Tales from the Crypt Revisited

NOTE TO READERS: Recently someone asked me what a few of my favorite blog posts were. This one came to mind immediately. In light of my impending birthday, and my subsequent thoughts of starting a facelift fund, I thought I'd re-share it. If it makes you laugh, please consider following this site. And...I LOVE comments. People often email me comments instead of posting them here, or they put them on my Facebook page. That's great, too, but this really is the best place for them. That way, when I go back and look over the older posts (which I will be doing soon since I'm working on a book based on the blog), I will know what you all thought! So...that all being said, here is a post about something extremely important if you live in L.A....PLASTIC SURGERY! Well, not just plastic surgery...read it and you'll see.

I went to the mall yesterday for a little retail therapy.  Hey, I'm just trying to do my part to stimulate the economy.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  While I was wandering around the mall in my state of bargain hunting euphoria I started to notice the faces of some of the women there.  Now granted, this isn't your run of the mill mall.  It's in an affluent area and the people who shop there can, well, afford to shop there.  But as I looked at their faces, I could see that they can also afford a few other things.

One woman who had been walking in front of me for several minutes appeared to be in her mid to late twenties--from behind that is.  She was dressed in a trendy, but tasteful body conscious outfit.  Designer jeans, cute wedge sandals, printed cotton top, cropped cardigan, basically the uniform for suburban women of taste.  Her hair was gorgeous from the back.  I was just admiring her highlights and her perfect layers when she abruptly stopped and turned around.  Maybe she'd dropped something, maybe she'd passed the store she was looking for.  I don't know what made her do it, but I hope she didn't see my reaction, because when that woman turned around she suddenly was not a twenty-something fashion plate.  She was the Crypt Keeper.  Well, not so much the Crypt Keeper as the Crypt Keeper after several visits to the plastic surgeon.

I don't know if women realize when they decide to go to that level of tightening that they aren't really going to look younger.  I know people argue that they aren't trying to look younger, just "refreshed".  But, I can tell you that this woman did not look younger or refreshed.  What she did look was surprised.  That about sums it up.  She had a permanent look of shock on her face that I must say, did not match her outfit in the least.  Her eyebrows were so far up on her forehead that they had taken up residence in the neighborhood directly adjacent to her hairline.  Her eye lids had also been tweaked (and that's putting it kindly).  I'm not sure she could blink actually.  Why, there wasn't enough slack for her face to show any expression other than surprised.  And even if there was, the botox would have kept her from making it.

I think I may have let out a slight gasp when she noticed me stopped dead in my tracks staring in disbelief.  And that's when, the saddest thing of all happened.  She smiled.  I tell you, it was the most pained, swollen, collagen injected,  wanna-be smile I've ever seen (sorry Lisa Rinna, even your trout pout runs a distant second).  It was as if two overstuffed breakfast sausages had been Crazy Glued in the spot where her real lips should have been.  They completely filled the space between her perfectly sloped and buttoned nose and her chiseled chin.  With so little surface area left it was amazing that she could even force those lips into anything remotely resembling a smile.  I was shocked.  I was stunned.  I was hoping I didn't look as surprised to see her as she looked to see...everything.

It was too late to run, she had made eye contact.  So I did what any polite suburban shopaholic would do.  I said, "Um...nice shoes," and I cut and run into Nordstrom.  Now I'm as insecure as the next woman when it comes to aging.  As I sipped my half caf, non fat, post traumatic soy latte in the cafe by the juniors department I had to ask, was that my future self?  As startled as I was by that woman's appearance, I could understand the desperation that lead her to the plastic surgeon's office.  This is a harsh reality women face in this society.  Sean Connery can be weathered and bald, Brad Pitt can be slightly rumpled and still sexy as can be as he approaches the half century mark.  But when Jamie Lee Curtis stops coloring her hair and vows to embrace aging gracefully, it makes headline news.  Honestly, the woman was on Oprah, that's how rare it is for a woman to willingly go into that goodnight.  Most fight it every step of the way with methods as simple as hiding their roots to the varied array of alterations that can only be done under general anesthetic.  I am not immune to this desire to look younger, fresher.  I'm holding steady for now, but who's to say what time will bring?  Will my insecurities leave me looking permanently surprised?   I decided to cut my retail therapy session short.  When the waiter came with the check I handed him a sweaty, balled up twenty.  "Sorry it's so wrinkled,"  I aplogized.

"That's OK." He smiled smoothing out the bill, "It doesn't matter how wrinkled it is, the value is the same."  I wish buddy.  I wish.

Well Fiddle-Dee-Dee, My Daughter's College Bound

If you've followed my blog for awhile you know all about my daughter Kayla. She's super smart, super pretty, super talented, super athletic and NO...I'm not super biased just because I'm her mom!


Anyways, she is a senior in high school (when the hell did that happen?) and has finally, after much deliberation, settled on where she will go to college this fall.


She was accepted to six fine universities. They are, in no particular order...Kieran, dim the lights...


St. John's
Dickenson
UCSD
Boston University
Boston College
Tulane University


And the winner is...drum roll please.....


TULANE!!!!


Yes, my daughter will be heading south to New Orleans this fall. Or should I say Naw'lins? I am now working on my southern accent, and looking for a hoop skirt in green and white.


Roll Wave to y'all!


Susan Fiddle-dee-dee Cross


P.S. Mint Julip anyone?

Recipe by Bobby Flay for Food Network

Ingredients

• 5 fresh mint leaves, plus a few mint sprigs, for garnish
• 1 teaspoon sugar
• Shaved ice
• 2 1/2 ounces bourbon whiskey
• Lemon slice, for garnish, optional
• Orange slice, for garnish, optional
• Maraschino cherry, for garnish, optional

Directions

Place mint leaves, sugar and a splash of water into a silver julep cup or a 12-ounce Tom Collins glass. Muddle the mint, sugar, and water together with the tip of the handle of a wooden spoon. Fill the glass with shaved ice, add the bourbon, and stir until combined. Garnish with a lemon or orange slice, a cherry, and a few sprigs of fresh mint.

My Glass was Half Full, but it Spilled this Morning

Today is Monday. Any normal person would know just by that fact alone that it was going to suck. But, I have never been a hater of Mondays. It may be the optimist in me, but I've always thought of Mondays fondly.

Mondays represent a fresh start. Mondays are the best days to hit the ground running. And today, I was planning to do just that. Literally.

