I have decided to move. My blog that is. This pea soup decor has worn on my nerves so please visit my NEW BLOG at http://www.marshmellowfluffstuff.comHope to see you there!
Saturday, April 4, 2009
It's Time!!!
I have decided to move. My blog that is. This pea soup decor has worn on my nerves so please visit my NEW BLOG at http://www.marshmellowfluffstuff.com
Friday, April 3, 2009
Warts but With No Frogs to Show For It
The fact that I wore huge bifocals as a kid wasn't enough for "God" to gift me with. He apparently was feeling generous on the day of my creation and decided that one deficiency wasn't enough for me to overcome. So, to add further injury to my optically challenged insult, I was also stricken with mountain sized warts.
My first one was the size of an eraser head and, since it resided in the palm of my left hand, was hide able. I reasoned that it began one day when a rose thorn pricked me in the exact spot that was now adorned with a scalloped wart. Upon it's discovery I contemplated moving away to an island for rejects, but I found my life could continue as per usual. I quickly adapted and learned how to hide my wart. When washing my hands in public I was careful not to tilt my hand so that someone could spot it. And, given my huge bifocals, I surely wasn't going to be holding a boy's hand anytime soon so I didn't have to bother worrying about being discovered that way either. It wasn't long before my mom took me to the doctor and with his Frankenstein-like contraption he burned my wart off with a beam of electricity. The smell of victory was sweet and similar to the smell of burning flesh.
And then, in a matter of a few months they spread. Little by little the cauliflower offenders began to sprout up like a canvas over the top of my left hand. One wart was manageable, but now, every morning I awoke to find another cluster. They would start out as little unoffensive bumps that quickly grew in size. They reminded me of the sponge capsules you would put into a dish with water that would expand into a huge sponge creature where the little pill once was. I would stare at my hands every night before bedtime trying to commit their size to memory. Every morning I awoke to find the clusters were growing larger. I had dreams of them overtaking my entire body until I was one huge wart monster terrorizing the town folk.
As they grew they inevitably became harder to hide. When I was in class writing at my desk I would cover my left hand with my right hand as I wrote, successfully masking all 8 warts that covered the top of my left hand, but looking autistic and strange as I did so. Being left handed called enough attention to me, now I was the strange lefty who held the pencil with both hands. I was able to do this for one grade level and then, over the summer, they began sprouting up all over my right hand.
By the end of summer I looked at my plagued hands and cried. It was the end of my 5th grade year and I had hoped, in vain, for a new beginning in junior high. Unlike most other girls who would wish on stars to kiss a boy or get a pony, my wishes were for pretty hands and 20/20 vision.
I had tried everything to get rid of them. Given, this was many years before the invention of the Internet, I was reliant upon simple here say about how to eradicate warts. Since it was a topic that I would only talk about to my family, my main source was my grandfather. His advice - wait for a night when there is a full moon and on that night cut a tomato in half and stand naked in the backyard smashing the tomato onto all of my warts. Spin around in a circle and scream as loud as I could, "warts be gone, warts be gone". Thankfully, had it not been for my fear of public nudity, I may have attempted this ritual.
The thought of returning from summer as an even uglier 6th grader had reduced me to tears. Soon I was crying so hard, the kind of crying that you make that funny stuttered breathing sound, that I hadn't noticed my dad had walked into the room. If you knew my dad, you would understand that his ability to deal with an adolescent girl was right up there with his ability to swallow fire. There was nothing more out of his comfort zone than trying to deal with emotions, let alone mine.
Given that modern day health care escaped my father and that his idea of first aid was sewing his own finger back on with a needle and fishing line, it was no surprise that I found myself driving with him in his van to his "doctor friend's" office with a Thermos in my lap. I didn't question where we were going, all I knew was my dad was determined to get me to stop crying and that was enough for me. So I followed him, like a trusting and hopeful puppy into the waiting area as he gave the receptionist his name and muttered something about being a friend of the doctors and that, "he would know what it was regarding". Within minutes the doctor asked for us to come back and we were ushered into one of the patient rooms. He came in behind us and asked me for the Thermos. I hoped he wasn't asking for it because he was thirsty and cursed myself for not thinking to fill it with something before we left the house. Quickly my Thermos and the doctor left the room. I sat there in silence wondering what sort of exchange my father had worked out with this strange doctor and why the doctor was more interested in my Thermos than he was with seeing my warts. Soon he came back in the room and handed me the Thermos which was cold to the touch. "Be careful not to spill it on yourself" he said to me with a chuckle which was a cause for concern on my part. He and my dad exchanged awkward pleasantries and my dad and I left.
On the way home I held the Thermos tightly wondering what magical liquid the good doctor had filled it with. Was I supposed to drink it? Maybe it was a syrup I would drink and would kill all the warts. I imagined with great satisfaction the warts drying up and falling away from my hands leaving silky skin in their place. When we got home my dad positioned a chair over the sink in the kitchen and then dropped a handful of Q-tips on a paper towel next to the Thermos. "Just dip them in the dry ice and then press them on your warts. I'm going to watch TV, call me if you need anything." And with that my dad left his 10 year old daughter with a Thermos of dry ice and shaky hands.
I dipped the Q-tip cautiously into the bubbling frosting liquid and then stared at it for a moment before lightly touching it to the surface of the largest wart. It didn't hurt as much as I had imagined so I pushed the tip down with more force and it made a sizzling sound. I grit my teeth tightly together as electric jolts of pain radiated in my wart and up through my arm. At first, the pain caught me off guard but then, the hatred and anger towards them and all they plagued me with took over and I began finding joy in the possibility. I imagined myself wart-free for the first time in years. I imagined writing papers at my desk with ease, with nothing to hide from anyone. First, I focused on the warts on my right hand since I was naturally a lefty and could hold the Q-tip with more precision. After 40 minutes, I held my shaky right hand up and admired the beauty. The white cauliflower masses were now purple and blue suffocated masses encircled by red inflamed rings. Then my shaky and battered right hand enthusiastically grabbed a Q-tip and retaliated with brutal force. By the time I was done my hands looked more tragic than ever but I knew it was a sign of greater things to come.
I went to bed that night with throbbing hands. Stronger than my desire to cry from the pain, was my satisfaction. That night I dreamt of the town folk raging up against the wart monster that had plagued them for many moons. Tired of being the victim of his torment they carried flaming torches into the night. They tracked down the wart monster and backed him into a dark alley. The wart monster screamed as they burned him with their torches and then the screams began to fade...the wart monster was dead.
And they all lived happily ever after...
