Fire Alarm Fun

For lack of a something better to write about I am piggybacking off of my last post. My cousin Lisa is to thanks for the inspiration, and she may be a little embarrassed that I’m sharing this, but well, that’s the price you pay for doing something embarrassing around me.

When I was in college, I lived across the Bay from Lisa and her husband, Derek (also know as my favorite cousin…but that’s another story). They had my sister and I over for dinner one night and Lisa was preparing a tuna casserole that was SUPER cheesy. (A huge plus in my book because, well, I love me some cheese.) We were drinking and playing pool and just hanging out while the casserole was in the oven.

All of a sudden, we smelled something burning. Naturally, Lisa opened the oven to check on the dish. Turns out, the casserole was a little bit too cheesy and the dish had bubbled over and there was cheese burning on the bottom of the oven. The whole apartment filled with smoke and even after opening all the windows, it was still like Backdraft in there. In a fit of possibly intoxicated genius, Derek opened the front door, clearing the smoke from the apartment into the hallway.

Where the fire alarm for the whole building was located.

Fun fact: when the fire alarm in an apartment building goes off, the fire department comes and the whole building has to evacuate.

Now, I thought this was hysterically funny at the time, but my dear cousin was mortified. So much so that she made me, the loud, outgoing, one, go downstairs and talk to the fire department and face the angry tenants. Why I went down is still beyond me…I blame it on the alcohol.

When I got to the lobby, there were about 15 people who all looked unhappy. I told the firemen where to go and they headed upstairs, along with the building manager. I told everyone the story and instead of laughing at how silly the whole thing was, they got more irritated. They said many things that were not very nice, but since I have always been a professional at dealing with irate people, everyone got over it by the time the firefighters came back down. Everyone was allowed to go back his or her respective home and all was right with the world.

Another fun fact: When a fire alarm in an apartment building goes off, the elevator is shut down. Therefore, when everyone was headed back up, I got many an angry glare from the same people I had just calmed down. If it had been my building I would have said, “Whatever fatties, it’s one less trip to the gym.” But things were going bad enough for my cousin already.

The best part however, was that on my way back up, I was attempting to apologize and one of two clearly single girls said, ”Hey it’s ok. We got the numbers of two of the firefighters.”

Fire alarm matchmaking. It’s all the rage.

(DISCLAIMER: I don’t recommend this method of matchmaking. It costs taxpayer money and really, the fireman thing is only good in fantasies or strip clubs. Otherwise they have strange hours and usually have hero complexes and…I could go on but you get my point.)

It's Always Sudden

Two months ago, I was watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer with my dad before I went to the movies. It was “The Body,” the episode in which Buffy comes home to find her mom dead on the couch. The episode had always been one that brought tears to Dad’s eyes and whenever we caught it, we would watch in silence. Mom would always ruin it with commentary about how many times we must have seen it and each time, including this time, we would shush her because she didn’t understand the brilliance and realism of the episode.

Dad started watching Buffy with me during the second season. It was just the right mixture of horror, thriller, drama, violence and comedy. He eventually became even more obsessed with it than I did, even going as far as to Google certain producers because he saw their names attached to other things and wanted to make sure that it was the same producers. If you knew my dad, Googling something was a bit of an adventure, since typing a name might take an hour. He would recognize an actor who played a bit part in one episode and joke, “I have no life.” However, if anyone wanted to play “The Seven Degrees of Buffy,” he would slay any opponent.

There is one scene in this episode that always made our silence go from one of attention to one of genuine immersion and relation. The Scooby Gang is getting ready to head to the morgue. Willow keeps changing outfits, trying to figure out the most appropriate, panicking about what to wear. Tara, always the comforting and loving one, doing everything she can to help Willow. Xander is angry and trying to find anyone to exact some revenge upon, whether it’s a supernatural force or a wall. Anya, a 1,000 year old demon who has never had to deal with death on a personal level, is just trying to understand. By the end of the scene, they all calm down and realize their job is to get to the morgue and be there for Buffy. Dad always loved this scene and I always knew it had a lot to do with the different ways everyone deals with death. But, I also knew that someone, if not all of them, reminded him of himself when his parents passed away. I could relate to it somewhat, because I had lost my grandparents, whom I loved very much, but it wasn’t until later that night I truly lived it and understood why it resonated so much with him.

