Monthly Archives: December 2008

Happy New Year’s Eve

When we meet again it’ll be 2009.  Oh how the time seems to fly out the window and land on my face.  Tonight Sam, Kiki, and I will have a quiet evening at home with friends (we couldn’t get a babysitter) and ring in the new year with cheer.  On the bright side, this plan ensures that we won’t get arrested for drunk driving or vehicular manslaughter.  On the con side, we won’t accidentally bump into Robert Pattinson aka Edward Cullen either.  Not that I’m stalking him or anything, but he’ll be at the Key Club from 8 to 9, the GoGo Room from 9 to 10, and the house party at 2171 La Carnita from 10 to midnight.  My chance for us to best friends is foiled again. 

For those of you out there who are staying home this year, don’t forget to eat your grapes.  Yes, that’s right, green grapes.  A dark-haired man must knock on your door at midnight.  You let him in and hand him 12 green grapes.  As he stands in the threshold eating them, your fortune of good luck for the year will be ensured.  Growing up, I loved this tradition and couldn’t wait until my grandfather would head outside so we could shut the front door and listen for the knock.  I used to make wishes on the grapes as if they were birthday candles.  Feel free to do the same.

And for those who will be knee deep in plastic cups and slutty dresses, be safe and be careful.  No driving.  No walking into dark alleys with strangers.  And no fighting with your partner because you accidentally kissed the wrong person at midnight.  If you didn’t want to be stuck in a dark room with too many people you don’t know, you should’ve stayed at home like me. 

Finally, if you’re completely alone tonight, depressed and wishing you had anyone to anything with I advise strongly against watching Lifestyles of the Rich and Fabulous.  It’s a killer.  Instead, go see a movie, treat yourself to a decadent dessert, and don’t forget to buy a great book for when you climb into bed afterwards.  Twilight maybe if you haven’t read it yet or Eat, Love, Pray or The Life of Pi.  Tolkien is always a goodie.  As is Hunter S., Tom Robbins, and anybody named Harris (Charlaine), Harrison (Kim), or Hamilton (Laurell K.).  They all write about vampires and witches.  I’m convinced it’s the ‘H’ that makes the books so scary and good. 

Whatever you’re up to tonigh;  home with friends, out and about with strangers, or winding through a world of make-believe…Happy almost 2009.  Let’s hope for good things to come in this new year and then let’s make them happen!

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The Big One

Scientists have been baffled by a series of 250 earthquakes that have hit Yellowstone park over the past three days.  The tremors aren’t anything big enough to swallow a building or destroy the Golden Gate Bridge, but they’re still worrisome.

California stretches for 800 miles over the San Andreas Fault.  Scientists have deduced with regularity, that a fault region is prone to a major earthquake every 150 years.  Northern California was hit in 1906.  Southern California has been luckier – we’ve had only minor tremors since 1690. 

San Diego State University seismologist Kim Bak Olsen and his colleagues are disturbed by such a long string of good fortune.  (http://advancement.sdsu.edu/marcomm/features/2007/earthquake.html)  According to their studies, all fault lines “snap” at one time or another; that the San Andreas Fault has accumulated so much tension is not a good thing at all.  Kim Bak Olsen isn’t the only one who’s concerned.  The U.S. Geological Survey, Earthquake Hazards Program agrees and has a series of probability statistics featured on their website.  The conflicting information seems less about whether or not the Big One will happen (it will) and more about what to do when it happens.

Some of the information I’ve read sticks with the basic rules we’ve had: cover your head, get under a table, have your earthquake kit handy.  New information however, suggests getting beside objects that will not crush easily, therefore still leaving you with a pocket of air.  It’s called the Triangle of Life and it’s very controversial.  (http://www.amerrescue.org/triangleoflife.htm) It seems like a no-brainer to me that the Triangle theory is our best bet for survival, but I also believe in fairies and werewolves so you might not want to take my word for it.  If you do though, my imaginary friend, Gus says it’s saved his life on several occasions and that newspapers and books are the his favorite things to lie next to.