My first one was the size of an eraser head and, since it resided in the palm of my left hand, was hide able. I reasoned that it began one day when a rose thorn pricked me in the exact spot that was now adorned with a scalloped wart. Upon it's discovery I contemplated moving away to an island for rejects, but I found my life could continue as per usual. I quickly adapted and learned how to hide my wart. When washing my hands in public I was careful not to tilt my hand so that someone could spot it. And, given my huge bifocals, I surely wasn't going to be holding a boy's hand anytime soon so I didn't have to bother worrying about being discovered that way either. It wasn't long before my mom took me to the doctor and with his Frankenstein-like contraption he burned my wart off with a beam of electricity. The smell of victory was sweet and similar to the smell of burning flesh.
And then, in a matter of a few months they spread. Little by little the cauliflower offenders began to sprout up like a canvas over the top of my left hand. One wart was manageable, but now, every morning I awoke to find another cluster. They would start out as little unoffensive bumps that quickly grew in size. They reminded me of the sponge capsules you would put into a dish with water that would expand into a huge sponge creature where the little pill once was. I would stare at my hands every night before bedtime trying to commit their size to memory. Every morning I awoke to find the clusters were growing larger. I had dreams of them overtaking my entire body until I was one huge wart monster terrorizing the town folk.
As they grew they inevitably became harder to hide. When I was in class writing at my desk I would cover my left hand with my right hand as I wrote, successfully masking all 8 warts that covered the top of my left hand, but looking autistic and strange as I did so. Being left handed called enough attention to me, now I was the strange lefty who held the pencil with both hands. I was able to do this for one grade level and then, over the summer, they began sprouting up all over my right hand.
By the end of summer I looked at my plagued hands and cried. It was the end of my 5th grade year and I had hoped, in vain, for a new beginning in junior high. Unlike most other girls who would wish on stars to kiss a boy or get a pony, my wishes were for pretty hands and 20/20 vision.
I had tried everything to get rid of them. Given, this was many years before the invention of the Internet, I was reliant upon simple here say about how to eradicate warts. Since it was a topic that I would only talk about to my family, my main source was my grandfather. His advice - wait for a night when there is a full moon and on that night cut a tomato in half and stand naked in the backyard smashing the tomato onto all of my warts. Spin around in a circle and scream as loud as I could, "warts be gone, warts be gone". Thankfully, had it not been for my fear of public nudity, I may have attempted this ritual.
The thought of returning from summer as an even uglier 6th grader had reduced me to tears. Soon I was crying so hard, the kind of crying that you make that funny stuttered breathing sound, that I hadn't noticed my dad had walked into the room. If you knew my dad, you would understand that his ability to deal with an adolescent girl was right up there with his ability to swallow fire. There was nothing more out of his comfort zone than trying to deal with emotions, let alone mine.
Given that modern day health care escaped my father and that his idea of first aid was sewing his own finger back on with a needle and fishing line, it was no surprise that I found myself driving with him in his van to his "doctor friend's" office with a Thermos in my lap. I didn't question where we were going, all I knew was my dad was determined to get me to stop crying and that was enough for me. So I followed him, like a trusting and hopeful puppy into the waiting area as he gave the receptionist his name and muttered something about being a friend of the doctors and that, "he would know what it was regarding". Within minutes the doctor asked for us to come back and we were ushered into one of the patient rooms. He came in behind us and asked me for the Thermos. I hoped he wasn't asking for it because he was thirsty and cursed myself for not thinking to fill it with something before we left the house. Quickly my Thermos and the doctor left the room. I sat there in silence wondering what sort of exchange my father had worked out with this strange doctor and why the doctor was more interested in my Thermos than he was with seeing my warts. Soon he came back in the room and handed me the Thermos which was cold to the touch. "Be careful not to spill it on yourself" he said to me with a chuckle which was a cause for concern on my part. He and my dad exchanged awkward pleasantries and my dad and I left.
On the way home I held the Thermos tightly wondering what magical liquid the good doctor had filled it with. Was I supposed to drink it? Maybe it was a syrup I would drink and would kill all the warts. I imagined with great satisfaction the warts drying up and falling away from my hands leaving silky skin in their place. When we got home my dad positioned a chair over the sink in the kitchen and then dropped a handful of Q-tips on a paper towel next to the Thermos. "Just dip them in the dry ice and then press them on your warts. I'm going to watch TV, call me if you need anything." And with that my dad left his 10 year old daughter with a Thermos of dry ice and shaky hands.
I dipped the Q-tip cautiously into the bubbling frosting liquid and then stared at it for a moment before lightly touching it to the surface of the largest wart. It didn't hurt as much as I had imagined so I pushed the tip down with more force and it made a sizzling sound. I grit my teeth tightly together as electric jolts of pain radiated in my wart and up through my arm. At first, the pain caught me off guard but then, the hatred and anger towards them and all they plagued me with took over and I began finding joy in the possibility. I imagined myself wart-free for the first time in years. I imagined writing papers at my desk with ease, with nothing to hide from anyone. First, I focused on the warts on my right hand since I was naturally a lefty and could hold the Q-tip with more precision. After 40 minutes, I held my shaky right hand up and admired the beauty. The white cauliflower masses were now purple and blue suffocated masses encircled by red inflamed rings. Then my shaky and battered right hand enthusiastically grabbed a Q-tip and retaliated with brutal force. By the time I was done my hands looked more tragic than ever but I knew it was a sign of greater things to come.
I went to bed that night with throbbing hands. Stronger than my desire to cry from the pain, was my satisfaction. That night I dreamt of the town folk raging up against the wart monster that had plagued them for many moons. Tired of being the victim of his torment they carried flaming torches into the night. They tracked down the wart monster and backed him into a dark alley. The wart monster screamed as they burned him with their torches and then the screams began to fade...the wart monster was dead.
And they all lived happily ever after...
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Worry Wart
On weekend nights, when my mom was out on a date, I would sit in the stairwell and cry. I would do it quietly so that my grandma couldn't hear me, and so she wouldn't ask questions. I worried that she would hear me and ask what was wrong and I wouldn't have a good answer. I was born with worry lines already etched into my forehead. I was an incessant worrier and my earliest memories were plagued by worst case scenario thoughts. In addition to my red hair, I also inherited my pension for worrying from my grandmother.
I never knew what set off the bad thoughts. Most likely all the TV I watched made my brain think life had to be drenched in drama for it to be interesting and live able. On this particular night, I was tormented by the Highway to Heaven episode. Michael Landon had come to earth to be there for a little girl whose mom had died in a tragic car accident. Ten minutes before my grandma sent me to bed, my eyes were glued to the televised image of a bloody hand hanging outside of the smashed upside down station wagon. In my adolescent mind Pandora's Box of possibility opened and I couldn't ignore the fact that my mom was out there in the scary world, and even worse, driving. It was then I decided her fate was undoubtedly going to be the same as this drama series actress' fate...enter incessant worrying.
