Weekend Check In

I have a guilty confession.  If you know me personally, this isn't a surprise.  I love Bravo's reality programs.  They are the visual equivalent of tomato soup and grilled cheese for me.  Nothing I love better after a long and/or hard day at work than to curl up on my sofa (which is super comfy, by the way) and watch a Real Housewives franchise or a Million Dollar Listing franchise.  I cannot express how thrilled I was to hear that Ladies of London will be back.  I haven't been to  London yet (looking at you, 2016) so watching just for the scenery is a win.  Caroline Stanbury, between your wardrobe, hair, business and home, I want to be you.

Speaking of television, I am an Ink Master addict.  I love seeing how creative the artists can be and I have this secret puppy love thing for Dave Navarro.  I guess it's not so secret anymore.  I appreciate how soft spoken he is and he seems very kind and considerate.  Anyhow, imagine my frustration when I saw that Spike wasn't airing on Tuesday night (thank you, TimeWarner) and didn't record that night.  Why, God, why? 

Thursday took the cake for a day full of barfiness.  At least until 5 p.m.  I wanted to get into the office early and I overslept.  Strike one.  Woke up (late) to see that G puked all over the floor.  (I told you barfiness.)  Strike two.  Leaving for work late and in a panic, I backed into the side of my garage.  Strike three.  Can I be out and stay home?  Or start my day over?  Get to work and hit the ground running from the moment I walk through the door.  Don't leave early, as I hoped, but did leave to go to the Orange County Fair.  Woot!  Perfect evening - - the steaming hot weather cooled a bit, I indulged in a cinnamon and sugar crepe (seriously yummy) and then went to see Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo in concert.  Opening act - - Dennis DeYoung and the music of Styx! 

Awesome, awesome, awesome.  I cannot come up with enough words to say what a great show it was.  A bit surreal to think that "Babe" was the first song I ever roller skated with a boy to and "The Best of Times" was the song we sung during my seventh grade graduation.  More frightening was that I was actually in the chorus in seventh grade.   Really though - - I'm sure "The Best of Times" was chosen because it was popular at the time but how depressing to think that the best of times were happening in seventh grade.  Was it all downhill from there? 

Can I be Pat Benatar?  I honestly love that woman.  Her voice is spectacular, she and her husband have been together forever and clearly are simpatico and I'm guessing she's pretty feisty.  Her music is soooo good - - I had forgotten how good she was/is.  And man does she still have a set of pipes on her.  She opened her set with "Shadows of the Night" one of my favorite Benatar tunes and by the time she got to "Promises in the Dark", my other big fave, I was dancing around so much that my brief video I took with my phone is reminiscent of The Blair Witch Project in its jerkiness.

For a day that started on such a sour note, it ended pretty well.  Friday was busy, I was tired since I got to bed late and I was wiped out by the time I got home. 

Today has been productive, although not as much as I'd like - - isn't that always the way it is?   I'm working on getting some Adirondack chairs for my balcony and I need some flowers and potted plants.  Any suggestions?

Ready for a quiet evening.  Happy weekend!  

A Note From 17 Year Old Me and My Response

Dear Future Me,

So I'm writing this to you thirty years down the road . . . thirty years, wow!  That makes you forty-seven.  Forty-seven.  God that's old. 

Where do I see me/you in 2015?  

Living in California.  If not, I'll die.  The beach would be nice but Hollywood/L.A. is even better.  A nice house that is gated, something that others would be jealous of.  I hope that you're a successful screenwriter with a few Oscars to prove it.  At least.  You should have picked up your first Oscar by twenty-five.  If you haven't done it by thirty, it's over. 

Maybe even a novelist.  That would be cool too.  As popular as Stephen King or V.C. Andrews, with a full-fledged library in your home and a pretty room for your typewriter.

Surely no job working in an office.  Barf.

Married?  Maybe.  Only if you found an incredibly good looking guy that swept you off your feet.  Like John Taylor from Duran Duran?  Sigh.

You would be living without a care in the world, life is excellent and easy.

Sincerely,
Me


Dear Youthful Me,

First, yes . . . forty-seven.  Get a grip.  It's not that old.  Fifty is the new thirty these days.  Life doesn't even start to really get good until thirty.  And don't roll your eyes at me.