I had made a plan with my friend Kay to meet at her house and take a brisk walk/jog. I had to take my son to school, get home, change, and then let the dogs out before leaving for Kay's. I have five dogs:  two terriers and three cock-a-poos. Actually I have two terriers, two cock-a-poos, and one cock-a-poo/Houdini mix. She knows how to escape from everywhere, including our fenced in yard. She does it almost daily. How she hasn't been eaten by a coyote or swooped up by a hawk, I do not know. Maybe in addition to her escape skills she also knows how to make herself invisible. I don't know. Magicians never reveal their tricks.

At any rate, I made the mistake of taking my eyes off of her for a nano second and *poof*, she was gone. So I text my friend and told her I would be late. Finally I found her--she reappeared on the slope and looked not the slightest bit remorseful. Good thing for her that she's ridiculously cute and hard to be mad at.

I was in a rush, and so I decided to take my little zip around car, which was parked right out front. My Mom-mobile was in the garage and I didn't want to waste time walking to the other end of the house. Silly me.

I got most of the way to my friends before my zip around car stopped zipping. Entirely. It was out of gas. This has only ever happened to me once before. Luckily I had my AAA card and a bar or two on my cell phone. The tow truck came, put in a drop of gas, and I drove to the closest gas station to fill it up the rest of the way.

I know this is life, these things happen, and I am quite fortunate to have had the AAA card, and cell service, and even a car---I know there are plenty of people wish they had a car that could run out of gas. And I'm lucky to have had the money to fill the car up again, etc. There I go, trying to fill that glass half full again.

My Monday Morning Moral is:  In order to keep my glass half full, I need to make sure my gas tank is half full, too. That and I need to invest in invisible fencing for that dang dog.

Lay Off Jessica Simpson

Considering that this is an election year, and that our country is in economic crisis, and North Korea launched a rocket over the Yellow Sea, it’s no surprise that there are so many headlines about Jessica Simpson’s pregnancy weight gain. At least we have our priorities straight as far as what’s newsworthy, right?

Now that I’ve complained about the amount of media attention her pregnancy is garnering, let me just add to it. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

OK…Jessica Simpson has gained some weight with this pregnancy. Clearly. But, in her defense, she’s only about 5’2” tall; so it’s no wonder that she looks more, how shall I say, round, than the average pregnant woman. And, if she’s more round than the average pregnant woman, then she’s humongous by celebrity pregnant woman standards.

How do these celebs hide their pregnancies for so long? They're usually taller than average, start out way too thin to begin with, they wear baggy clothes, and carry suitcase sized purses that conveniently hide their midsection. It’s a wonder we ever find out they're pregnant at all until we see them months later, size triple zero again, having traded in the suitcase/purse for a baby, which, let’s face it, is the absolute best celebrity accessory there is, at least for getting photographed anyway.

I have nothing against these women who seem superhuman in their ability to carry a baby and look like they’ve swallowed an olive. But, I hardly think it’s fair to call Jessica Simpson fat, or declare her to be unhealthy just because she doesn’t carry that way.

She’s always had curves, and she’s never hidden that fact. She’s had some weight fluctuations, but lord knows most women do. So what, she’s pregnant and she looks pregnant. Good for her. Congratulations! If she's having a health issue as a result of her weight gain, I’m sure her doctor will monitor her—so the rest of us really don’t need to.

I am on the petite side myself, and had very healthy sized babies. As a result, I looked pretty darn pregnant when I was pregnant. Nobody dared tell me I was too fat—at least not to my face anyway. I hope that Jessica can tune all of the negative comments out and enjoy the rest of her pregnancy. I also hope she doesn’t feel the need to starve herself on some sort of cabbage soup diet in order to drop the weight at record speed after she gives birth. Although, if she does, I’m sure there will be a ton of headlines about that, too. I’m not sure how she will get the media to ignore her. Maybe if she were to launch a missile or something…

Classism in Flight: A Tale of Two Toilets

Recently I was on a flight from L.A. to N.Y. when an older woman from first class made her way to the back of the plane where I was sitting in coach (I'd rather spend my money on shoes!). She had come to complain to the flight attendant that someone from coach had the gall to enter first class and use the first class restroom.  The horror of it all.

The flight attendant listened politely and then said that the fasten seatbelt sign was on, and the woman really should return to her seat.

The woman was having none of it.

At this point I made an educated guess that the lowly commoner from coach who's unworthy buttocks had defiled the golden toilet seat in first class,  must have been a) closer to that bathroom, b) worried they might have trouble walking all the way to the back of the plane with the turbulence, and/or c) really needed to pee.

To hear the woman carry on you would think a serious crime had been committed. Not just committed, but committed against the fine people of first class.

"It's absolutely unacceptable," she scolded the flight attendant. "If people from coach are occupying the first class lavatory, then I have to walk all the way back here to use the coach lavatory." She went on to explain that she normally is in a wheel chair, and it is very difficult for her to get to the back of the plane--through coach--it's simply too far for her to have to walk.

I started to see her point, I mean, the cooties alone are a risk she simply shouldn't have to take. And, as  the lady had said, she normally is in a wheel chair. Then it dawned on me...she wasn't currently in a wheel chair, and, hadn't she just successfully walked all the way back to complain about how it was too much for her to walk all the way back? Not only had she walked all that way, she had done so while carrying a full glass of red wine--of which she hadn't spilled a single drop.

I kinda wanted to tell her maybe she could solve her problem by drinking that glass of wine. It might help loosen up her be-hind so the stick that no doubt has been up there for all eternity might fall out. That'd be a healing I'd pay for and pray for!

Instead I just bit my tongue. Literally. So I wouldn't bust up laughing.

The flight attendant seemed also to be trying not to laugh. She cleared her throat and once again, advised the woman that the fasten seatbelt sign was lit and she should make her way back to her seat.

Good thing she didn't try to use our restroom before she did. There might have been an uprising.

Sh*t My Friends Said, Reposted Here for Your Amazement

I have the funniest and most insightful friends on the planet as evidenced by the following quotes that I stole from their Facebook posts.

LD:  It is as much of a disservice to overestimate people as it is to underestimate them. 

AW: I have a DEFCON 5 Bikini threat on the horizon: San Diego AND Maimi Beach with my most Barbie-like friend!!!!!


BA:  Totally counts. Especially if one of the guys with the horse carriages whistles at you...


RM: You spot it, you got it.

DM:  I finally figured out that "Neko Case" is not a bunch of opaque candy wafers, purchased in bulk.

AC:  Drop kick me Jesus through the goalposts of life...


MH:  Yup. That's my high school in the background and in the title. Sort of Ironic that the school that told us to "know something, do something, be something" will now be made most famous by a weed smoking rapper....I like it.


Am I right, or am I right?