So there I sat in the stairway with dreary images circling my influential mind, my eyes glazing over as I fought off sleep, waiting for the inevitable late night phone call. At least that is how it always happened in the movies. The phone would ring, my mom would be in a coma and my grandma would rush my brother and I in our pajamas to the hospital to muster our last goodbyes. Just when I was about to score the music for my mental drama the key turned in the door and my mom was home! I quickly and quietly scurried up the stairs into my bedroom and drifted off to the kind of deep sleep that only 3 hours of crying could bring.
Out of everyone I worried about, my mom was the starring and recurring role. When I was away from her I would worry it was the last time I would see her. Right after she dropped me off at school I would watch her drive away as I tried to fight away the surge of fear that gripped me. Every day was another attempt to make it through 7 straight hours consumed by thoughts of how I was going to handle being an orphan.
In junior high and high school I passed on a lot of the antics that my friends were wrapped up in. I didn't want to smoke because I was scared it was going to fill my lungs with Cancer on the first inhale leaving my mom with the pain of caring for a dying child. I didn't want to sneak out of the house because if my mom found out she would be plagued with worry and driven to searching for me in the night, which would undoubtedly lead to her getting in a fiery car crash (seriously, that Highway to Heaven episode really stuck with me)!
I was always worried about losing the things I cherished most and my mom was on the highest tier. I couldn't imagine my life without a mom who would break out into "I Feel Pretty" mid-laundry folding with underwear on her head. Life without a mom who threw the coolest Gingerbread House making birthday parties for me. Life without a mom who would make microwaved fluffy butter eggs for me when I was sick. I couldn't imagine it, but I did, every second of every day.
As an adult, I still worry. I have learned how to manage my worrying so it isn't all consuming and I have done my best to try and flex my optimism so that my positivity muscles become stronger than my doom and gloom tendencies. But each day is a battle...I shall not lie.
When I was younger, I would tell my mom that when I grew up I was going to live with her forever. This sentiment was probably less about my wanting to live with her and more about making sure I was ever present so I could attempt to keep anything bad from ever happening to her. While it was a sweet gesture it was only that, I moved out of the house when I was 17.
When people find out that I moved out at such a young age they assume it was because I couldn't wait to get away from my mom. It was, in fact, the exact opposite. My mom is the epidemy of strength and Independence and in that sense I wanted to be just like her. I wanted to be just as strong as she was and the desire to take care of myself and be independent was more important than my irrational fear of being away from her.
I have come to realize that my unrelenting fear and worry over my mom was simply because I couldn't imagine life without her. As an adult, I still can't. About six years ago my mom moved 5 1/2 hours away. Coming from a family that is relatively small and one that always resided 10 minutes away from each other, this was a huge and scary adjustment. It is tough not having her around. Not only is she one of my favorite people, but she is also so much fun to be with. I miss being able to see her all the time and being able to do mom and daughter outings with her. Sometimes I will see mom's and their daughters together shopping or having coffee on a Sunday afternoon and it makes me ache for my mom. I wish she was close enough for me to drive to her house or to make last minute plans with.
Like any mom and daughter, we've had our share of ups and downs but my love and admiration for her is constant. Sure, I poke fun at her...the way she dances, the way she cackles when she laughs, but that is only inspired by sheer awe because with each passing day I become more and more like my mom and that...is a beautiful thing.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Veggie Grill
Granted, I am not overly cultured and I don't consider myself to be one of "those kinds of people" who gravitate towards the finer things in life BUT I do know one thing...and that thing is food. My mother raised me on a fine diet of ice cream breakfasts and Hungry Man dinners doused in butter and salt. Over the past 10 years, my eating habits have become healthier and thankfully, more well-rounded. The more I have learned about food and how sugar/chemicals and preservatives come into play with long-term health, healthy food has become even more delicious to me. Knowing I am eating good food that is good for my total wellness makes eating it so much nicer.
Years back I attended a seminar about Candida at Mother's Market. During the speakers presentation she spoke about her son who suffered from ADD and Autism. Her journey into wellness was started through her desire to increase her son's quality of life. As she began researching autism, she found overwhelming studies which showed how red food dye #40 a.k.a Carmine, Crimson Lake ,Cochineal, Carminic acid, Carmines ,and Natural Red 4 as additive E 120, Cochineal, Natural Red 4, C.I. 75470, and E120 (present in MOST processed foods) was a huge factor in manifesting symptoms of autism and ADD. She decided to eliminate her son's intake of all processed foods containing red food dye. This isn't an easy thing to do because it is present in so many foods everyday children eat such as; Cheetos, Jello, Chips-a-Hoy Cookies...pretty much anything you find in the inner isles of the grocery stores--contains red food dye. She successfully managed her son's food and within 6 months his symptoms were significantly decreased and she was able to take him to a much lower dose of medication.
I liken food to being like the fuel or oil we put in our cars. The cheaper the gas, the less efficient our cars run. The lower the grade of oil...well to be honest I am not sure what that does to cars, I am a chick and my car knowledge only extends so far. But metaphorically, you see where I am going here.
Eating healthier is a tough thing to do in today's world. Organic foods are more expensive, fruits and veggies have a shorter shelf life. Packing lunches for your loved ones requires more preparation and sometimes, I agree, it is easier to throw a Lunchable in a backpack than it is to make a salad or sandwich. I don't think healthy living means you have to do away with all foods you have grown to love, but it does require a healthy balance. If you put healthy food into your body 80% of the time and the other 20% is filled with food you eat during birthdays, holidays and the occasional weekends you are still doing a great service to your body and to your health.
One of my biggest current food loves is a delicious and magical place called Veggie Grill. While there are only 3 locations currently, 2 in OC and 1 in LA, I would venture to say there will be more sprouting up soon.Veggie Grill is fresh and vegan cuisine made up to be so yummy that the non-vegan patron would be none the wiser. Their menu ranges from hard core vegan tastes like the All Kale Salad (which, mind you, I would eat every day 3 times a day if I were a millionaire and could afford to do so) to their more mainstream cuisine like Sweetheart Fries which when dipped in the chipotle ranch is AMAZING.
My boyfriend has even found something he loves there, which is saying a lot since his idea of culinary magic is Mountain Dew and Slim Jim's. While it took him a moment to warm up to the idea of eating Vegan cuisine (for a while he would eat next store at Chipotle's while I ate Veggie Grill) he has discovered something he enjoys, the vegetarian chili. Veggie Grill is a wonderful alternative to eating fast food and given that it is fresh, chemical free and organic it is very reasonably priced. Try Veggie Grill and let me know how delicious you think it is!
And, if you are feeling frisky I would suggest the vegan carrot cake. It is delicious!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Irish Car Bomb Cupcakes
In the wee morning hours of my boyfriend, Paul's birthday and after his friends broke in to kidnap him to take him golfing and after they dressed him in a sexy black dress, I sat in silence after the mayhem and thought, "what better way to greet the morning then to bake him something yummy to help him welcome 30!"