I live in California but not in Hollywood or even L.A.  I do live at the beach though so that should make you happy.  Not in a big home that's gated but it's still wonderful.  Don't be afraid to move and try something new.  Don't worry about having a big house because downsizing will be popular when you hit your forties.  So many incredible experiences are awaiting you - - new things, new places, wonderful friends.  Savor them, don't wish the time away by pining to be older.  On that - - while you may be aggravated now that you look younger than your years, in the future this will thrill you to no end.  It's a good thing.

Some of your friends you will lose over the years.  Don't fail. to appreciate them and tell them how much you love them.  They can be gone in an instant.  This holds true for your family, too - - they are incredible and you are blessed.  Don't ever forget that.

I work in law at an "office job" so I'm not a screenwriter.  Stop crying.  It's never too late.  (You will take a writing seminar one weekend at UCLA.  It will be an amazing experience and it will lead you to take other writing classes/seminars that are worth their weight in gold.)  Do I wish I had followed my dreams and went full on with screenwriting?  Yes, I do.  I don't want to regret anything but I am curious as to what would have happened if I had.  I fell in love instead and got divorced.  It happens.  It's going to happen to a lot of people you know.  It's going to be one of the hardest experiences you will endure but here's the good news about that - - it's going to make you stronger.  You may not realize it now but you have a pretty solid backbone in there.  Use it.  Stand on your own two feet.  You don't need anyone to complete you (that's going to be a tagline in a Tom Cruise movie in the future.  The movie you will like but Tom Cruise is going to get a bit crazy pants in the future.  Make a mental note now that if you pass by any buildings or people that offer you a free personality test, especially in the L.A. area, keep right on walking.) 

You have a sense of humor that's going to carry you through a lot of shit.  Embrace it and be grateful for it.  Don't be timid about keeping your thoughts to yourself but always remember to be tactful. 

What other advice can I give you? 

Go read Pride and Prejudice.  Now.  It's never been required reading in school and won't be for you in college either (sadly) but it will change your life.  It will lead you to love Jane Austen and many Regency works and historical fiction.

Don't quit playing the piano entirely.  No, you won't go to school and major in music but quitting full stop after ten years of instruction is a mistake.  Piano gives you great joy and would probably continue to give me great joy today if I had kept with it.

Floss. Really, just do it.  You're going to have those dreams about your teeth falling out no matter what but flossing is a good habit to start now.  Exercise too. You won't be 100 pounds forever.  And let's talk about your body for a moment.  It's perfect the way it is.  Next year, you're going to wake up with hips.  It's just the way it is.  Quit focusing on what's wrong with your body and accept the incredible and fluid machine it is.  Use it more.  As you get more mature, things that were so easy at seventeen won't be quite the same at forty-seven. 

Drink more water and less soda.  Mr. Pibb and Dr. Pepper are awesome but terrible for your health.  Try different foods.  You will be amazed what foods you will like as you get older.  There's more to life than burgers and fries.  (A little secret for you - - you are going to stop eating red meat in the future and live to tell the tale.)  Get out of the sun.  Stop tanning.  It looks phenomenal right now to be golden tan and it's incredible to lie in the sun with a good book.  Keep the book, ditch the sunning.  Your skin will thank you.  Sunscreen.  With a high SPF.  Hats are good too.   Your face will be relatively free of wrinkles at forty-seven but you can't start too early.   Moisturize every day while you're at it.  I know you have oily skin now but oily skin needs moisturizer too.  One day in the future, you will have normal to dry skin and moisturizer will be a necessity. 

You will grow out of your bad boy phase.  Not soon enough but bygones.  Learn from it.  Being soft spoken is not a crime and it doesn't make anyone less virile.  A gentle and kind heart is pretty damn spectacular.  Always stick with someone who makes you laugh.  The same way that your sense of humor is going to be a saving grace at times, you will need a man who can bring a chuckle or even an unapologetic snort, tears and a belly ache from laughing so hard.

You can be kind without having to be nice all the time to everyone.  It's okay.  No one is going to think any less of you when you say "no."  If they do, they don't think much of you to begin with.

You are always going to love sports, reading, music and old movies.  Anyone who puts them down or makes you feel bad for liking them, cut those assholes out of your life.  You are going to encounter a few people who are going to tell you that writing is stupid, a waste of time or say you don't have what it takes.  Keep it moving, sister.  Put those people on mute.  Cut them out too.  Never apologize for being YOU.  Because you, with your quirks and your weird little heart, are pretty awesome, all things considered.