Because, suddenly in the middle of a movie, I got a call that my dad, the most important person in my life and the only person who could sing along with me to every song from “Once More with Feeling,” was dead.

That night and ever since then, the following speech has been stuck in my head. Joss Whedon, I just have to say thank you writing my response for every person who wonders how I’m doing.

"I don't understand! I don't understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she's... there's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore. It's stupid. It's mortal and stupid. And Xander's crying and not talking. And I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch, ever. And she'll never have eggs or yawn or brush her hair. Not ever. And no one will explain to me why."

Unfortunately, the world does not stop when something like this happens, as evidenced by my continuing to write and update this blog. I will not stop going to work, stop hanging out with my friends. I will attend the 3 weddings I am invited to this year and I will celebrate happily. I will take Meg out for her 21st birthday and make sure she has one to remember. (Or possibly not. It is her 21st afterall!) I will pay my bills and drive my car and read books and I will continue living. I will, however, never understand and I will never stop missing him. On the other hand, I will always do everything knowing that Dad is with me, especially when I am singing along to “Rest in Peace.”

And if you don’t get that last reference, look it up. You’ll like it.

Thanksgiving is More than Turkey...Sometimes...

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. Mostly because it is all about eating and, let’s be honest, if it involves consuming large quantities of food, I’m there! But, after looking back on the last few years, I think Thanksgiving has been the standout holiday.

I could go all the way back to my childhood when we would go to my Grandma Marybelle’s house and she would cook everything throughout the day while I played with my cousins in our refrigerator box that we pretended to be a house. Or how we could go to my Grandma BJ’s house and having to eat dessert on the step going into the living room with my cousins because we weren’t allowed to eat on the furniture like the grown-ups. But, I think some of my favorite memories are from the past four years.

My senior year at Berkeley, my Aunt Bev and Uncle John asked me to join them for Thanksgiving in Chicago. My cousin, Julia, was going to Northwestern and they were going to fly out and do dinner in her apartment. They would pay for my flight and I could stay with Julia and it would be my graduation present. Who am I to say no to that?! So, they booked me a flight from Oakland and I met them at Midway. It was so much fun to sit in the car for two hours in traffic and just chat and catch up with them! I know the traffic part doesn’t sound good, but we talked about so many different things and I had so much energy out of pure excitement, I couldn’t have asked for a better time. On Thanksgiving day, Aunt Bev cooked an AMAZING meal, and all she asked was that we stay out of her way. Then, before dinner, she and I went for a walk. We’ve done this for as long as I can remember, so even thought it was 27 degrees outside, it made me so happy to know that no matter how much changes, some traditions still remain intact. During dinner, the conversation went everywhere, from politics to life after college to explaining to Aunt Bev what “breaking the seal” means. Sitting there with all of them, I couldn’t have been more grateful to have them as my family members and to be spending my Thanksgiving with them.

The next year, I actually posted about it…so read it here (click on it..do it…) But the bottom line was it was the most fantastic dinner, a lot of fun and games, and we got a great surprise in the form of Lisa being pregnant.

Last year, I had a yen to travel again, so it was off to New York to spend the holiday with my sister-from-another-mister, Cierra. She and I have been friends since freshman year of high school and, after she moved, I will take any chance to go see her. Her mom offered to have it at her apartment and Cierra’s sister came with her dad and his wife, along with Cierra’s boyfriend and his parents. Add a co-worker of Cierra’s and we had a full house! The dinner was scrumptious and we went ice-skating after. I had never been ice-skating in my life, and there could not have been a better time to go! We went to the rink at Bryant Park, everyone rented some skates and we just got out there. Cierra helped me along and I got the hang of it. And I only fell once! I can’t say the same for everyone in our group, but I can say that we all had so much fun! I might not have been with my blood relatives that night, but I definitely consider them family. (Also, while in line to skate, I got on the phone with the family at home and, in what is scarily becoming a tradition, my cousin Cheryl informed me that she was pregnant with her second child. I’m not going to lie, I said a little prayer that I wouldn’t be the one next year.)