Adapted (barely) from www.smittenkitchen.com
Makes 24-30 cupcakes
Whisk flour, sugar, baking soda, and 3/4 teaspoon salt in large bowl to blend. Using electric mixer, beat eggs and sour cream in another large bowl to blend. Add stout-chocolate mixture to egg mixture and beat just to combine. Add flour mixture and beat briefly on slow speed. Using rubber spatula, fold batter until completely combined. Divide batter among cupcake liners, filling them 2/3 to 3/4 of the way. Bake cake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, rotating them once front to back if your oven bakes unevenly, about 17 minutes. Cool cupcakes on a rack completely.
The only thing more inappropriate than the name of these cupcakes (that's if you are easy to offend) is baking these cupcakes for say, a work function. Although they don't have enough alcohol in them to give you a buzz (1 cup of Guinness, 1 shot of Bushmills and 2 shots of Baileys) the Bailey's frosting does taste potent enough to give you a placebo buzz.
These cupcakes combine all the things that make up delicious; beer, chocolate and Bailey's. I knew they were perfect for Paul's birthday as his b-day theme seemed to be Irish Car Bomb shots. Being the good girlfriend I am, I thought I would make a cupcake that could serve as a chaser.
Irish Car Bomb Cupcakes -
Adapted (barely) from www.smittenkitchen.comMost of the alcohol in this recipe gets baked out since the Guinness is mixed into the cupcake batter, the Bailey's frosting however is potent, so if you are making these for people who aren't fans of delicious alcohol - - then let me make 2 suggestions, 1. you may want to use cream instead and 2. you may consider new friends.
I love cupcakes with tons of frosting and found that this recipe didn't create enough so I was left frantically scrounging to find enough butter to make a second batch. I heed you this warning to let you know that if you are like me and love mountains of frosting on your cupcakes, buy enough ingredients to double or even triple your icing recipe.
Makes 24-30 cupcakes
For the Guinness Chocolate Cupcakes
1 cup stout (such as Guinness)
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (preferably Dutch-process)
2 cups all purpose flour
2 cups sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
2/3 cup sour cream
Ganache Filling
8 ounces bittersweet chocolate
2/3 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons butter, room temperature
1 to 2 teaspoons Irish whiskey (optional)
Baileys Frosting
3 to 4 cups confections sugar
1 stick (1/2 cup or 4 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 shot of Baileys (or milk, or heavy cream, or a combination thereof)
Make the cupcakes: Preheat oven to 350°F. Line 24 cupcake cups with liners. Bring 1 cup stout and 1 cup butter to simmer in heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add cocoa powder and whisk until mixture is smooth. Cool slightly.
Whisk flour, sugar, baking soda, and 3/4 teaspoon salt in large bowl to blend. Using electric mixer, beat eggs and sour cream in another large bowl to blend. Add stout-chocolate mixture to egg mixture and beat just to combine. Add flour mixture and beat briefly on slow speed. Using rubber spatula, fold batter until completely combined. Divide batter among cupcake liners, filling them 2/3 to 3/4 of the way. Bake cake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, rotating them once front to back if your oven bakes unevenly, about 17 minutes. Cool cupcakes on a rack completely. Make the filling: Chop the chocolate and transfer it to a heatproof bowl. Heat the cream until simmering and pour it over the chocolate. Let it sit for one minute and then stir until smooth. (If this has not sufficiently melted the chocolate, you can put it for 20 seconds in the microwave, watching carefully) Add the butter and whiskey (if you’re using it) and stir until combined.
Fill the cupcakes: Let the ganache cool until thick but still soft enough to be piped (the fridge will speed this along but you must stir it every 10 minutes). Meanwhile, using your 1-inch round cookie cutter or an apple corer, cut the centers out of the cooled cupcakes-- I found that equally as easy is to press your index finger into the cupcakes being careful not to poke too far down--and also after washing your hands as I am sure you have been licking them at some point. Put the ganache into a piping bag with a wide tip and fill the holes in each cupcake to the top. (***see my Ziploc bag suggestion below)
Make the frosting: Whip the butter in the bowl of an electric mixer, or with a hand mixer, for several minutes. You want to get it very light and fluffy. Slowly add the powdered sugar, a few tablespoons at a time. If the icing begins to clump up - don't worry once you add the Bailey's it will smooth back out. Once the icing is thick enough it is ready to be spread onto the cupcakes awaiting!
Ice and decorate the cupcakes.
Ice and decorate the cupcakes.
*I haven't ever gotten around to purchasing a professional icing bag like my mom uses to decorate her cheesecakes with. I use a large Ziploc baggie with a tiny snip cut out of the corner of it. Voila - MacGyver Icer, works like a dream!
Happy Birthday Paul!
You know you are loved when your friends arrange with your girlfriend to break in and kidnap you in the wee morning hours. Needless to say, Paul...you are very loved. And also needless to say, I am sure the other refined golfers were taken back by the strange lady with an amazing golf game on the course this morning.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Debt That Plagues Us
I have been struggling - no drowning is more accurate - in debt for the past decade, or so it feels like a decade. A sick dog here, a broken down car there, that pizza back in 1998...I am still paying for all of it. In today's economy, I am paying an even higher price considering that APR continues to climb and minimum payments are on the rise. We are on the verge of a credit crisis and I am on the verge of a financial stress meltdown---my situation is not Madoff worthy, but in my little world it may as well be!
I am trying to stay positive because when I stress about money, oddly enough I care less about money, so I spend haphazardly and we all know that $5 here and $10 there ends up being a tremendous mound of debt if not manged properly. I have let go of the hopeless dreams that I will win the lottery - because - let's be honest, chances are I would just charge the lotto tickets if I could.
Debt consumes much of my thoughts during the day. I write budgets down, I try to create a math formula to manipulate the numbers trying desperately to find some feasible way to pay off all my debt before Easter. And every time, I come up with nothing. Because fact separated from fiction, my only choice is to stop the madness of debt and go about it the old fashioned way (contrary to popular belief - that isn't marrying into money).
Here is what I know about paying off debt:
1. Pay more than the minimum balance owed - if you only pay the minimum you end up paying the debt for the rest of your life and when all is said and done you paid the same amount of money that it costs to buy a small island in Fiji.
2. Try to get them to lower your APR - This process is scarier than calling that special stranger you met in the bar last weekend. You sit there with a script in front of you, you practice your lines out loud before making the call and no matter what it always ends up being an awkward conversation. But in the end it's worth it and can have great benefits...translation-it can potentially save you money.
3. Pay off the lowest debt first if possible - so you can eventually pay a lump sum to just one card - contrary to the popular belief that the best way is to pay off the one with the highest interest rate.