Send in the Clones

Hello Dolly.

If necessity is the mother of all invention, then why haven't mothers been cloned yet?

Today my daughter has a soccer game at 3:00 in one city (Go Blazers!), and my son has a lacrosse game in another city at 5:00 (Go Lions!). No problem.  Send in the clone.

I really wish I could be in two places at once.  In fact, there are days I wish I could be in three places at once.  Thank goodness Aidan's basketball season ended or I'd really be in trouble.

It's beyond difficult as a mother to choose which kid is going to get priority when they have conflicting events/activities. Kayla's team is in the semi-finals, so I could say that trumps any other game. The thing is though, that I already used that justification last week when Kayla had a play off game and I missed Rory's first scrimmage. Why oh why is it always the middle child who gets the short end of the stick--in this case, the lacrosse stick? Today it's not just a scrimmage, it's a real game--and it's his very first one. I feel like he should have a parent there cheering him on, and I want to be that parent.

The problem is, I also want to be that parent for Kayla. And it's humanly impossible for me to be all the way the heck down by South Central for her game, and make it all the way back up to the valley for Rory's. So, even though it's a semi final, I won't be there. If I had a clone to send in my place, I would. But, since I don't, I will just have to know that I am there in spirit, and her dad is there in person to text me the play by play.

Don't Wait

My mother-in-law passed away February 1st. She was a wonderful woman and I learned a lot of lessons from her.  Perhaps the most important though, I learned the day of her funeral.


Her family, like so many families, has it's share of drama. There are people who don't get along, who don't speak to each other even. There are people who go years without seeing one another--I'm afraid I am guilty of that last one.  In fact, my children and I had never even met one of their first cousins, and she's turning 7 next week.


We always have good intentions, we always say, "Hope to see you soon!" in cards and emails, which are also too few and far between. But, in the end, we don't make the effort.


This was something that my mother-in-law always talked about--how important family was, how much she wished to have a good relationship with everyone, and that we all have a good relationship with each other. She had a huge heart, and always managed to find the good in people, even people who had wronged her.  She was capable of putting differences aside in order to stay connected and keep the peace.


All of us, the ones who have such a hard time figuring out how to find time to get together, and the ones who didn't want to talk to each other, let alone be around each other, managed to make arrangements and get to her funeral, and with very little notice. Proof that it isn't nearly as difficult as we make it out to be.


It was a lovely funeral.  My mother-in-law was an excellent and thoughtful planner and she, knowing she was very seriously ill, had written down exactly how she wanted her service to be. She had requested certain readings and songs, and people who should do those readings and songs.  I was honored that she had asked that I sing Amazing Grace--and even though I was very doubtful that I would be able to sing it through without falling apart, I did. I wanted to honor her request, and her. I hope she knew how very much I loved her. I wish I could tell her one more time, but she's gone on now to a better place.


After the funeral everyone went over to her brother's house.  His wife graciously and spontaneously opened her home to everyone, and we all came together. People were talking, hugging, laughing.  The very same people who hadn't interacted in so long, had crossed an imaginary bridge built by my mother-in-law's love. Differences were set aside because they were, as my mother-in-law knew all along, simply not important enough to keep people apart.


She would have been so happy to see everyone together. I wish we'd done something like that sooner, so that she could have been there in person, and not just in spirit.


The lesson I learned is this. Don't wait. Don't make excuses. Tell the people you love that you love them right this minute. It's not impossible to find time to get together. It's not unheard of to take a weekend and plan a reunion just because, and not just because someone has passed away.


And for people who have rifts within their family, branches so far apart that it's hard to believe they even grew from the same tree--grow up. These are your people. Don't let your anger block your love. Nobody is asking you to let go of it. If you want to be mad, be mad. But at least put it aside enough to leave room for hope, and love, and joy.

To my beautiful mother-in-law:  Just look at what your love did!

What Would Emily Post Do?

It is common knowledge that there's a lag time between technology and the law. I believe there is one between technology and etiquette, too. It used to be that when faced with a question about etiquette all one had to do was consult Emily Post.  She had all the answers:  wait until 3 people have been served before starting to eat, send a gift within twelve months of a wedding, and a thank you note for gifts received within one month. Where is the Emily Post equivalent for the questions brought on by modern day technology?

For example, what is an reasonable timeframe in which to respond to a text message? Anybody? When I text someone, I expect them to text me back.  Not the instant they get it, but within a day or so. If there is a question within a text, I believe a recipient should answer it.  If it’s just a random text like, “This funny thing just happened!”  Then maybe it doesn't warrant a reply, but when someone sends me something like that, at the very least I send a “J” or "LOL". That way, the sender knows that I got their message, and that I am indeed alive, and not dead in a ditch somewhere.  But that's just me.  And I am considerate.  Unfortunately, I am also sensitive.  OK...I am overly sensitive.  That's why when someone doesn't return one of my texts, I can't help but think that they must not like me very much.  Or they don't care about my feelings.  Or worse, they know it hurts my feelings and that's why they are not answering me!  It's a long, dark rabbit hole, and I have a very hard time not going down it whenever someone doesn't text me back.

And what about Facebook? It used to be that if someone was going to have a party, they mailed invitations to the people they wanted to include. These invited people then knew better than to go around broadcasting the fact that they were invited, because it was commonly understood that it would be rude to those who were NOT invited. That common courtesy has gone out the window with the invention of Facebook. Now everybody knows about the party, knows ahead of time when it’s going to happen, who all is going, and that they were not invited. Then during the event they have to see all the pictures that the invited people post of themselves enjoying the party, as the event is played out in real time. Of course I know that I could just not log onto Facebook in order to save my feelings, but there are so many other things I’d miss knowing about if I do that. For example, I wouldn’t know what kind of sandwiches my friends ate for lunch, who had a cold, who got a new kitten, etc.

I'm not saying that I'm perfect. I'm sure there have been a few times that I forgot to respond to a text message, or posted pictures of some soiree I'm having (or attending), without thinking about how that might make people who were not invited feel. I just wish there was some rule that we could all agree to and abide by. Until there is, when faced with a high-tech etiquette dilemma, maybe we ought to ask ourselves, "What would Emily Post do?"

A Holiday Break Reminder for Kids and Moms

A Note to My Children:

1. Just because YOU are on holiday break does not mean that I am on holiday break.
2. As much as I wish I could drop everything and go to the bouncy place or the go kart place the instant you decide you don't want to play video games anymore...or when you get tired of watching stupid videos on You Tube, I simply CAN'T!  You need to give me some notice!
3. Please don't decline when I offer to take you out to lunch only to whine "I'm HUNGRY," the second I return.  The reason I wanted to go out was because I did not want to cook/clean up dishes.
4. Please don't look at me like I'm the worst mom on the planet because I am not providing you Disneyland level entertainment at all times.