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Viagra and the Peace Pipe

While I was home for the holidays, I read an article about a CIA officer who gave Viagra to an Afghanistan tribal leader.  The tribal leader had four young wives and looked much older than his 60-some odd years.  The officer handed him four blue pills and with a wink and a smile told the tribal leader he’d be back.  When the CIA officer returned the tribal leader looked like a new man.  Revived and energized he greeted the CIA officer with warm enthusiasm and agreed to spill as many secrets as the officer wanted.  The Taliban was doomed.  As long as the officer could keep the tribal leader supplied with Viagra, information would be traded for sexy time, anytime. 

The Native American tribes used to sit down (men only of course) and smoke a peace pipe together.  It was a first step towards change and compromise.  It was a sign of putting aside differences and coming together in a shared activity that both parties enjoyed… And now Viagra is the representation of that shared enjoyment, the activity that brings men together in peace.  Modern pharmaceuticals have pimped out the peace pipe.

Women, sentient, intelligent, attentive creatures that we are, are sensible enough to have much different styles of peace keeping.  We cook together, shop together, and go get our nails done together.  We complain about men and discuss our little bubbles of the universe.  We listen carefully and we try not to judge.  If a woman CIA officer met with a woman Afghanistan tribal leader, she wouldn’t hand the tribal leader Viagra.  She would bring her an Hermes scarf, some chocolate, and maybe a cashmere blanket for those cold mountain nights.  The woman CIA officer and the tribal leader would discuss fashion, they would share beauty secrets, and at the end of the day, they would probably be friends.  And what’s a little secret-telling between friends?  See that little cave over there?  Exactly.

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Merry Happy Jolly Love

It might be a few days before the next time I get a moment to write.  It’s holiday time and whether you’re a Merry Christmas, a Happy Chanukah, a Jolly Day of Hajj or a Love Kwanza person, there are family and friends to entertain.  Lately, holidays have become more about family and tradition then religion or sacrifice.  I for one am okay with that, but then again I’m a sucker for anything that has to do with getting presents.  Call me selfish, but even at this moment I’m begging  Santa for a new computer.  You try staring day after day at a screen that’s half the size of a piece of paper and tell me you don’t want the holidays to be about getting gifts.  So Santa, if you’re reading right now, NEW COMPUTER PLEASE!!!  I’ve been a very good girl this year, ask anyone.  Except Sam.  Or my mom.  They might say I’ve been a brat, but that’s just because they’re jealous I’m Kiki’s favorite.

Anyway, in case I don’t get a chance to write before the next time you check back… stay strong, don’t let your crazy mother-in-law get you down, and remember, life’s too short to be bummed out.  Whatever happens, it doesn’t matter – just let it go.  Now please pass the egg nog.

santa-2007  Merry!  Happy!  Jolly!  Love!  xoxxo love, Me

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Crazy Glue in the Brain

Three months ago in New Jersey, a baby was born with little holes in her brain.  A genius doctor by the name of Dr. Alejandro Berenstein (director of the Hyman-Newman Institute for Neurology and Neurosurgery at St. Luke’s-Roosevelt Hospital in New York City) came up with the idea to glue those little holes shut.  Duck tape was too much.  Elmer’s wasn’t enough.  Crazy glue was the only solution. 

So the doctor filled the little holes with glue and Sophia Smith will live to see another day.  Although you and I might not have diagnosed brain holes, I feel certain we’ve still got a whole lot of crazy.  In fact, I would go so far as to say, it’s the glue that holds us together.  Last night, as I looked around my living room, I saw seven very different women who had braved the rains of Los Angeles to make me feel loved.  One is scared and beautiful.  Another is in the middle of finding her happiness.  Another is completely lost.  And another is so in the moment she could teach Eckhart Tolle a thing or two.  And me?  I’m all of these things and none of them, but in common we’ve got crazy glue.  It sticks through rain, and through divorce, and through heartbreak, and through disagreements.  It sticks when we say stupid things and when we do something even dumber.  It acknowledges that we’re all on this same journey together and that none of us have the route down perfect.