4. STOP using the cards - If I followed #4, there would be no blog post about this matter.
5. Try to hold onto sanity - If I was sane there would be no blog post about this matter.
And the most important lesson I have learned is---
NO matter how much money you make it is never enough - I keep thinking that if I just made $20,000 more a year I would be just fine...case and point - I started saying that minus $40,000 ago and I am still saying it. UNLESS you manage your finances and stick to a budget and don't use credit cards to buy things you can't afford, then all the money in the world will NEVER be enough!
I don't have a closet full of expensive clothes or designer purses, but that is no excuse - - even worse - - it's a terrible excuse because all that means is I have nothing to show for my debt but debt itself. The debt has outlasted whatever I have spent it on. Minus my doggy Jack, his health is a big ole' chunk of my debt and he is still alive and well.
What I vow to do:
1- Stop charging - this means no more acupuncture treatments - - which is sad for me because they were really starting to help. It means no more charging that $20 top that I should just wait for the next pay period to go out and buy with cash. It means that when I am broke I am broke and credit can't help sustain me until the next paycheck.
2 - Let go of the dream that I can strip for 2 months to pay it all off because - let's be honest - I am too uncoordinated to walk in Lucite stilettos and black lights are too unforgiving on pale skin. My stripper pole opportunity ship has sailed long ago.
3 - Consider all options - This time I will go beyond consideration of selling my eggs, liver, spleen or kidneys. Body parts aside, there are other areas of spending I can cut. For example, I no longer visit Starbucks daily which has saved me $80 a month - when I first considered it though I was more convinced I could live without my liver than I could without my Starbucks.
4 - Repeat steps 1-3 until all the debt is gone.
I have no idea when I will get to the bottom of my debt but I know there is a bottom and I know I will get there...maybe not by Easter but someday!
I am trying to stay positive because when I stress about money, oddly enough I care less about money, so I spend haphazardly and we all know that $5 here and $10 there ends up being a tremendous mound of debt if not manged properly. I have let go of the hopeless dreams that I will win the lottery - because - let's be honest, chances are I would just charge the lotto tickets if I could.
Debt consumes much of my thoughts during the day. I write budgets down, I try to create a math formula to manipulate the numbers trying desperately to find some feasible way to pay off all my debt before Easter. And every time, I come up with nothing. Because fact separated from fiction, my only choice is to stop the madness of debt and go about it the old fashioned way (contrary to popular belief - that isn't marrying into money).
Here is what I know about paying off debt:
1. Pay more than the minimum balance owed - if you only pay the minimum you end up paying the debt for the rest of your life and when all is said and done you paid the same amount of money that it costs to buy a small island in Fiji.
2. Try to get them to lower your APR - This process is scarier than calling that special stranger you met in the bar last weekend. You sit there with a script in front of you, you practice your lines out loud before making the call and no matter what it always ends up being an awkward conversation. But in the end it's worth it and can have great benefits...translation-it can potentially save you money.
3. Pay off the lowest debt first if possible - so you can eventually pay a lump sum to just one card - contrary to the popular belief that the best way is to pay off the one with the highest interest rate.
4. STOP using the cards - If I followed #4, there would be no blog post about this matter.
5. Try to hold onto sanity - If I was sane there would be no blog post about this matter.
And the most important lesson I have learned is---
NO matter how much money you make it is never enough - I keep thinking that if I just made $20,000 more a year I would be just fine...case and point - I started saying that minus $40,000 ago and I am still saying it. UNLESS you manage your finances and stick to a budget and don't use credit cards to buy things you can't afford, then all the money in the world will NEVER be enough!
I don't have a closet full of expensive clothes or designer purses, but that is no excuse - - even worse - - it's a terrible excuse because all that means is I have nothing to show for my debt but debt itself. The debt has outlasted whatever I have spent it on. Minus my doggy Jack, his health is a big ole' chunk of my debt and he is still alive and well.
What I vow to do:
1- Stop charging - this means no more acupuncture treatments - - which is sad for me because they were really starting to help. It means no more charging that $20 top that I should just wait for the next pay period to go out and buy with cash. It means that when I am broke I am broke and credit can't help sustain me until the next paycheck.
2 - Let go of the dream that I can strip for 2 months to pay it all off because - let's be honest - I am too uncoordinated to walk in Lucite stilettos and black lights are too unforgiving on pale skin. My stripper pole opportunity ship has sailed long ago.
3 - Consider all options - This time I will go beyond consideration of selling my eggs, liver, spleen or kidneys. Body parts aside, there are other areas of spending I can cut. For example, I no longer visit Starbucks daily which has saved me $80 a month - when I first considered it though I was more convinced I could live without my liver than I could without my Starbucks.
4 - Repeat steps 1-3 until all the debt is gone.
I have no idea when I will get to the bottom of my debt but I know there is a bottom and I know I will get there...maybe not by Easter but someday!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
I was running....
"If I do this with my arms like this it fees like I am running at an incredible rate..." ahh Dumb and Dumber I love you!
Videos That Make Me Smile
The endless Charlie-ism's.
It could have been worse, at least he didn't reenact the volleyball scene.
After all these years and still that stupid wink.
And another Charlie moment....sometimes it's like Paul and Charie have their own special language.
Breakfast with Baba
I went to breakfast with my grandpa this morning. We started it off with a Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity at IHop and then went to sit at the beach for a little while so we could enjoy the sunshine.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
My Gammie, Mildred Catherine Stevens
The best kind of person to have in your life is someone you have so many memories with it is impossible to recount every one. Ironically, that also makes them the hardest kind of person to lose. Even though my Gammie lived for 90 years and 7 months, I will never feel as if I had enough time to share with her.We were always very close. My positioning with her was God given, if you will, favoritism attributed mostly to the fact that out of 4 grandchildren, I was the youngest and the only girl. But our connection was more than that. Growing up I always knew no moment was complete until I shared it with her. No news that I had was ever received with more enthusiasm than when I told my Gammie about it. No one thought I was prettier, smarter or more talented than my Gammie did. If I was teased at school - which I was, often - she was the first to tell me that the other kids were just jealous of me. And she said it with such conviction that sometimes I even believed her. When I would visit her, the first 10 minutes were filled with her telling me how pretty I was or how much she loved me. Everyone needs that kind of love in their life.
Without her in our life, my mom, my brother and I would have been lost. Some may think it unfortunate that my mom had to move back in with my grandparents when we were young. But it was an amazing gift and a time I will forever feel fortunate for. Living with my grandparents meant every day after school I came home to a bowl of M&M's, Nickelodeon and my Gammie who was always there to be with Erik and me. It meant that after school when everyone else was being picked up in their mom's mini vans, my brother and I got to be picked up by a black Camero by our Gammie who wore leather pants and dangly earrings. Gammie made my brother and I special and unique. Everyone wanted a grandma like ours. One who favored playing tennis and wearing Poison perfume over their grandmothers who knitted and smelled like old wool.