A Note to Myself:

1. You are not the worst mom on the planet.
2. You are doing your best.
3. School will resume in January.

How My Kids are Like Their Dogs, and Vice-Versa

Now before you get all upset with me and think I'm calling my children dogs...I'm not. That would be way too insulting to the dogs. KIDDING! All jokes aside though, I can't help but notice some similarities between my kids and their chosen pups. We have five dogs, two are older and we've had them for years. But, the kids wanted a puppy and so a year ago, I agreed (caved) and took them to a rescue. Big mistake. Each child proceeded to fall in love with a different pup and we ended up taking 3 home. I guess I'm just a really nice (whimpy) mom who loves to say yes (can't say no). I'm not this easy going about everthing, but when it comes to animals, what can I say? I'm a big softie (sucker).

Back to how my kids are like their dogs.  Shortly after we got these puppies it became evident that each child had picked a canine version of themselves. Can a dog have a personality? Wouldn't they have Doginalities?  Either way, the similarities between dog and owner are uncanny.

My oldest, a daughter, is a leader (bossy).  Even when the kids were very small, she would always be the one to choose the game, assign roles, and if anybody dared to contest her rule, she didn't mind enforcing it.  Don't get me wrong, I love her and wouldn't changed a single hair on her gorgeous red head.  The bossiness she exhibited early on has settled into an eager confidence and clear intelligence.  She is a leader.  No enforcement necessary.  Parker, Kayla's dog, is also a leader.  He thinks he should decide who gets to eat first (him), who gets the best dog bed (him), who gets their pick of toys, or most of the time, all of the toys (him), and who gets the rawhide chews (that's right, him).  The other two don't want to concede, but if they don't...they fight.  Parker is, in spite of being a litter mate of his brother and a half sibling/cousin (don't ask) to his sister, twice their size.  When people ask me why he's so much bigger than the other two I explain that we originally had 4 puppies, but Parker ate the other one.  Again, kidding!  I don't know why he's bigger, but he certainly takes full advantage of it.  Just like Kayla.  Now in Kayla's case, it's temporary.  My middle child, Rory is gaining on her, and fast.  He's probably only 3/4 of an inch shorter now.  It's hard to know because Kayla has stopped letting him measure back-to-back or even stand next to her if they are both barefoot.  I think she knows her days of being the biggest are coming to an end.  But, since her brothers have had years of training (by Kayla of course), I don't think it will make a bit of difference.  They will most likely always defer to her wishes.  They are going to make wonderful husbands one day, my boys.

Our middle child, the one who is closing in on the "tallest kid" title is extremely good natured. He is easy going, and eager to lend a hand. He is also very smart like his sister, and he likes music, and art and is good at both. He doesn't seem like the kind of kid who would be into anything extreme, but for some reason, he is fascinated by anything you might find at the X Games. He loves to skateboard and longboard (don't ask me what the difference is), bike, scooter, etc. He can do flips on the trampoline, ollies on his skateboard, and is always looking to learn new tricks.  To meet him, you wouldn't guess that about him.  And his dog Maggie is just the same.  She is the smallest of the three (in that regard she's different than Rory), she is super sweet and happy to play with any of the other dogs.  She has those eyes that you can't say no to--if you've seen Puss in Boots from the movie Shrek, you know the face.  You would never suspect that she is a ninja. We call her Puppy Ninja or Parkour Puppy because she can get out of almost anything. Our yard is fenced. How she gets out I do not know. She won't do it when anyone is looking but, the second you turn your back she's escaped. Thank goodness she doesn't seem to want to go anywhere. So far she's never gone further than the next door neighbor's. We had to put a chain link dog run inside of the wrought iron dog run in order to contain her, but I'm afraid it's only a matter of time before she makes like Hound-ini and escapes that, too. She can jump higher than one would think gravity would allow. And she uses this power to leap up and over sofas, chairs, other dogs, small children, etc. But to see her, you'd never expect that.

Our youngest child is a sassafras. He is funny and has his own ideas about what he wants to do and how to go about doing it. He is also very bright (I swear--all three of my children are geniuses--I am not at all biased!), and sometimes this gets him into trouble. His dog Dillon, is the same way. He's a darling dog, a smaller, stockier version of Parker. The kids call him The Low Rider. They also call him Mad Scientist, because sometimes he looks like he's deep in thought and then, an instant later he's running around seemingly caught up in some game that only he understands.  The other two dogs look at him like he's a little bit crazy sometimes--just like Aidan. I'm sure the dog is not crazy, and I'm sure Aidan isn't either. They just have their own quirky ideas sometimes, and it's best to simply let them do their thing.

You may have seen those pictures of people who look just like their dogs. Well, my kids don't look like their dogs, but they sure as heck act like them. Good thing they are all so cute (the kids and the dogs), because when they are chewing up my antique dresser (dogs) or peeing on my newly reupholstered sofa (dogs), I swear I think about getting rid of them (dogs...not the kids...well...). If I recall correctly the kids used to do all those same things, and I kept them around.

Tweeting for Twits (Like Me)

I have gone and done it now.  I joined Twitter.  Why, you might ask, would I do something like that?  Especially when I'm so technologically challenged?  Here are my top five reasons.

1. All the cool kids are doing it (and I really want to be a cool kid).
2. Once in a rare while I have something really insightful to say and I want to make sure that the next time that happens, someone in the world knows about it.
3. I'm trying to keep up with the Kardashians and I don't think I can pull off a sex tape.
4. I am hoping it will help me learn to be more succinct. How many characters was that? I think it's working!
5. I want to know what's trending right this minute.  No.  Now.  No.  NOW!

Actually, I'm tweeting because I am promoting my upcoming book (40 by 40:  List it, Live it, Love Your Life), and other interesting things.  I only have 20 followers at this moment in time, so I am not sure how well it's working to that end.  Unexpected bonus, it's a brand new way for me to embarrass my teenagers.  That's something to tweet about!

By TwitterButtons.com

Keep It Simple Stupid! (KISS)

This year I have decided to do my best to practice the KISS method of holiday preparations.

If you don't know, KISS stands for Keep It Simple Stupid.  One of my very nice cousins says, Keep It Simple Sweetheart.  I'm not that nice, so I'll keep the Stupid.