That brings us to this year. I was worried at first that I was going to do nothing, just work and not have turkey or family or anything. My grandparents moved into an apartment and no longer have the space to host one of the huge gatherings of years past, and everyone seemed to be going somewhere or doing something. My Aunt Bev mentioned once that they were going to San Francisco, but no formal invitation was made. Then, on my second visit to Grandma’s new pad, I found out that my cousin Lisa and her husband (my favorite cousin) Derek would be coming down. From there, I pretty much invited myself to come down as well and stay for a few days to hang out. Since I live with my parents, they are kind of a package deal, so they were coming as well. This would make it a small gathering, with only 7.25 of us. (The .25 being Lisa and Derek’s adorable 17-month-old son, Blake, the one Lisa, two years ago, announced she was pregnant with.)

Then, the most amazing thing happened. My friend Torrey and her husband (still weird that my friends have husbands…), Stephen, were going to be in town and wanted me to come with them to Knott’s Berry Farm. I haven’t been to Knott’s in a very long time and I was more enthusiastic about the hanging out than I was the amusement park. But, like the trooper I am, I went…and had a BLAST! The rides were pretty great and, even though a lot has changed since I was last there, the cute shops and crafts were still there and fun to look through. The best part was that, even though this wasn’t Thanksgiving, it gave me just one more thing to be thankful for.

On Thanksgiving, I did something incredibly typical: I forgot the main ingredient in the appetizer I was supposed to make. I literally got to Grandma’s, put my stuff down, and jumped back in the car to go buy mushrooms. After successfully getting the mushrooms and putting them in the oven in the oven, I headed with Lisa, Derek and Blake to the park to burn off some of Blake’s restless energy. I have to say, I admire the kid. He is not afraid of ANYTHING. The big slide? No problem. The ladder that he could fall through? Awesome (even though Mom and Dad stopped him.) The big kid swings? Bring it on (even though he had to sit on Mommy’s lap.) After getting back, we proceeded to consume massive quantities of food. Between my appetizers (stuffed mushrooms and 3 different kinds of cheese balls...super delicious if I do say myself) and the dinner itself, I was stuffed fuller than the turkey. As it should be. The best part came the next night, though, when I went out to dinner with my grandparents and Derek and Lisa. We ate at an Italian place my cousin Maddy suggested and it was one of the best meals I’ve ever had. (Sorry, Grandma) After that, we went back and I just hung out with Derek and Lisa.

Looking back at these last few years, it doesn’t seem like these Thanksgivings were eventful or dramatic. But, honestly, I feel like that is how the holidays should be. Spending time with family and the people you care about and making sure that the ones you aren't with know how thankful you are for them. It sounds so simple and boring, but if that is how I spend every holiday for the rest of my life, I couldn’t be happier.

Oh, and yes my prayer was answered. I did not have any special announcements to make this year.

Happy Birthday, C!!!!

I have to say, it takes a lot to be best friends with me. I don’t mean just friends, because I’m kind of awesome and fun and entertaining and a good listener and all that jazz, but to be best friends with me takes work. I am too loud for my own good. I say things that, while true, are not exactly the things you want to hear. I am demanding and incredibly opinionated. I can be a little too energetic and my brain sometimes goes off on tangents that don’t make sense to anyone but me and if you can follow along then more power to you but a lot of the time I can ‘t even keep track of where I’m going with something…I’m getting a little off topic because this was not supposed to be about me and all my quirks. Moving on…

There is one person who has been doing this job for almost 10 years now, and since today is her birthday, I thought I’d dedicate a little post to her. Much like I did with my Grandma’s birthday, this a little list I came up with about the things I love about Cierra, who sometimes makes me angrier than Chris Brown in a Lamborghini and crazier than any of the patients at McLean Hospital, but for whom I thank my lucky stars everyday to have in my life.

10. She lives in New York, so I always have a reason to go. Much like I had a reason to go to Philly when she was living there. Now all I need is for her to move around to all the major cities in the world so I’ll have a reason to visit, other than I just want to visit all the major cities in the world.