Being opening minded to differences.  Is that so far from having a brain hole plugged with crazy glue?  One way or another, we’ve all got some crazy up there.  It just feels better to let it stick us together rather than push us apart.

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Sand and Dust

Today I’m feeling my age.   I awoke to breakfast in bed and Kiki Wonder cuddling under the covers to steal my warmth.  Coffee and cinnamon and winter greeted my nose.  Sam even went out to a fancy bakery at 7 o’clock this morning to get me my favorites, including some gourmet salads for lunch.  And what did I do to say thank you?  I started to cry. 

It feels like it goes so fast sometimes.  One day I was wearing head-gear at night wondering if a boy would ever like me.  I thought I was doomed to spend my whole life alone in my childhood bedroom.  That I’d always have bad hair and an awkward body and a stash of dreams and wishes hidden in the back of my closet.  The Violent Femmes played over and over on the boombox as my soundtrack. 

And then I blinked or maybe I passed out from a car accident I can’t remember because I got amnesia?  Anyway, whatever happened, the next thing I knew I was definitely not in my childhood bedroom anymore.  I was paying bills and slathering on anti-aging creams and battling to keep my saggy parts up.  There was a dog and a man and a job and yet still the bad hair.  The soundtrack in the background was less Violent Femmes and more jazzy folk.  How the heck did I get here?

After Sam left this morning, confused and befuddled over my tears of breakfast in bed, I looked in the mirror and took stock.  I know that when I’m 65, I’ll look back and feel silly, but right now, today, in this moment – I don’t want to get any older than I am right now.  I don’t want to feel like the ride’s almost done.  I just want to pause it here for awhile.  I want the show to slow down and I want to cram some more adventures in.  I still have that cache of dreams and wishes filling the back of my closet and I want to do them all.

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They Were Obviously Cheap Shoes

Unless you live under a mountain in West Virginia, you’ve probably heard about the shoe thrower.  Yesterday in Iraq, an irate reporter sent a message to George W. by hurling his shoes at him.  In the Iraqi culture, shoes and the bottom of one’s feet are both signs of disrespect so throwing your shoes is like an f-you squared.  At first I was appalled.  How dare this reporter assault our president?  Even if I’m not the hugest fan of Junior, the shoe tosser was definitely in the wrong and should be punished accordingly.  If a US citizen threw his shoes at Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, no mater how many people hate that guy, the assailant would be sent to jail faster than he could lace his shoes back up. 

Now however, I see the reporter’s point of view.  If King George had come over during his occupation of the colonies, after the Intolerable Acts, the Townsend Act, the Stamp Act…and a colonist had taken off his pilgrim shoes and thrown them at the King, I think the Boston Tea Party would’ve been even more off the hook.  I mean, let’s be honest, it’s not as if Georgie-poo is exactly innocent of all wrongdoings.  I mean, he did start a war in Iraq after all.  I can kind of see why some of the poeple there would be irritated with him.

Most amazing of all though, is the reaction of our president.  That guy is like an action hero president.  Anyone else would’ve been brained in the head, but George W. ducked and weaved like a snake.  His reflexes were so fast that even his face looked relaxed.  When the second shoe came at him, he didn’t even bat an eye.  He was like, “Is that all you got, sucka?”  I gotta tell you, it’s hot.  George, you should’ve had somebody throw some shoes at you a long time ago.  Your ratings may be down, but your he-man sexiness is way up. 

In case you want to see our tough-guy president for yourself.  Notice how he tries the catch the second shoe.  Bad ass.

George and the Case of Airborn Shoes

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