Christmas is only a couple of weeks away and I have done absolutely NOTHING to get ready for it.  There are no decorations in my yard, no tree in my living room, and no wreath on my door.  And as for presents, well...I haven't started shopping for those either.  Needless to say I am feeling more than a little bit overwhelmed.  Feeling overwhelmed is not the way I want to be feeling.  I want to be feeling MERRY!

That's why I'm going to try that KISS thing.  Here's what I have in mind.

Tree Shopping.  In years past I have spent hours and hours searching multiple lots for exactly the "right" tree.  But in hindsight, there is no such thing.  If I want a perfect tree then I'd have to get an artificial one, and that maybe my next step, but until then, no real tree is going to be perfect.  It's impossible.  Therefore, I shall spend no more than 5 minutes at ONE tree lot.  I will pick out the first 7 foot noble fir I come across that looks reasonably fresh.  If it has a few holes, so be it.  That's why God invented large ornaments.

Gift Buying.  Usually I will really think about what might be the one certain something that each and every single certain someone on my Christmas list might love to receive.  It takes quite a lot of time and energy and since I don't have much of either, I'm going to think of something that is something that I would like to receive, something gender neutral, and I'm going to make that THE gift that I give to everyone.  Well, will you look at that!  I'm practically done shopping right now.

Gift Wrapping.  Can we say gift bags?  Whomever invented the gift bag should be be sent a medal.  And it should come in a gift bag.  I think they sell those in bulk online, no?  I'll wrap a few for my own kids to open.  I mean Santa will.  Or his elves.  But for everyone who will be receiving whatever that gender neutral something-or-other is that I myself would be happy to receive, you'll be receiving it in a gift bag.  I won't write your name on it so you can reuse it.  Recycling is a gift that keeps on giving.

Cooking.  I am going to really do something different here.  I think I am going to NOT cook.  Well, maybe I'll make a few sides and a salad.  But as for the main course?  That's gonna be whatever already to serve meat looks decent and affordable that they have on the day I make it to Costco.  If it's rotisserie chicken, so be it.  I'm a vegetarian anyway, so it's not going to effect me.  If anyone else has something to say about it, they can cook some dead animal themselves.

Cards.  This is one tradition I'm going to keep.  It is somewhat time consuming, addressing all those cards by hand.  BUT...I am going to be smart this year and enter all the names and addresses into my address book on my computer after I hand write them on the cards.  That way next year, PRESTO!  Labels.

Decorations.  Right now my garage is in a bit of a state of disarray.  I will set a timer for 15 minutes and whatever boxes I can get to that are marked "X-Mas" are the only ones that I will bring into the house and open.  If some of them have ornaments, we can put them on our imperfect tree.  If some of them have lights, then I'll tack some around the door.  I'm not getting on the roof.  I'm not paying through the nose to have someone else get on my roof.  It's dangerous, it's expensive, and I'd rather make a donation to charity instead.

Cookies.  Every year we bake and decorate sugar cookies.  We have a million and one cookie cutters.  The most time consuming part of this is making the dough and waiting for it to chill in the fridge.  I think I am going to buy pre-made dough.  Frosting is very easy to make.  If I put homemade frosting on store bought dough, can I just say they're homemade cookies?  YES I CAN!

I hope you don't think I am being too Grinch-like.  It's just that I want to enjoy the season and stop feeling so stressed out by it.  That's why I am going to make these changes and try keeping it simple (stupid).  You know what?  I feel less overwhelmed already!

Happy Holidays EVERYONE!  And if you are feeling overwhelmed with all the trimmings and trappings, let me give you a little KISS!  It's gender neutral, and it's something I myself was happy to receive.

A KISS from me to you!

Benched at the Theater

Last night I went out with a couple of girlfriends of mine to see a play that yet another girlfriend was in.  This was at a small community theater, although not in our own community.  We went to dinner first at a darling little restaurant called Sage.

I am not big into using my blog to advertise, but I must say that this restaurant was really great.  The service was good, the food was excellent, it was just the right amount of casual and elegant.  It felt like we were having dinner at someone's house if that someone was wealthy, but did not need to flaunt it, had an amazing cook, and who decided at the last minute not to join us, leaving us guests to feel like we had the place to ourselves (along with the 50 0r so other people who were there).  We had a delicious bottle of wine, followed by another delicious bottle of wine (friends of ours were at another table and sent it over--what wonderful friends to have!).

We were having such a wonderful time eating, drinking, and catching up on all the goings on in each other's lives that we hardly noticed the time.  The show was going to start at 8:00 and when I finally thought to check, it was 7:52.  Our amazingly attentive wait staff was suddenly not so attentive, which often is the case when they realize you won't be ordering anything else and they don't have anyone waiting to occupy your table.  Maybe they thought that if they left us long enough we might decide to order dessert.  The clock was ticking and so one of my friends got up and started searching for our waiter so we could get the check.

Thank goodness the theater was just down the street.  We parked, dashed in, collected our playbills with the official "tickets" we had purchased online attached.  They were Post-its.  This is local theater.  But, no mind, they had our seat numbers hand written on them (the seats I had selected online), and the show had not yet started.  We breathed a sigh of relief that we had not missed anything, and that we were not going to be blocking anyone's view of anything as we took our seats.  That whole, "Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me, pardon me," bit can be pretty awkward after a show has begun.  But, like I said, this one hadn't.

Oddly, nobody seemed in a rush to seat us.  As we stood there in the back of the theater I glanced around trying to determine where our seats were so we might seat ourselves.  It is a tiny venue, and it should have been no trouble to find our three empty seats in a row. Only, there weren't any empty seats.  Not in a row, and not anywhere else.  They were not seating us, because they had sold our seats.  I guess I should say REsold them.

Now if we had not arrived and the show had started, I can see that perhaps they might have let someone else sit down in our places.  But, the show had not started.  Regardless, they decided to gamble that we would be no-shows, and sold our seats again.  Another girlfriend of ours who is also part of this little theater company, but who was not in this particular show, approached.  She seemed flustered and with no explanation of what the heck had happened, she led us to the only place available to sit.  A hard bench that was placed against a back wall directly next to the band, way to the right.  The seats we had purchased in advance were more center and in the second row.  They were also occupied by three elderly people who we did not dare ask to trade us at intermission.

As there was not really room for three on that hard bench, a low chair was dragged over and placed next to it.  Now, we aren't as old as the people they'd double sold our seats to, but two of us have had back surgery (me being one of the two).  So sitting on a hard bench for any length of time was not going to be much fun at all.  especially when the bench was pulled up to a wall, forcing us to sit at a 90 degree angle.  To make matters worse, the bench was rather high.  I don't think it was intended to be a bench actually.  It may have been a console table of some kind come to think of it.  Regardless, my feet were dangling which only added to the strain on my back.