As I got older and moved out of the house my Grandma's house was where I would return to when I felt like my world was spinning out of control. It was the one place I had on this earth where I felt safe. And like all wonderful grandparents do, my Gammie would make sure when I would visit that I had enough to eat and when I left her house I always left with more than I came with. Whether it be a bag of groceries foraged from her cupboard, coupons, magazines, candy or a few extra dollars to help me out. Gammie was my haven and my soft place to land. After our visit together she would walk me out to my car and as I drove away I could always see her lips moving as she said her ritualistic prayer for me which she was convinced would keep me safe, "Wrap Stacy in white, with Saint Christopher and Saint Jude on her shoulders." Right about a year before my Gammie began leave the house less and less, she and I would meet for coffee every Friday before I went into work and before she got her weekly haircut. We would spend an hour every Friday sitting and talking. I loved those visits.
Over the past few years my Gammie's sparkle began to fade. She has been in and out of the hospital countless times. Many of which we didn't think she would make it out from. Our visits of lengthy talks and catching up were replaced by her circle of questions, "Are you happy?", "What have been up to?", "What do you do for fun...see any good movies lately?" And those questions would be asked over and over for the entire span of our time together. It broke my heart to let go of her little by little. It broke my heart to see her legs swell with fluid, to hear her constant coughing and wheezing. My Gammie never wanted to be old. She never wanted to be sick and in pain. She was like lightning, strong, fiery and electric. But time had reduced her to less than that and I knew it made her sad. She was trapped in a body that didn't match her spirit. For 90, she looked amazing but for Gammie, she looked sick.
This Christmas, although my Gammie still wore her pretty Chico's outfit and was decked out in all her usual accessories. She had two new accessories that made my heart sick - an oxygen tank and a wheelchair. I knew it wasn't long until she would leave me....until she would leave us. But I just don't know how to let her go.
My Gammie is vibrant and sparkly. She would enter a room of strangers but would leave the room with friends. And I loved her so very much. I know she was hurting, I know she was sick. I know she wanted so badly to let go but no matter what, I am not ready. Even though I feel like I have been trying to prepare myself for years, I am not prepared for this. I am not ready to let her go or to let her fade away. To do that would mean I too fade away because so much of what I am is because of her. She knew how much I loved her, she knew how much she meant to me and I know how much she loved me - which is why letting her go is so hard.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Earned Income Tax Credit
Given we are in the midst of tax season, I thought I would pass along a resource which may be of use to your family/friends. The government has a little known tax program called EITC. Returns from EITC can contribute a significant amount of money to families who are struggling during these financially challenging times. For qualifying families, the return could add as much as $4,824 to their 2008 annual income. If a family is qualified and has not claimed this credit in the last 2 years, they can receive as much as $14,076 for 2008. Typically any family with 2 dependants or more living on a $40,000 income or below will qualify.
If you know someone who could benefit from this they can ask their tax preparer to complete the form with their tax filings or they can go to http://www.irs.gov/individuals/article/0,,id=96466,00.html for more information. It is an easy process and could bring a lot of benefits to people, especially in these difficult economic times.
Pass it along!
If you know someone who could benefit from this they can ask their tax preparer to complete the form with their tax filings or they can go to http://www.irs.gov/individuals/article/0,,id=96466,00.html for more information. It is an easy process and could bring a lot of benefits to people, especially in these difficult economic times.
Pass it along!
Monday, February 16, 2009
Thanks But No Thanks for the Memories?
There is a story in today's news about a new pill being tested by the Dutch that will erase painful memories or to frame it more accurately, it will block the unfortunate emotions tied to the event. The painful memories we have would essentially be replaced by feelings of numbness, happiness or even euphoria. The drug is being developed by the University of Amsterdam and is known as Propranolol, many may be familair with the liquid form of this drug...alcohol. I joke.
But seriously people, I have to wonder where we are headed as a "modern society". We live in a society that is more detached than it has ever been. Customer service is mostly automated, people text instead of calling each other, we learn how and what our friends are doing by reading their Facebook status'. Children spend hours on the computer, we watch countless hours of television. Even I am guilty of watching so many movies that sometimes I can't decipher fact from fiction. So to me, a pill that will make us more detached from the events that are happening in our lives makes me uneasy. Isn't part of living...learning? And without living through emotions, without experiencing pain tied to certain experiences aren't we robbing ourselves of valuable life lessons? They say this pill won't erase the memory of the event but it will make you essentially numb to the bad feelings that the memory brings. I realize this pill could be very useful for treating symptoms of PTSD, however I think there always needs to be a great amount of caution when using any drug to numb feelings, no matter how severe. By drugging a symptom you are truly just masking the cause and not fixing a thing.
Personally, I'm not sure I would take a pill that would erase my emotions. First, I have seen Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and given I learn most of my life lessons in a dark theatre, I know how this one ends! I also know there is a lot of wisdom to be found in pain. Because of the pain I have lived through, I know what I want out of relationships, I know what I will and won't put up with, I have learned the importance of telling those you love how you feel about them as often as possible, because I know what the pain of not doing so brings. I know the pain of being seen as ugly and as a result I have a much better understanding of beauty. So, although I've lived through some painful moments, as everyone has, I am with Bob Hope in saying, "thanks for the memories". While this may be a drug for some people, I say thanks but no thanks, that's too tough a pill for me to swallow!
But seriously people, I have to wonder where we are headed as a "modern society". We live in a society that is more detached than it has ever been. Customer service is mostly automated, people text instead of calling each other, we learn how and what our friends are doing by reading their Facebook status'. Children spend hours on the computer, we watch countless hours of television. Even I am guilty of watching so many movies that sometimes I can't decipher fact from fiction. So to me, a pill that will make us more detached from the events that are happening in our lives makes me uneasy. Isn't part of living...learning? And without living through emotions, without experiencing pain tied to certain experiences aren't we robbing ourselves of valuable life lessons? They say this pill won't erase the memory of the event but it will make you essentially numb to the bad feelings that the memory brings. I realize this pill could be very useful for treating symptoms of PTSD, however I think there always needs to be a great amount of caution when using any drug to numb feelings, no matter how severe. By drugging a symptom you are truly just masking the cause and not fixing a thing.Personally, I'm not sure I would take a pill that would erase my emotions. First, I have seen Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and given I learn most of my life lessons in a dark theatre, I know how this one ends! I also know there is a lot of wisdom to be found in pain. Because of the pain I have lived through, I know what I want out of relationships, I know what I will and won't put up with, I have learned the importance of telling those you love how you feel about them as often as possible, because I know what the pain of not doing so brings. I know the pain of being seen as ugly and as a result I have a much better understanding of beauty. So, although I've lived through some painful moments, as everyone has, I am with Bob Hope in saying, "thanks for the memories". While this may be a drug for some people, I say thanks but no thanks, that's too tough a pill for me to swallow!
