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? 

What I Learned From This Move

I survived my move!  (Barely, but I did.)  I have moved many times - - heck, half a dozen of the moves have been cross-country - - and this may very well have been the most trying move I have ever dealt with. 

In order to get through it, and without being under the influence of alcohol, I told myself the harder the move, the sweeter the life at the new place.  Don't rain on my parade and tell me otherwise, I'd like to live in my fantasy world a little longer, please.

I did discover these interesting facts from my move though:


Take a day or two off from work before your move.  You'll need it.

Do not take a second shift move.  Under any circumstance.  Ever.  It's hotter, your movers are not as fresh as they were first thing in the morning and without a move following yours, they may not hustle the same way to get the job done.

Always make sure your movers take the washers/nuts/bolts they remove from your furniture with them to your new digs.

Not everyone unplugs tvs and DVD players from the wall - - it's a good idea to double check to make sure your movers didn't unplug those items from the base of the unit.  And leave the cords behind, still plugged into the wall.

Having replacement bed slats next to your bed is no guarantee the movers will know what they are for.  In fact, they may assume you simply collect pieces of wood and leave said slats leaning against your living room wall. 

No matter how prepared you think you are, you aren't.

Two days without the internet and cable can feel like a lifetime. 

An extremely attractive man is certain to become a resident at your old complex the day you are moving.  And you will see him while dressed in an old t-shirt, hair pulled back in a ponytail, sweaty and cursing like a drunken sailor.  (Or so I've heard . . . )

It's perfectly acceptable to purchase alcohol at 6:45 a.m. on the day you move.

It's a good idea to pack an overnight bag with spare pairs of underwear and changes of clothes in the event your movers put your boxes, oh, wherever.

You will have more stuff than you thought.

Regardless, you still can't have too many books.

Never underestimate the power of a hot shower or of a garage.

Not being able to cook for a week seems like a nice break but you really do get tired of take out.

My dog has a pretty damn good life (actually I knew this before the move.)  But hey, he did a stellar job following me to make sure I unpacked each box exactly right.

Being two blocks from Trader Joe's has its advantages. 

Three days of going up and down three flights of stairs in 90 degree heat while carrying boxes/books/totes will kick the ass of any gym workout.

Moving is the perfect time to purge items you no longer want, need or use.  You may find yourself giving stuff away just so that you don't have to move it.



How about you?  Any moving tips or horror stories you'd like to share?

Can You Get a Packing Hangover?

No, really.  Can you?  Because if you can, that's what's ailing me.  I woke up with a headache, body aches and completely exhausted.  My stomach even felt testy. 

Yes, I'm moving.  Isn't moving a joy?  I actually don't mind moving itself, it's the packing up for the move.  All together now . . . UGH.  My biggest gripe is that no matter how much you prepare, you're never fully ready for it.  I guess that's my fault but you can only do so much before you get your boxes or crates.

I did elect to go with plastic recyclable boxes this time around versus the traditional cardboard box.  The good is that they are delivered to you (and picked up from your new destination), they stack inside one another when not in use and you don't need tape.  I repeat YOU DON'T NEED TAPE.  No "installation" whatsoever.  Yes!  You also don't have to worry about breaking them down once you're done or having them collapse while in use or being stacked.  Or worse . . . having some rogue spider come crawling out at you.  There is also no secondhand embarrassment because you are carrying your kitchen wares into your new place in a KY or hemorrhoid cream box (which you, of course, took from behind Ralph's.)  Plus the recyclable boxes I got are pink (pink is for girls!) and pretty.  And it is so important to remain stylish while moving (ha).

The bad is that they do take up a bit of room, which I did not consider when I selected how many to rent.  Oh well, bygones.

So my home currently looks like a Bebe Gallini factory (shout out to The Brady Bunch - - anyone get the reference?) although not in the shape of a powder puff.  Just pink.  Everywhere.   

My mind is also everywhere, trying to remember the last minute things I need to do in addition to my usual daily activities.  And oh yes, work.  Work too.  Yesterday I left my house without my mobile phone.  Not good. 

Today I left and went to the gas station because once I get close to a quarter of a tank, I get edgy.  I pulled up to the pump, popped my tank cover and reached for my bag.  No wallet.  NO. WALLET.  Close the tank cover, jump back in the car and go back home to retrieve my wallet from my sofa, where I left it last night after having to dig out a credit card.  Return to the gas station where all the pumps are now in use.  Of course.  Wait.  Get a pump and notice that previous plan to check the air pressure in all tires with my new device while gas is pumping must be scratched because a garbage truck is currently idling by the air machine.  Finish pumping gas and notice the garbage truck leaving.  Hooray!  Not so fast, Will Robinson.  A sleek BMW slides into its place, a man gets out and walks away.  To where, I'm not sure but it doesn't appear he is actually putting air in his tires.  Hmmmm. 

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit

Decide that it may be best to deal with my tires after work, given that I did not bargain for returning home to retrieve wallet.  Will make up time to work by speeding a little bit on the toll road.  (Yes, I was going 75 . . . okay, 80. Tops.)  Fly by one of California's finest.  No, no, no.  Slow down, place hands at the ten o'clock and two o'clock positions while simultaneously watching for flashing lights in the rear view mirror and praying that the officer doesn't come behind me to pop me for speeding. Prayers answered!  Officer either sitting on the side of the road to intimidate and screw with people, napping or eating a donut.  Regardless, I am relieved and happy that I did not get pulled over and therefore forced to embarrass myself by the crying jag I surely would have slipped into. 

That was my day before eight a.m.  And it's only Tuesday!  Tuesday!   

So don't tell me there is no such thing as a packing/moving hangover because I surely am suffering with one.  What is the cure?  Please don't tell me hair of the dog.