We are good humored gals, and we are also supportive friends. So we sat through the first half in discomfort and watched as the person we'd come to see did her small part.  She is a good actress and an even better singer, but this was not exactly a showcase of her talent.  She had I believe, two lines.  Had I known that ahead of time, I might have waited to come see her in something where she had a bigger part.  Especially if I was going to have to sit on a hard console/bench with my feet dangling in order to do it.

I have three kids, and five dogs, and a father-in-law visiting.  I had left them all behind.  Earlier in the day I had run to Petsmart to buy dog food.  With five dogs we go through it pretty quickly.  I had forgotten to ask the family to make sure the dogs were fed, and since there really wasn't enough to go around in the bottom of the old bag at breakfast time, I wanted to make sure they got dinner.  I had sent a text message to each member of my family before we left the restaurant, hoping that at least one of them would get it so the pups wouldn't go hungry and eat my desk or something.  If you read my last post you know they already ate the sofa.  The sound on my phone was off, and I peeked at it to make sure that somebody text me back.

Sure enough, after intermission when we were once again "benched" someone came up to lecture me about texting during the show.  I hadn't actually text anyone, I was making sure that someone had text me.  But regardless, there was nothing behind me but a hard wall.  I highly doubt that the wall was bothered by my peeking at my phone.  I'm not sure who it was that complained, but they would have had to have been behind me.  And the only people who had that vantage point were the ones who worked at the theater.  I cannot believe that they would have the audacity to say anything at all to me or my friends after having collected $34 dollars apiece for seats that they then sold to someone else before the show had even started, and with no explanation, refund, or apology, put us on a bench and one low chair.

I suppose it's good that they take their shows seriously even though it is local community theater.  But I think perhaps they are taking things a bit too seriously when they start lecturing people for what in comparison to what they did to us, could not really be considered remotely rude.  Normally I would not have peeked at my phone in a theater, wall behind me or not.  But, I could have had five dogs starving, and I couldn't let that happen.  When the man was trying to chastise me for my cell phone usage one of my friends asked him, "What happened with our seats?"

He tried to defend what they had done by saying we had been late.  I reminded him that the show had not started when we'd arrived.  He said that regardless, at exactly 8 PM they resell the seats.  I considered sending him a bill for the chiropractor that I will no doubt need to visit after being stuck on a hard bench for so long.  Needless to say, I won't be going to that theater again.  If one of my friends does a show there in the future, I may send someone in to video the whole performance with their cell phone, and then text it to me.  Hopefully they will do so from a front row center seat that had been paid for twice, preferably with bad checks.

The Pups Ate My Sofa

Today my pups topped themselves. You might remember that I wrote a post a while back called The Dog Ate My Screenplay. I should have titled that one The DogS (plural) Ate My Screenplay since it was no doubt all three of them.  These are the puppies I'm talking about, not the other two dogs. The older two don't do those things any more. They do other things. One snores like crazy and refuses to go out when it's cold or rainy. The other one gets upset if I'm gone for any length of time and demonstrates this by peeing and pooping all over the house upon my return. She's an angel for whoever is watching her. She saves up the bad behavior just for me. But, at least she doesn't chomp on things she shouldn't. Like my sofa.


Yes, my sofa, my brand new sofa, that is the latest in a long line of innocent victims to the puppies favorite pastime. It happened this morning while I was taking one of the kids to school. I wasn't even gone a half an hour. I was so upset when I saw what they'd done that I ran directly to the computer to try and Google "dog trainers", and put a plea out to my Facebook friends for advice.


I didn't get very far though. I had forgotten that the dogs also ate my Internet.  Well, they ate the wires for the Internet modem more accurately. A friend managed to MacGyver it back together (and yes, I did just use MacGyver as a verb), but today it was on strike. I tried turning everything off, then on, then restarting the computer, over and over and over again.  After the 50th failed attempt to resuscitate the Internet I gave up and called my provider. I convinced them to come out here tomorrow to rewire the dang thing.  Of course it started working again right after I hung up the phone.


I'm keeping the appointment anyway. If I don't then it will for sure stop working again. No matter what, I need to have the modem moved to a safer location. A puppy-proof location. Perhaps on the top shelf of a rarely used closet. Too bad I didn't think to put my sofa up there.

RIP NEW GRAY SLIP COVERED SOFA

Oct. 2011 - Nov. 2011

An L.A. Mom's New York Adventure

I just spent a week in NYC, and I’m still alive.  Just kidding!  It was fabulous.  I find my fun not matter where I am, and this trip was no different.  I met a lot of truly amazing people.  What you hear about New York is true.  It’s a very different energy there than anywhere else in the world.

However…for the sake of full disclosure, there are some other things about this city that are unlike anywhere else in the world, too.  And because I live in L.A., which is sort of the polar opposite of NY, I might have been hyper-aware of them.

Take transportation.  Granted, we in L.A. don’t rely on anybody else to get us where we want to go.  We drive ourselves.  Sometimes we drive ourselves across the strip mall parking lot just to avoid walking.  We walk for exercise only, and when we do we mean business.  But, otherwise, we drive.  In New York everybody seems to have a very skewed perception of distance, because no matter who I asked, every place was a “short walk” from everyplace else.  Maybe for smart people in flats and tennis shoes this is true.  But, I am from L.A. and my footwear of choice usually has no less than a four-inch heel.  Remember, we don’t walk anywhere.

“No problem, you can always catch a cab,” was the response I got whenever I’d point out my shoes.  Only thing is, I don’t know how.  It is completely against my nature to shout at someone in the street, or wave at strangers in moving cars.  Telling someone like me to hail a taxi is the equivalent of telling Richard Simmons to start a bar fight.  It’s just not in my nature.  I might have stood a chance if I knew ahead of time what that little light thing on top of the cab meant.  Time after time I would try to get the attention of a cabbie that was apparently off duty (I should say apparently to everybody else, but me).

When I did manage to get a cab it was usually with help from a hotel doorman who would take pity on me and help me out even though I wasn’t staying at their hotel.  I think doormen are the nicest people in New York.  Of course, this could have something to do with the fact that they work for tips.

But, since the cab drivers also work for tips, one would think they’d make an effort to be nice to their passengers, or at least learn their way around their own city.  I would say that 95% of the time I got into a cab and gave the driver the address he’d ask me where it was and how to get there.  At this time I’d like to give a special shout out to Google Maps without whom I would have missed every important meeting I had this week.