Smile more.  Laugh more.  Worry less.  Take chances.  Aim high.  Celebrate.  Everything is going to be okay, I can assure you of that.  You're smarter than you think.  You're stronger than you think.  You're funnier than you think (okay, maybe that one's a draw.)  You are a survivor. 

Most importantly, don't settle for anyone or anything.  Be You.  Don't wait for your life to start.  Start it yourself.  Make it happen.  You got this.  Carry on.

Love,
Me

What The *&$%?

Do you ever feel as though the universe is conspiring to either hit you with a 2x4 to get a message across or you have really pissed someone off in a past life?

This week has really hit the suckometer for me.  My commute is really trying my patience (the price we Southern Californians must pay), I am still dealing with post-move fall-out, my dog woke me at 2 a.m. one morning barking at . . . something (and he is not a barky dog generally), work has been hectic and I dropped my iPad and shattered the screen.

The last one is a dagger through the heart. I love my iPad.  It goes with me everywhere.  Okay, it went with me everywhere.  I have tons of books downloaded to it, audio books for my commute, pictures, I check my email and do my banking on it and I have downloaded my favorite music to it.  I do have days where I need to listen to the Stones, Fleetwood Mac and/or Metallica on repeat in order to start my day.  Now my iPad looks as though I hurled it at someone's head (according to a co-worker.)  Sigh.

To add further insult to injury, I am finding that I don't have the time I used to have to devote to writing reviews.  I still love writing them but the process is becoming more of a chore than an enjoyable task and I hate feeling as though I have let someone down because I haven't posted a review or it's late.  I am thinking that maybe it's a sign that I need to step away from the scheduled book reviews.  I'll still read (of course!) and I can post reviews on those books I feel like reviewing or have the time but put more of my time into my own writing.  (So why do I feel as though I'm being soooo selfish right now?) 

Any thoughts on this?  Please share.

I did just order a desk for my new writing space (formerly known as the dining room.)  It will go next to my floor fountain, which is supposed to provide me with some much needed feng shui awesomeness.  I'm excited about the desk and having a dedicated area to work on my creativity versus just wherever I happen to plop down.   That's the silver lining to this week.

Notice my picture above - - that's the Minion that sits at my desk at work.  Yes, he came from a Happy Meal.  I didn't buy the Happy Meal but one of my co-workers, knowing of my adoration of all things Minion, gave me the one that came from her son's Happy Meal.  And yes. . . it does sound like the Minion is saying "What The *&$%?"  Making him a perfect Minion for me and the title of this post. 

Is it Friday yet?

A Thank You to Ann Rule

If you're a true crime buff and/or literary fan, you likely heard the news that the wonderful writer Ann Rule passed away.  I had been keeping up with her daughter Leslie's posts on her mom's hospitalization and was praying and rooting for Ann to pull through.  I was immensely saddened to hear that we had lost her (for added sadness, on my birthday.)

I cannot give Ann full credit for turning me on to the true crime genre, as Helter Skelter was the first true crime I book I read, but Ann's insightful and thorough The Stranger Beside Me was the second and the one that sealed the deal for me.  From the moment I finished that work, I not only made it my mission to read every book on the subject of Ted Bundy but also to read any and every book Ann wrote.  Mission accomplished.   

Every October or November I would anxiously await a new Ann Rule book, with that excitement and anticipation only an author as adept and strong as Ann could give you.  She made me fully realize that the victims in her story were more than just names on the page or the collection of pictures in the center of the book.  She wrote about them with the grace and respect they deserved.  In many cases, she kept in contact with the victims' families long after she attended trials and wrote books on their cases.  I recall reading an interview with her once where she had stated (and I'm paraphrasing here, so please bear with me) that she would never forget that she was dealing with actual people and the grief their deaths had on their surviving families and friends.  I think that sums up so much of Ann's character - - people and their emotions came first.

I never had the honor of meeting Ann in person although I was Facebook friends with her and she was kind enough to respond to a message I sent her through her website, where she did interact with her legion of fans.  I was impressed with how quickly she responded and how friendly she was.   I always particularly enjoyed hearing of her lovely Washington State home and her precious furbabies.

While I am sad over the loss of Ann, I am grateful that we have a large library of her books to enjoy and learn from.  She touched a lot of people during her lifetime - - as a police officer, a social worker, a struggling crime writer (writing under a male pseudonym during a time when female crime writers were not the norm) and then a bestselling author but perhaps most of all as a mother and friend. 

