weeks wine tasting soiree. Now if I can only figure out what I want to wear…

Guanacaste

My Costa Rica trip is coming up and this time I want to hit the beach wearing a white or pink bikini, so I have SIX MONTHS to get my portly ass in gear. And I just ate a big chocolate chip cookie five minutes ago. And last night I watched a movie with my son while eating some Mint Chocolate Cookie Ben & Jerry’s. And the day before that…well, you get where I’m going with this. I’m sort of looking like Fat Bastards out of shape little sister.Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit, but I damn sure am NOT two-piece sexy, no-way, Jose. So after I finish my Thai lunch, I’m going for a 25 minute power walk around this “compound.” And before dinner I'm grabbing my jump rope and channeling Black Jack Johnson.

I’ve done a little bit of research about Costa Rica and, aside from La Romeria, which is our primary purpose for visiting, there is much to see, do and get excited about. For instance, at the top of one of their volcanoes (Ricon de la Vieja), there is a beautiful acidic lake filling the center and several hot springs nearby. You can hike up there to see the lake as well as take in views of the surrounding

countryside. Though I’d much rather go by horseback. It’s a huge hike! And there are snakes (and monkeys) so I’d rather my feet not be on the ground. There are seven active volcanoes in all but the most spectacular is said to be the Volcan Arenal,

which regularly puts on Fourth of July-like lava shows. And I hear that on a good day if you hike to the top of Mount Chirripo, you can see both the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean at the same time. My friend Patty’s grandmother lives in Playa Conchal, Guanacaste, which is on the north Pacific side of the country. It’s near the Monteverde cloud forest reserve, where you can

zip line on a canopy tour from tree to tree, and the rainforest where some of the most exotic plants and animals in the world reside. I took 3 years of Spanish in high school but I know it’s no match for what I’ll be up against. Thankfully, Patty is fluent. Although, I’m still going to buy a Spanish Rosetta Stone program so that I feel more comfortable. My son can use it too for school, so it will be money well spent. He is doing a bit of research on the history of pirates on Cocos Island and throughout sections of Costa Rica to get himself excited about the trip. As if simply going isn’t enough. Psht! Anyway, here’s a snippet borrowed from www.infocostarica.com about pirates and legends of buried treasure on Cocos Island:

During the 17th and 18th centuries it was a refuge for pirates and many wanderers of low repute. Many valuable treasures have reportedly been hidden on the island, among them the Lima Treasure, consisting of tons of gold and silver bars and gold sheets that were meant to cover church roofs, and the treasures of William Davies, hidden in 1684, and Benito Bonito, whom they called "Espada Sangrienta" (Bloody Sword), hidden in 1869.

There are also two old shipwrecks off Punta Cahuita that are believed to be haunted by French and Spanish pirates. I can’t wait to feel like I’m waiting for Johnny Depp and the crew of the Black Pearl to arrive and battle it out with Davey Jones and his men. I’m still very much a kid at heart and this type of stuff truly excites me. My son is a much harder sell though, so we’ll see if he has a good time. The first thing he said to me when I announced that we’d be going to Costa Rica was “What the heck are we going to do in Costa Rica?!”

Um, have fun? Sheesh.

Stuck in 1987

A couple of days ago another of my old grade school buddies found me through Facebook. Except this time our friendship goes all the way back to junior high school. She looks practically the same based on her profile picture, just obviously older. I sometimes wonder how much older I look to those who knew me way back when, but I digress. Anyway, I figured in all this time we’d have a lot to catch up on and I was excited to hear how her life had evolved over the years. I know that mine has changed a ton since junior high school, a good 20+ years ago. So when she sent me her phone number and asked me to call her I was shocked to find out that not much has changed about her since 1987. Even her jokes are the same as they were in 7^th and 8^th grade! She has no children, no husband, no prospects, and she still lives with her mother. But what was even more surprising was that her older brother, who has to be at least 39 years old by now, still lives at home, too. That really shouldn’t have been a shocker, given his strange personality back in junior high and high school, but we’d like to hope that people grow and change for the better, right? Only her older sister, who is about 38, moved out and had children and, based on that information, I’m guessing she's lead a relatively normal life.

The phone call was pretty disappointing and about 15 minutes into our conversation, I wasn’t glad I’d called her. I won’t say I regretted it; just that it was a let down. And she asked that I call her back the following day, which was yesterday, but I’m still torn about this re-connection. I don’t want to go back to 1987, lol, and listening to a grown woman say stuff like “tally wacker” and giving her nephew’s “knuckle sandwiches.” I wanted to scream “you’re knocking on 40, woman! Who says that??”

I guess to be fair I should talk to her a little more and see if maybe there is something about her that’s aged and not just her appearance. But I can’t say that I’m eager to know more. What will we have in common besides our childhood? What could we potentially build on if our life experiences are so drastically different? I don’t know what it’s like to still have the mind frame that I had in 8^th grade, still doing the same things and living the same life that I did in the 80s and 90s, except with minor alterations (i.e., a job). And even back in 10^th grade my other friends and I thought that she was a late bloomer. I know it’s kind of hard not to be corny at our age (according to my teenage son, lol) but come ON! This is just sad and pathetic.

Okay, perhaps I’m freaking out for nothing and I need to be more open-minded. It was just one conversation we had and she still seems nice enough to be friends with. I’m not nor have I ever been a mean girl. I’ll give her a call later tonight before I make my final decision, but dios mio this has been strange so far.

Ready to mingle and get toasted

Your suspicions are correct; I haven’t felt like blogging much lately. Life is still going on over here, I’m just not all that anxious to write about it. Nevertheless, here’s how I’m feeling today:

I think I want a valentine this year. Not for gifts that money can buy. Just for time and affection. I want to do the things that lovers do... for a spell. Some of my girlfriends do too. So a handful of us will be attending a wine tasting singles soiree soon. I’m hoping that something interesting comes of it, other than me learning to taste wine, which I have no real interest in. All I know about wine tasting is that you are supposed to spit, not swallow J I'm not really a fan of alcohol. I’m mostly looking forward to getting dolled up and hanging out with my girls that night. If nothing else, that should be fun. I’m keeping my expectations at a minimum, as usual. It’s better to be open to a pleasant surprise than to go in expecting one. The venue is beautiful and they serve white chocolate Godiva martini’s, which sounds delicious and sophisticated. Two of my favorite adjectives. Something tells me that wine tasting singles soiree’s in Los Angeles aren't likely to be frequented by men that I have the most in common with, though. But here’s to hoping I get lucky!

Oh, as a bonus, I can add wine tasting to my list of life experiences.