Another thing we don’t have much of in L.A. that I had to deal with in N.Y. was weather.  I brought an umbrella so when it started to rain I thought I was prepared.  I opened up my umbrella as I walked toward the building where I was to have my next meeting (yes, in my 4 inch heels).  The problem is, I forgot to close it.  Note to self, open umbrellas and revolving doors are a potentially deadly combination.  There should be a warning sign about this on both the doors and the umbrellas.  I don’t think I have ever felt so blonde in my life as I did wrestling that thing while trapped in my spinning fish bowl.  At least I might have provided some entertainment to the onlookers who did absolutely nothing to help free me.  Eventually I managed to murder the umbrella, although I’m sure if I were to go to trial for it I’d get off on self-defense.  Or at least get the sentence reduced to manslaughter.  Obviously it wasn’t premeditated, hence the open umbrella.

After that meeting I had another one.  And guess what?  It was only a “short walk” from where I was.  Yes, just a short walk, through the rain, in four-inch heels, and without an umbrella.  Did I mention I was wearing a silk shirt and no coat?

I set off on foot with my trusty iPhone open to Google Maps trying to figure out which color dot I was and which way I should turn.  I was determined find, and remain on, my route, so I kept my eyes glued to that little screen (which was covered in raindrops due to my lack of umbrella).  Funny thing about Google Maps, they don’t show stairs.  I managed not to fall completely on my ass, but I did stumble with such ungainly flailing of arms and legs, that I nearly dropped my purse, laptop case, and phone, and no doubt must have appeared not only blonde, but drunk as well.  Again, if I provided some mid-morning entertainment to onlookers, you’re welcome!  A hand would have been appreciated, or even a simple, “Are you ok?” but since I didn’t get either of those, I will just pretend to myself that your laughter was with me and not at me.  Right.

I managed to get to my next meeting, albeit 20 minutes late.  As I had done at every other meeting I had to sign in at a desk in the lobby of the building where they called upstairs to announce my arrival, and presented me with a visitors badge.  What they should have presented me with was instructions for the elevators.  They would have come in handy since these were elevators the likes of which I had never seen.  I stepped inside and turned to face the doors and push the button for my floor.  Only there was no button.  Not just for my floor, but for any floor.  None.  “Fifteen!” I said three or four times emphatically thinking that perhaps, this elevator was voice activated.  But the elevator stayed put and the doors remained open.  Finally I stepped outside the elevator and noticed a large keypad with no sign on it to indicate that it was in fact, where I should have entered the floor number before getting in.  Again, free entertainment for business people standing around witnessing the blonde girl shouting out “fifteen” as if she had Tourettes.

Thankfully that meeting went very well (and my previous one had, too thank God!) and I was off again in search of a cab.  The rain had really started in earnest at this point.  I walked back and forth on the sidewalk trying to get the attention of taxi drivers that either were off duty, already had fares, or just didn’t want to stop.  After about 30 minutes of this I broke down and called the man I had just met with and pretty much destroyed an good impression I might have made by practically crying on the phone begging for help in catching a cab.  He was kind, did not laugh at me, and stayed on the phone he instructed me to walk through Grand Central and over to 42^nd street where I might have better luck.  I did.  By that time I was no less wet than I would have been if I’d jumped into a pool with my clothes on.  I had no choice but to go back to my hotel and dry off before heading to my next meeting.  Outside I asked the doorman at my own hotel if he could hail a cab for me, and he did so easily.  I thought, perhaps my luck is changing here, but as soon as I gave the driver the address he turned around and asked me, “Where is that exactly?”

Seriously?  OK…I looked at the email I’d been sent from the assistant of the person I was supposed to meet.  She had thankfully mentioned a cross street.  “Should I take the FDR”?  The cabbie asked.  How am I supposed to know?  I once again searched on Google Maps and handed over my iPhone.  Thank God for modern technology.

That meeting also went amazingly well, in spite of the fact that I had mistakenly signed the Fire Warden book instead of the Visitor Book at the front desk.  I’ll bet it took every ounce of restraint the security guy could muster in order to say, “You are the fire warden?” with a straight face.  I suppose that if I had to have some bad luck in NY it was good that it was just with security guards, weather, and taxis, and not with the meetings I was there for.

I wish I could say that by the end of the stay I had learned my way around a bit, or that I’d gotten really good at hailing taxis, but I can’t.  I’d be lying.  I am however, the proud owner of a brand new umbrella, courtesy of one of those amazing people I met with.  I will bring it with me when I return and try really hard not to forget to close it before getting into a revolving door.

Drunk Woman Crashes Audition

I haven't posted anything for awhile.  I guess it's true what they say about life getting in the way.  Or is that life is what happens when you're making other plans?  Either way, I've been busy!  We are doing a big remodeling project right now (still in the "What the F@#K was I thinking?" phase) and I was on a committee for an amazing charity event for ACT Today! (Autism Care and Treatment Today!).  That event deserves a blog post of it's own so I won't go on about it now.


So, I haven't had a lot of time for writing, and I also haven't been going out on many auditions.  If you follow this blog you might remember that I occasionally book the odd commercial job.  Of course in order to do that one actually has to audition for the odd commercial job, and lately I have been declining auditions more often than I would like due to my life getting in the way.  That's the saying I was thinking of!


The other day I got a text saying to check my email because I had an audition.  And sure enough I did. It was for a cat litter commercial.  Easy enough, right?  I decided to go.  I mean what else did I have to do that day?  Oh...right...I had to take kids to school, work my butt out with a trainer, meet with my daughter's college counselor...OH...did I forget to mention that I had been awake all night shooting two episodes of a really funny online show?  I did, didn't I?  Yes--I was a waitress in a show that takes place in a diner called After Hours.  It's on Cracked.com if you want to check it out.  When the episodes I am in air I'll post another link.


When I said I was up all night, I really meant it.  We didn't wrap until 5:30 AM and by the time I got home it was time to make the donuts.  Or make breakfast and pack the kids' lunches.  You get it.  So I was not only busy, I was exhausted, and still wearing the makeup from the shoot.  That's a lot of make up.  I have no idea what my daughter's college counselor thought of that.  Oh well!


I managed to get through that meeting and on the road to my audition.  I would have been on time, too, except I live in L.A. and had to drive on the 405 freeway.  Traffic.  Sucks.  In.  L.A.  Yes it does.  And you know what else sucks?  Parking.  At least in Santa Monica which is where I had to go.  I finally found a spot and jogged the block and a half back to the casting office.  I went in, picked up the sides (lines), and signed in.  Just as about 15 other women had done.  And that was within range of my call time.  The one I had missed by about 20 minutes.  I looked around at the competition.  Interesting pool of women they had in there.  Some were older, some had red hair, some brown, some tall, some short.  I wondered if they knew what they were looking for.  Then, in comes a woman who looked...how shall I put it...drunk.  Well, I guess she smelled drunk more than she looked it, but you get the picture.