My thoughts are with Ann's family during this difficult time.  I hope they will know how much she was loved by her fans and fellow writers.  Thank you, Ann, for sharing your stories with us and giving us a glowing and elegant example of compassion, refinement and talent.  You will be missed.

The One Where I Was Naked in Public

Another night, another dream of being naked in public.

Ha, you thought I meant I was in public au naturel and not in my dream.  What?  Do you think running around naked in public is a normal Friday or Saturday night for me?  It's not.  Anymore.   In case you're reading this, Mom, I jest.  Mostly.

Back to my dream.  It's amazing to me how many times I've had dreams about suddenly being naked in public.  I've read that it's common to dream that you're arriving at school and realize you're naked.  Surprisingly, I've never had that one although I still have dreams on occasion that I have a test I haven't studied for or I can't remember my schedule, the way to my classroom or my locker combination.  Might be normal to me if I was still in school and had been out a relatively short time but Reagan was in office when I graduated so you would think that anything school related would not be in my subconscious.

This dream had nothing to do with school.  I was walking around somewhere outdoors, although it seems that I was in a movie theater prior to that, and while everyone else was clothed, I was not.  And no one seemed fazed by it at all.  Maybe my dream self has a flatter stomach and is naturally tan. 

Anyhow, I did a little internet sleuthing and Google says that naked dreams are a manifestation of not having the upper hand in life.  Ummm, doesn't everyone feel they don't have the upper hand in life at times?  Or most of the time? 

So if that's the case, what's up with my dream?  Do I secretly want to run around naked in public?   Do I want to shock people?  Should I have been a nudist?  (Ha, no!)

On an unrelated note, we are now three weeks past July 4th.  I think the random fireworks can stop, at least until New Years which is the next socially acceptable holiday for fireworks in my opinion.  (Good grief, I'm opinionated, aren't I?)  I suppose this is one of the side effects of living at the beach.

The One Where My Dog Is A Jerk

Annnnnndddd . . . he looks so innocent

You ever notice how a week following a holiday and/or three day weekend is particularly brutal?  Traffic sucks (does everyone lose their mind after a holiday and drive into call boxes, ditches, medians and/or each other?), it's hard to get back into the groove of work, the days inexplicably can drag despite work onslaught and the universe screws with you.  Today I actually wanted to tell the universe to back off and find another sucker.

I am a Victoria's Secret gal (as in I like and wear their merchandise, not an actual VS girl - - don't I, and everyone I have dated, wish.)   I considered running to my local VS during my lunch break yesterday to make a payment and pick up a bra or two.  A quick online scan showed me that my bra of choice had very little selection, leading me to another online search that stated it was being discontinued.  No!  Why must this always happen?  You find a bra you like, a polish color that jazzes you, and it always seems to get canned.  Why, why, why?  I called the local store only to be told that they no longer stocked my bra and I would have to buy it online (while supplies lasted, of course.)  I immediately jumped online to order and used to VS card for payment.  Within two hours, I received an email telling me that the payment did not process because I had gone over my limit with the purchase (oops.)  No worries, I figured I would go by the store on the way home and drop off my payment.  No harm, no foul.  The computer said it would continue trying for up to 14 days so it didn't seem to be an issue when I would drop off payment that night. 

I went to Happy Hour with some coworkers at 5 (hey, if Friday at 5 at the end of a full week after a 3 day weekend doesn't call for margaritas, I don't know what does) and stayed longer than I had planned.  Again, no worries.  I had to run errands Saturday and going by VS then was not a big deal.  Fast forward to my happy-after-two-margaritas self coming home to find that my dog had an accident.  Of the non-urine kind.  On my bedroom floor.  Barf.  Glad it was relatively easy to clean but no one likes coming home to smell an issue before you actually see it.  Was upset but figured it was because I was home 2 hours later than normal and clearly he had to go. 

Check my email to discover that my VS order, which allegedly had up to 14 days of attempts, had been cancelled.  So much for 14 days.  I decide to make my payment over the phone so that the order would be reinstated.  I was assured that my payment would be credited immediately so the $15 charge for this "convenience" seemed okay as a one time deal, given that my order would have free shipping, a free tote and even a free cheeky panty (God, I hate the word panty.  Is anyone else with me on this?)