9. She is the only one of my friends that can keep up with me on the dance floor, even though I’m totally the better dancer.

8. I can talk sports with her and her eyes won’t glaze over. Although, she’s a Laker Lover and I’m a Laker Hater. It really makes for some quality arguments.

7. She never holds back with me. When I’m being stupid, she will tell me so. When I’m down, she’ll yell at me to get over it. When I’m being annoying, she will reach through the phone and smack me. (As of right now, it’s only verbally, but I’m sure that once the technology is developed, she will do it literally.)

6. She offers to ship all the books I buy and can’t fit in my suitcase when I come visit. She doesn’t tell me I bought too many or that I read too damn much. She fully supports my addiction, and usually asks me to send one or two back when I’m done.

5. I have never met anyone that can talk shit like she can. She’ll do it to your face, to your back, to your mama, to everyone about everything. Even if she has gotten a little nicer in her old age, she can still throw out an insult like a pro.

4. She didn’t go to college and always hated school, but she made her own way and is one of the smartest people I know. Even if she doesn’t act like it sometimes and I have to be the voice of reason. (Which will not always work in our favor.)

3. She believes in me. She has been saying for years how I’m going to do something great, so when I don’t believe her, she just gives me a verbal smacking that reminds me of how capable I am and that everything will work out. (I am just now realizing we have a bit of an abusive relationship, but that's ok. It works for us.)

2. She enjoys a good beer and likes going to Timmy Nolans when she comes out for a visit. ‘Nuff said.

1. She is the strongest person I’ve ever met. She has been through so much and has never let it get her down or ruin her. I know so many people who have been through things similar and have broken down or become terrible people. But Cierra still remains the amazing, smart, beautiful, kind, wonderful person I’ve know for the past decade.

So, I raise my glass to you, C. Happy Birthday and here’s to another decade of friendship. I love you.

(Ok, and because we can be a lot like Lucy and Ethel, here is a little video for you as well.)

You Want to Sit at the Bar?!

Anyone who knows me, knows that I love beer. I didn’t always, but thanks to Alec and the fabulous staff at Timmy Nolans, I have come around. I am wiling to try just about any beer now and I actually have clear favorites.

While I was hanging out with my grandparents, I was telling Grandpa about my new favorite, Downtown Brown from Lost Coast Brewery in Northern California. I discovered it like I typically do: sitting on a stool at Timmy Nolans. I wanted to try something new but I didn’t know what. I looked at the tap handles while Rocky, one of my fabulous beer professors, explained all the different kind of beers they have that I haven't already tried. One of the handles caught my eye. It was wood with a kind Picasso-esqe drawing of a man at a table with a beer and buildings in the background. I turn to Rocky and say, “I’ll take that one. I think the handle is pretty.”

Downtown Brown is a brown ale with a bit of sweetness to it, kind of caramelly. It’s not too heavy and there is not a whole lot of carbonation. Overall, it has enough flavors to keep me satisfied. Yes, I expect a beer to keep me satisfied from first sip to last drop. Is that too much to ask?

I was telling all of this to my Grandpa over dinner and he said, “Well I have to try it. They probably have it at that Yardhouse. That’s where the young guys go.” Why he added that on, but if that’s where the young guys go, I need to be there.

So, the next night, after we went to a movie, we went to the Yardhouse. If you have never been to the Yardhouse (it might just be Yardhouse, but I am not a frequent visitor, so I really don’t know), you should go. They have 100 beers on tap and the bartenders are pretty knowledgeable. Or at least ours was.

When we got there, Grandma walked up the hostess and asked for a table for 3, to which Grandpa replied, “BJ, let’s sit at the bar.”

Grandma whips her head around and says, disgusted, “You want to sit at the BAR?”

There was an awkward, staring moment between the two, so I turned to the hostess and said, “I guess we are going to sit at the bar.”

Grandma huffs off, horrified that we are actually going to sit at the bar and points out to Grandpa that he might not be able to get up onto the bar stools. He, in true Jack Brown fashion, shows her up by getting into the stool just fine. It might have taken him a few tries, but he did it.