"Where do I sign in?" She slurred.  One of the other women pointed at the sign in sheet and the gal signed in and wheeled around to announce to us that she was NOT an actor.


"If you're not an actor, do you mind my asking what you are doing at an audition?" Someone asked.  We were all thinking it.


"I dunno.  I mean, I like money, I guess."  Maybe someone hadn't told her that there is very little of that to be made doing non-union cat litter commercials.  "My business manager said, 'F@#k it!  Go for it!"  And I mean...why not?  If I can make $40,000 a day doing this--"  and with that she waved the paper with the few lines on it around for emphasis.  She rambled on after that, but I wasn't paying attention any more.  $40,000 a day?  Maybe she wasn't just drunk, but crazy, too?  Or on crack?  Lord knows.  But she plopped down to wait like the rest of us.  For awhile.


After a few minutes she suddenly stood up and said (to nobody in particular), "What am I doing?  They aren't gonna pick me!" And with that she left.  A few minutes later she was back.  "Do you think they're gonna be mad at me if I just leave?"  Right.  I highly doubted they were going to notice let alone be mad about it.  We all assured her that they wouldn't mind at all and promised her that if they asked we'd tell them she'd had an emergency.  "Say it was something serious.  Like with a kid or something.  Yeah.  Tell them I had a kid emergency."  Then she really left.


Or so I thought.  Right before it was my turn to audition, Miss Sloshed returned.  This time she brought friends.  Seriously.  Now if you don't go out on auditions you might not know that this is not something commonly done.  She brought two women with her who were giggly and loud and perhaps also drunk?  I don't know.  But their ring leader, the non-actor, instructed them, "Here's where you sign in ladies, and here are your sides," And she handed them each a copy of the lines.


I was flabbergasted.  What was this gal up to?  I didn't have a chance to find out because the door opened and a man called me in to audition.  When he saw the ruckus going on in the waiting room he said, "Hold on there a minute Susan, I'll be right with you."  I walked over to the audition room and waited outside.  I could hear him very clearly.


"What is going on in here?"  He asked.  "You can't just show up at an audition you know.  I'm serious.  If you aren't on the list then you have to leave."


"I am though!" Said the non-actor.


"Really?" The casting director asked.  "Who sent you here?"


"My business manager," drunk girl replied.


"And what's your business manager's name?"


Another man who was already in the audition room saw me hovering by the door and called me inside.  "Why don't you come on in and set your stuff down.  I'm sure it will just be a minute."  So I did.  But I left the door open and could still hear the goings on down the hall.


"Fine then," The man's voice said.  "You want to audition, I'll let you audition.  After that woman that I just took back.  But not you two."  I didn't hear any giggling anymore.  "And I'm telling you right now," The man continued, "You'd better know your lines."


After all that I was worried that maybe I wouldn't know the lines!  But somehow I got through it.  By the two guys' reactions I think I must have done pretty well.  Yeah.  Follow that you drunk girl, and good luck, 'cause I am an actor.  OK, maybe just a commercial actor, but still.


I passed her in the hallway as I walked out.  She looked a little less drunk and a whole lot more nervous. I almost felt sorry for her.  Almost.  It's hard to feel badly for someone who has basically said that what you do is so easy a monkey, or a drunk girl (who isn't even an actor), could do it.  To be honest, it isn't all that hard.  Nerves are the biggest obstacle in these auditions.  But, I still cannot believe she just up and decided to go out and audition for something even though she is not an actor.  That's like me strolling into a hospital and saying, "Hey, I'm not a doctor, but I'm gonna do some surgeries today.  Oh, and by the way, I've only had 3 drinks or so.  Now hand me a scalpel."  I wouldn't do that.  Because I'm not a surgeon.  I'm an actor.  I'm not gonna pretend to be somebody I'm not.  Oh.  Wait a second...Could it be that the drunk girl, while drunk, still had it right?  She was acting like an actor.  Which is acting.  God I hope she doesn't book that cat litter spot.

Paddle Boarding for Dummies (and Cameron Diaz Wanna-bes)

The other day I tried something new.  Paddle boarding.  I'd seen photos in People Magazine of Cameron Diaz doing it with what looked like expert technique.  Apparently I am not Cameron Diaz.

My muse, Cameron

I have all the ingredients to be a great paddle boarder.  I have very strong legs, a strong core, good balance and a low center of gravity (one of the very few advantages of being petite or, as some people like to call it, short).  Of course, these ingredients are only "active" when I'm on dry land.  Not so much when you add water.


I was anxious to try this sport.  It's great exercise that works a lot of different parts of your body as exemplified by, you guessed it, Cameron Diaz.  But when I got out there and managed to stand up I looked a lot less like Cameron Diaz and a whole lot more like Shaky the Clown.  At least from the waist down.


The board was wobbling.  It had to have been the board. I mean it couldn't possibly have been me personally what with my strong legs and core, and my incredibly low center of gravity.  I looked down to see what was going on.  The more I looked down the more shaky I got.  Then I looked up to see where I was heading and something miraculous happened.  The shaking stopped!  Hmmm.  Maybe it was me after all.  I paddled for a bit on the left, and then a bit on the right, and managed to propel myself around the cove (what, you thought I'd start out in the ocean?).

Look Ma!  Just like Cameron Diaz (minus the rock hard abs and enviable biceps)

I had gone on this outing with my mom and her girlfriend who is an excellent paddle boarder.  So excellent that she can snap photos while she's out there.  I thought I might like to have a picture of myself looking just like Cameron Diaz.  Well guess what?  The second I turned around to strike my best Cameron Diaz-like, confident athlete pose Shaky the Clown came back and down I went.  It was not pretty.  It was not graceful.  But it was funnier than hell.  Of course I climbed back on immediately and stood up again.  I wasn't going to let one little fall define my paddle boarding debut.


My mom's friend got to shore before me (completely bone dry of course) and I heard her shout out as I drifted in shivering and drenched, "Did you see her fall?!!!?"


I wanted to get mad and scream, "I only fell once, and just for a second...What about all the minutes I was up and paddling?"  But, I let it go.  I was there for fun and relaxation.  And anyway, WWCDD?  What would Cameron Diaz do?  Probably laugh at herself and just brush it off.


So...here I am in all my glory.

Down for the count.

Soaked but still smiling.