Monday, February 9, 2009
Unprotected Sketch - Family Style
At this past Friday's Unprotected Sketch show at Second City, my mom and Tony flew out special for the occasion! It was awesome that my mom and Tony finally got a chance to see one of my shows. I figured it was best to break them in with some Improv before they saw my stand up, which can be much more nerve racking that sketch. My brother and Julia also joined and so did Jami and Res. Paul was nice enough to come and see the show again. He has probably seen the show more than any audience member ever in attendance. It was a lot of fun and great to have the support of my wonderful family and great friends.
Sunset Junction a.k.a. Funnest Day Ever!
If there is one big lesson I took out of 2008, it was that it's much better to have a friend in a band, than it is to have a boyfriend in a band. Ilya and I decided to go see Mikel play at Sunset Junction, an annual Sunset favorite, and had one of THE BEST Ilya and Stacy days ever! We spent the early afternoon walking around people watching as we waited for Mikel and The Airborne Toxic Event to begin their performance. 
The day was a lovely, 103 degrees and all the beer in the world couldn't convince me that I wasn't about to pass out from heat exhaustion. At one point, I kept telling Ilya that the world was going dark and I was about to pass out. I downed a beer and a hot dog and all was well again.
After ATE's performance Ilya and I, in rare groupie form went "backstage", which was more of a back gate than anything, and said hello to Mikel. Like a true rock star, the last time I had seen him was when he stumbled off into the night, pissed off for some reason beyond me. Ah, the life of a tortured romantic musician! Suffice it to say, Mikel was better to admire at a distance. Today, ATE is gaining popularity and has a regular presence on all the local radio stations. It is great to watch him succeed in something that is so dear to him, and it is well deserved, ATE is an amazing and talented band.
Ilya and I found ourselves going with Mikel and the band to some random bar which felt like an oasi. The mixture of cold beer and air conditioning meant that we weren't about to leave this dark bar and venture off into the hot hot heat and LA sunshine anytime soon. 
Why do I look so much more posey in this picture than he does?
But not in this one!!! Ah, the drunken Jollet's - Mikel and his big bro.
Now this guy was hilarious, his name is Tim and he is from a band called "The Movies". Not only does he love to drink but he is a self professed lover of black girls...HI YO! 
This is the back of Anna. If you are a regular watcher of Leno, Letterman or Conan you would be more familair with the front of her. She is in Airborne and plays the violin...and the tambourine.
You aren't truly a local of Los Angeles, until you have been drunk at some random person's, indie band house party in the bowels of Sunset Junction, dated a rising musician and vowed to never date another musician. And for 2008, I was a local Angelino...and in 2009 I am happy to say, I have moved away and onward.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Bikini Mama
It is almost swimsuit season...you know what that means! In exactly three months I will be standing in front of a full sized mirror under harsh fluorescent lighting swearing I will never eat again and cursing my terrible body genes. Unfortunately I am cursed with a low threshold for starvation and an affinity for eating, to put it simpler, I am screwed. I wasn't blessed with a model's ability to eat under 500 calories a day and I certainly am not one of those women who are blessed with a naturally thin body. If I want to be thin I need to work hard for it. Daily gym visits, food logs, dessert deprivation AND even then, I still have curves. Skinny rail thin women say how badly they want curves, how they wish they had a butt or hips. If only they knew that with curves, came the constant threat of looking heavy even with the tiniest jump of the scale. I run double digit miles every week, I play soccer, I do pilates and I even recently cut out all refined sugar from my daily plate. Even with this I still am no supermodel and I am still not the ideal candidate for 7 jeans. Society is harsh on women, case and point, Jessica in her mom jeans....
The truth is that yes, this girl is a little heavier than the Jessica we know, but she is by no means heavy or fat or even thick. This is a girl who gained 5 pounds or so and picked a terrible outfit for her current body type. And yes, this is a crime in itself, given that she has stylists, tons of money and the looming threat of criticism. Often times I think that with money to spend on nicer clothes other than my current choice of cheap synthetic Forever 21 clothing, I would look much more attractive and stress less on how what I am wearing makes me look even fatter. But how is a normal girl like me supposed to feel attractive when the ideal of beautiful isn't Jessica Simpson plus 5 pounds? Especially when the normal woman is Jessica Simpson plus 20 pounds?
To remain beautiful in society's eyes requires constant and vigilant attention and deprivation. We don't have it like men do. Most men don't have the unfortunate voice in their head that says...I can't walk around naked because my ass is too big or my thighs are too giggly. Men are lucky in that they can look like ass but still walk around like they are Brad Pitt circa Thelma and Louise. And when a girl does walk around, unconsumed with her body flaws - - case and point -- Jennifer Love with her buxom floaties, she is attacked and criticized for letting herself go.
I do agree, Jennifer is not the picture of perfection here, however neither am I. And if I had to pick a body type that I felt mine looked like in a bikini, I would have to say that Miss. Love and I have more in common here than we don't have in common. As bikini season nears, and my naked anxiety increases, I am plagued by the idea that sometimes, the only thing harsher than the terrible fluorescent lighting in the dressing room, is society and their unrelenting views on beauty.
The truth is that yes, this girl is a little heavier than the Jessica we know, but she is by no means heavy or fat or even thick. This is a girl who gained 5 pounds or so and picked a terrible outfit for her current body type. And yes, this is a crime in itself, given that she has stylists, tons of money and the looming threat of criticism. Often times I think that with money to spend on nicer clothes other than my current choice of cheap synthetic Forever 21 clothing, I would look much more attractive and stress less on how what I am wearing makes me look even fatter. But how is a normal girl like me supposed to feel attractive when the ideal of beautiful isn't Jessica Simpson plus 5 pounds? Especially when the normal woman is Jessica Simpson plus 20 pounds?
To remain beautiful in society's eyes requires constant and vigilant attention and deprivation. We don't have it like men do. Most men don't have the unfortunate voice in their head that says...I can't walk around naked because my ass is too big or my thighs are too giggly. Men are lucky in that they can look like ass but still walk around like they are Brad Pitt circa Thelma and Louise. And when a girl does walk around, unconsumed with her body flaws - - case and point -- Jennifer Love with her buxom floaties, she is attacked and criticized for letting herself go.