The bartender barely gets over to us when Grandpa says, “Do you have Downtown Brown?”

The bartender, who clearly had a whole speech he was supposed to give us and is now thrown out of his comfort zone, “Umm..Yes? Downtown Brown, you said? Yes, yes, we have that.”

“Well that’s what I’ll have.”

Grandma orders a soda and then the three of them look at me, who has just started drooling over the possibilities. It must have been a full minute before I realized they were waiting on me, but I finally said I needed a minute to think about it.

The bartender comes back with Grandpa’s Downtown Brown and Grandma’s soda and waits for me to respond. I decide to go with a delicious stout called Old Rasputin and, in pure bliss, we enjoy our beers.

The best part, however, came when we got the bill. I had already intended to pay because I just spent 4 days at their house and it’s the polite thing to do when you’re a guest. We had ordered calamari as well, so I was expecting it to be a little expensive. When we got the bill and I looked at the total, I almost jumped for joy. Our beers were half off and so was the calamari! We had walked in after 10 p.m., during their reverse Happy Hour! Let me tell you, there is no better feeling in the world than going to pay for something and having it be half of what you expected.

Although, sitting at a bar, having beer with my grandparents "where the young guys go" might be a close second.

Adventures from Grandma's Closet

So what does one do with 4 days off in August?

Go to the desert, of course.

My grandparents just sold their house, which is great because they have been trying to for over a year now. The problem? They have 3500 square feet worth of stuff that they now need to get into about 1500 square feet. (They don’t have a place yet, so please pray for them!) Therefore, I was assigned by my mom and aunts to help them get rid of stuff. Obviously, my mom and aunts don’t know me very well, otherwise they would know that I am a bit of a hoarder and would be of little help. But I tried.

I figured out who I get my penchant for shopping from. Grandma has enough clothes to open up a boutique, not that anyone would actually buy anything. The best pieces had to be 3 nylon tracksuits, in pastel pink, teal and blue, with tapered pants and, the best part, SHOULDER PADS. I wasn’t really old enough to know, but apparently, in the ‘80’s, people who weren’t linebackers would workout with shoulder pads.

Grandma tried to tell me that these were the fashions and I shouldn’t judge her. I assured her that I understood what the styles were, but why the hell had she kept them for so long?! She couldn’t give me an answer. Nor could she answer what year she had bought them in or when the last time she wore one of them was. She tried to blame her memory loss on old age, but I think it was from shame.

Once I was done with Grandma, I tried to work on Grandpa and his books. I now know who I get my book obsession from. He was worse than Grandma, though, because he just ignored me and told me to come help pull boxes down in the garage. In 110 degree heat. It was the most fun you could have without actually having any.

When I went back into the den to try to get rid of (read: steal) some of Grandpa’s books, Grandma was looking through photo albums. There were some on a high shelf, so of course I was given the task of pulling them down so she could go through them. Fyi, photo albums are HEAVY. However, once they were down, we started looking through them and it brought back a lot of memories. There were pictures from every embarrassing stage of my life, along with every embarrassing stage of my cousin’s, aunt’s and uncle’s lives. (To all my family members: you're welcome. I thought about scanning every horrible photo and putting it on Facebook, but I decided against it.) It was so much fun!

Then, I struck gold.

I was looking through an album from one of the many trips my grandparents took and I found a picture of Grandma in a row boat with a few other ladies, WEARING ONE OF THE TRACKSUITS. I looked at the outside of the album where Grandma had written the date.

“Hey Grandma, do you recognize this outfit?,” I said, pulling out the photo so she could take a closer look.

She knew where I was going with this but she played along. “Yes, isn’t that one of the suits we gave away yesterday?” Yes, she called them “suits.” Not “tracksuit” or “jogging suit,” but suit.

“Yes. Guess what year this picture is from?”

“I don’t know.” She looked a little nervous now.

“1989. Grandma, those tracksuits are old enough to go to a bar and order you a Perfect Manhattan.”

She then told me she thought Grandpa needed some more help in the garage and politely got rid of me.