So after I make my payment, I call VS and get my order reinstated.  I explain the sitch and am assured that my order will be fine.  I hang up feeling that all is right with the world . . . until I go to get into bed, where I plan on snuggling in and catching a Facts of Life rerun (don't judge.)  I go to climb into bed and smell . . . something.  I also notice that my sheets feel . . . damp.  Pull back my comforter to check the underside and yep, you guessed it.  Wet.  Very wet.  My dog didn't just leave  me a present on the floor, he also apparently jumped up on my bed and relieved himself the way a beer drinker after a pitcher or two would after holding it and the dam breaks.  You know what I mean.    This was no little dribble. 

My comforter was wet.  My top sheet was wet.  My bottom fitted sheet was wet.  Heck, even my throw pillow was wet.  All on my side of the bed.  Obviously my dog was a bit miffed that I was late and decided to show me what for.  In other words, he decided to be a little shit.  I love my dog, I've always loved my pets but if you are a pet owner you know there are times that they are little shits. 

So instead of snuggling up in bed to slumber off to 80s tv, I had to get up, strip my bed, put the fouled up comforter, sheets and pillow on my patio since I no longer have a washer and dryer in my place and blot my formerly pristine mattress with a beach towel, while turning on a fan, an air purifier and plugging in my aromatherapy diffuser.  My dog is lucky I like him and nobody knocked at my door around midnight inquiring as to whether or not I had a dog to donate to their home.  And yes, he was put in the pokey (i.e., his crate) for the night.  Mama wasn't happy.

Soooo . . . I wake up this morning feeling exhausted and aggravated and have to Yelp a good local dry cleaner that can deal with my comforter and pillow.  Found one - - nearly $60 to get my bedding cleaned.  Sigh.  While I'm online Yelping I decide to check on my VS order and see that while my order is still active, it's showing no payment.  I check my account and discover that my payment has not been credited.  I call customer service and the friendly woman I speak with assures me that my order will not be cancelled as my payment is pending.  She also informs me that her son and I share the same birthday.  Huzzah!  

I leave to drop off my stinky dry cleaning  and run a few errands.  The time I mentally allotted these errands needed to be doubled as it turns out.  Ugh.  Check emails and see nothing about my VS order, cancelled or otherwise. Figure no news is good news.

Until around 10 pm, that is.  Get an email telling me that my reinstated order has been cancelled.  Of course it has.  Universe, sometimes you blow.  I call VS yet again (I have their number memorized, I really do) and ask that the order be reinstated AGAIN, only this time I will be paying with a different card since payments are not credited immediately despite what you are told.  Order reinstated.  I mentally tell myself never to pay my VS account again over the phone.  Out of curiosity (or  fear), check my account online to verify order reinstatement.  See that the wrong freaking bras have been ordered - - not the ones that have been discontinued and not the ones that are the sole purpose of this order, reorder and reorder.  No, no, no, no, no!!  The universe hates me.

I call back.  Yes, again.  I explain the disgusting story to the person who answers (how many times have I explained this?) and she correct the mistake.  I go online pronto to check and yes, she's not only corrected it but marked them FREE.  Could the universe be shifting? 

I have to hope because the last 24 hours really have been a bitch.  I should go to bed but truly . . . I'm afraid.  Murphy's Law has been too alive and well around here.

Here's to Sunday. 

Life's Little Mysteries

I was talking to a friend about things that are just a mystery and she suggested that I make a post out of it.  So here it is, Julie, my current list of "It's a Mystery":




How does traffic on the freeway completely stop?  If everyone is moving along at a decent speed and continues moving, even with more cars, how does it stop?  It's a freeway.


Where exactly does your luggage go when it's "misplaced" by the airlines?  Confusing enough when it's missing for days or even a week or two, but when it falls into the Bermuda Triangle of Baggage, how does that happen?


Who would want to invent Cheez Whiz and why?  Just why?


A Del Taco next door to a 24 Hour Fitness.  Is the Del Taco there as a reward after working out or is the 24 Hour Fitness there as punishment for eating Del Taco?


CVS and Walgreens across the street from each other.  Literally across the street from each other.  Why?  Are people so lazy they won't actually cross the street?  Or is the concept that people driving on one side will go to a certain drugstore, similar to the gas station?


This is a bit morbid but it is me so . . . how do we not run out of land for cemeteries?  Isn't land finite?  Are bodies (or just headstones) being moved a la Poltergeist?  Do I want to know?


How have I not yet met Robert Downey, Jr.?  No . . . really.


John Cusack has never won an Oscar.  Mind blowing, right?  Shame on you, Hollywood.  


Who thought it was a good idea to remake Beverly Hills 90210?   


That's all I've got right now.  How about you?  Anything to add?