I do agree, Jennifer is not the picture of perfection here, however neither am I. And if I had to pick a body type that I felt mine looked like in a bikini, I would have to say that Miss. Love and I have more in common here than we don't have in common. As bikini season nears, and my naked anxiety increases, I am plagued by the idea that sometimes, the only thing harsher than the terrible fluorescent lighting in the dressing room, is society and their unrelenting views on beauty.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
How to feel like an ass
Paul and I went on our weekly outing to Disneyland this Sunday. I say weekly, but I more so mean that for the past 2 Sundays we have gone to Disneyland and I am hoping the trend sticks...therefore I am calling it "a weekly trip". Mind you we aren't die hard Disneyland freaks. I don't get decked out in a Mickey sweater. I don't wear a "I'm Grumpy" t-shirt and we certainly don't walk around Disneyland wearing our Annual Passports around our necks in a plastic protective sleeve on a lanyard with tons of Disney pin flare for the tourists to covet. Not that there is anything wrong with that - - I am just saying, that isn't us. We are more so quiet Disneyland dwellers that appreciate the magic that is Disneyland for a couple of hours on Sunday and then go home to our Mickey free home.
I have been to Disneyland more than a handful of times and I thought I was familiar with most of the attractions there. BUT this Sunday we stumbled upon Mickey and Minnie's house in Toon Town. Toon Town at night is a desolate area. No one goes there because it really doesn't have much to offer in rides and it is mostly just fun toony-type things to look at. But we went and visited Minnie and Mickey's house. I don't want to give the wrong impression here, seeing as this is a place that prides itself on family entertainment, so I should clarify that they live in separate houses. Although they are in fact direct neighbors. I am not sure if they met before they decided to be neighbors or if one day Minnie unassumingly moved into the house next door as Mickey checked out the hot mouse tail that just became his neighbor. But once again, I digress. So we toured Minnie's house which was a parade of girly pink and fluff.
As you can see Paul made himself comfortable on her loungy chair which sat next to her vanity mirror with over sized perfume bottles and too much makeup. I never knew Minnie was in such close approximation to the vain women who have bathrooms stuffed to the gills with MAC and Smashbox makeup...though I should have known, after all she is a mouse from the O.C.
We then made our way to Mickey's bachelor pad next door. Though I am convinced it is all for show and that Mickey in fact spends most of his nights shacking up at Minnie's powder puffy home. Mickey had all the typical guy stuff. Sports gear lying around, mops to give off the impression that he was super clean.
A music room, which I am sure he brings the ladies home to and plays the piano contraption to get them all a flutter.--sorry Minnie.
Anyhow, we walked through Mickey's entire house enjoying the cool cartoony views. Making sarcastic comments here and there...because that's how we do. And at the end of the house after we walked through his kitchen, his music room, his garden...we found ourselves in some sort of holding room with children and their parents. Clearly, we were waiting for something but we had no idea what. The kids seemed somewhat excited when the over enthusiastic Disney worker asked them what was waiting for them behind the door....they all shouted Mickey!!!! Paul and I looked at each other with the look of "oh we are so lame" We then found ourselves reluctantly waiting in line, mind you behind 10 small children...to get our picture taken with Mickey. We were going to leave, but didn't want to be rude house guests so we got our picture taken. I didn't get a chance to ask him why Minnie and him haven't taken the plunge, we didn't get a chance to have a beer with him and see what he has been doing since his latest film...but we now have a picture together with Mickey Mouse with no child to speak of in the picture with us, which would have made it a little more normalized. I think this puts us in a different league however I still refuse to wear Disney apparel and mom jeans. Maybe someday...in a land far far away. But not today! 
I have been to Disneyland more than a handful of times and I thought I was familiar with most of the attractions there. BUT this Sunday we stumbled upon Mickey and Minnie's house in Toon Town. Toon Town at night is a desolate area. No one goes there because it really doesn't have much to offer in rides and it is mostly just fun toony-type things to look at. But we went and visited Minnie and Mickey's house. I don't want to give the wrong impression here, seeing as this is a place that prides itself on family entertainment, so I should clarify that they live in separate houses. Although they are in fact direct neighbors. I am not sure if they met before they decided to be neighbors or if one day Minnie unassumingly moved into the house next door as Mickey checked out the hot mouse tail that just became his neighbor. But once again, I digress. So we toured Minnie's house which was a parade of girly pink and fluff.As you can see Paul made himself comfortable on her loungy chair which sat next to her vanity mirror with over sized perfume bottles and too much makeup. I never knew Minnie was in such close approximation to the vain women who have bathrooms stuffed to the gills with MAC and Smashbox makeup...though I should have known, after all she is a mouse from the O.C.We then made our way to Mickey's bachelor pad next door. Though I am convinced it is all for show and that Mickey in fact spends most of his nights shacking up at Minnie's powder puffy home. Mickey had all the typical guy stuff. Sports gear lying around, mops to give off the impression that he was super clean.
A music room, which I am sure he brings the ladies home to and plays the piano contraption to get them all a flutter.--sorry Minnie.
Anyhow, we walked through Mickey's entire house enjoying the cool cartoony views. Making sarcastic comments here and there...because that's how we do. And at the end of the house after we walked through his kitchen, his music room, his garden...we found ourselves in some sort of holding room with children and their parents. Clearly, we were waiting for something but we had no idea what. The kids seemed somewhat excited when the over enthusiastic Disney worker asked them what was waiting for them behind the door....they all shouted Mickey!!!! Paul and I looked at each other with the look of "oh we are so lame" We then found ourselves reluctantly waiting in line, mind you behind 10 small children...to get our picture taken with Mickey. We were going to leave, but didn't want to be rude house guests so we got our picture taken. I didn't get a chance to ask him why Minnie and him haven't taken the plunge, we didn't get a chance to have a beer with him and see what he has been doing since his latest film...but we now have a picture together with Mickey Mouse with no child to speak of in the picture with us, which would have made it a little more normalized. I think this puts us in a different league however I still refuse to wear Disney apparel and mom jeans. Maybe someday...in a land far far away. But not today!Charlie Pooba
Seeing as I got Charlie from the pound I always wondered about his roots. Where did he come from? What did his mom-dog and dad-dog look like? Well it looks as if his roots are gaming casinos, drinking and fire dancing. Tatonka!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
SOCCER FANS!
My brother and I grew up playing soccer. We spent many weekends chowing down on orange slices and drinking capri suns compliments of the weeks soccer mom. My brother has always been a huge sports fan when we were kids. He was always going to baseball games, watching football and playing basketball. In the last couple of years he has become a raging soccer fan. More specifically, a Barcelona fan. I would venture to say that he has more Barca paraphernalia than players who are actually on the Barca team. He recently took his love for the game to a new level and created a very cool website called http://www.barcaloco.com. Be sure to check it out and pass it along~
Friday, January 16, 2009
Our Public Schools Fail Us....Once Again
Maybe it was nerves-or possibly the glare of the stage lights BUT if you are a contestant on a game show whose basic requirement is that you can spell, it should come as no suprise that you will also be expected to read.
Watch more Wheel Of Fortune Fail videos on AOL Video
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