I tried to steal the picture to scan, but for an 80-year-old, my grandma is pretty quick!

The Dart

It has been a long time since I updated my blog. That's what happens when you work 2 jobs and barely have enough time to do your laundry, let alone write anything interesting or worth reading. (Not that anything I write is interesting or worth reading, but I try.) But, well, I now only have one job, so hopefully there will be a whole lot more where these came from. (The "only have one job" is going to be a different post.)

Now comes the all-important question: What do I write after having been absent for so many months? Do I write about why I only have one job now? Do I write about the fun phone calls I’ve had to deal with? Do I continue my Jury Duty story that I never did continue? Nope...I feel like this post is going to have to be something easy, much like the first workout after not exercising for a long time. (Yet another post idea…) So, I’m instead going to write about something very near and dear to my heart: the Dart.

The Dart is a 1974 Dodge Dart that is kind of a family heirloom. My grandparents on my dad’s side bought it brand new in 1974. Then, my Aunt Bev drove it out to CSUN for college. Then, my grandparents drove it for many more years before giving it to my dad to update their ride to a pimped out Oldsmobile station wagon(corduroy seats anyone?). My sister then had the pleasure of driving it, and then, it came to me. I drove it almost every single day of my senior year of high school. My dad took it back when I started college and needed something to make the long drive out to Pierce. He drives it everyday to work. Except when my car has trouble and I have to us it.

We don’t have money or jewels to pass down generations, but the Dart is totally priceless.

Now, looking at it, you wouldn’t think much of it. The blue paint has faded and the white canvas top is almost completely gone. The seats are cracked so the padding is showing and the dashboard is not in the greatest shape. In order to open the trunk, you need a screwdriver and a little bit of lock-picking talent. This is all before I mention how my dad keeps every water bottle from the past year in the front seat along with his passes from work, his Thomas Guide, jumper cables, and straws. Plus, the Christmas lights in the back seat he got from General Hospital. (Do we actually need more Christmas lights? No, but the prop department was throwing them out so I must take them!)

Driving it is, well, to put it nicely, an adventure. There is a whole ritual to getting it to start and then you have to keep your foot on the accelerator to keep it from dying. When you need to brake, you have to pump the brakes three times and pray that three times was enough. The heater has to be on at all times so it won’t overheat. Also, just recently, it started popping out of gear so sometimes you have to slow down and let it pop back in.

You’re probably wondering why I would consider this POS as special. (Or if I just really have a thing for living dangerously.)

Here’s the thing: The Dart has never failed me. Sure, it’s died while I was sitting at a red light, but it always starts up. I might be sweating by the time I get to my destination, but I always get there. My right leg might get a workout pumping the brakes, but I always manage to stop. Plus, when my car (which I love very much) has some trouble, as all cars do, the Dart is there to get me where I need to go.

Even more than its reliability, the Dart has memories. I remember being a kid and driving around with my grandparents to run errands and pretending the hump on the floor of the backseat was a wall that my sister was not allowed to cross. I remember when my mom stalled it and couldn’t get it started again because she flooded the engine and then yelled at me because I was laughing pretty hard. I remember piling the whole basketball team in it to go out to lunch, even though most of my teammates were not supposed to leave campus for lunch.

The Dart is way more than a car on its last legs. It’s a part of my history and my family’s history. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

However, I will be happy when my car is fixed.

Happy Birthday Grandma!!!

In honor of my Grandma’s 80th birthday, here are the top 5 things she has taught me:

5. In order for a bed to be made properly, the flat sheet has to be tucked in all the way around. Otherwise, she will make you do it again.

4. Travel is essential to life. (and that the educational/historical stuff is just as important and fun as the actual fun stuff.)

3. Its ok to be two sized bigger on top than you are on the bottom.

2. A Perfect Manhattan is, in fact, Perfect.

1. Family is the strongest bond we have and we need to keep that bond strong, no matter how busy or crazy life gets.

Thank you for all you’ve given me. I am so lucky to have such a wonderful grandmother. I love you and Happy Birthday!

This is as close to a Thank You note as I'm ever going to get

I am not a serious person.

Nor am I an emotional person.

However, in the past few days, I have been really reflecting and thinking and, well, feeling.

I look at what is going on in Haiti and I can’t help but feel incredibly sad for each and every person there, as well as every person here who has family or friends there. It is a country where there was so much turmoil before this huge earthquake, and now it is just in shambles. Food can’t be given out because of near-riots. Medical workers are being evacuated because of threats of violence. Rescue workers are not even able to get to the island because the airport and dock have been destroyed. Orphans are sleeping on the street because the orphanages are too dangerous to be in. Paperwork for these orphans is completely lost and, thus, these children don’t even exist. There is no clean water for people to drink. People are dying from diseases that we not only have cures for, but are what we consider minor. Mass graves are being built because there is nowhere to put these bodies and there is no way to find out who they are. People are missing, starving, and dying. It is so heartbreaking and, unfortunately, there is only so much we can do.

As I sit here, all I can do is be thankful for everything I have. I live in a country where our government is stable enough to live through natural disasters and tragedies. I have family and friends whom I love and who love me. I have 2 jobs that I complain a lot about but allow me the small luxuries in life. I have my health, and my life. I have never felt so grateful for everything I have. I find myself worrying less about the small annoyances and just being appreciative.

Thank you to every single member of my family and every single one of my friends for being so amazing. I know I make a lot of jokes and I complain a lot, but from the bottom of my heart, each and everyone of you means more to me than I could every express in words.

Thank you.

A Birthday Story with a Hobo Twist

There is really small Mexican restaurant in Silver Lake that my dad found and that we all thoroughly enjoy now, so, when my mom asked where I would like to go to dinner for my b-day, I said “Casita Del Campo.”

We went and the food was delicious and the margaritas strong, as usual. I ate too much and felt a little sick and tired afterward, which is the true way to know you’ve had a great meal.

On the way home, there is weird turn you have to make in order to go underneath a bridge to get to the freeway. Sitting on the divider of the strange turn was a homeless man. Not a rare sight in Los Angeles, but he had a sign that said, “Why Lie? I want a beer!”

I kept watching him while looking for a few dollar bills to give him and I realize he’s working ON A LAPTOP!! Then, he picks up a PDA and sets it down next to the laptop. Most normal people would this was wholly unacceptable because what the hell kind of homeless person has a laptop and a PDA (and a cell phone, as l later found out). Not me. I thought it was great!

As we make the turn I say, “Dad, let’s go the liquor store and buy him a beer and bring it to him and take a picture with him for my birthday!” To my surprise, my dad pulls over at the next liquor store! We make my mom go buy the beer and she walks out with a tall can of MGD. “It was only $2.25 for the 24 ounce can, so I figured that’s what I should get.”

We pull back around and pull up across the street. I look up and say, “Umm…Dad. There is no crosswalk…How do we get over there?”

“We run like hell.” I’m in heels mind you.

We sprint across the street and come up to the guy. I hand him the beer and say, “I liked your sign so much that I went and bought you a beer. But you can only have it if you take a picture with me.” He laughed, picked up his sign and posed for the picture.



But the best part is when he starts to ask me what I do for a living and go on about how he’s doing his “paperwork for the Oval Office” and that people call him “Number 52” because “52 is the number of everything.” 52 cards in a deck, 52 weeks in a year, something about Jesus was the number 52. I don’t really know.

Dad and I go sprinting back across the street and hop into the car, where Mom is giggling and calling us crazy. Dad pulls through the 76 station to make an illegal U-turn and who should be on the other side but about 6 of Glendale’s finest! They were too busy having their powwow to notice the red car with the three people laughing hysterically.

Now that’s the way you should spend your b-day. Doing something illegal, stupid and kind of offensive with your parents. Classic.

It was only supposed to be a simple trip to San Diego

It started innocently enough. Go down to San Diego for Lisa’s baby shower, then have dinner with Iisha, then go home. I should know better than to expect that anything will be as uncomplicated as it appears to be.

Here’s the thing. My car had a small coolant leak that my dad thought he had fixed. Fixed as in “it’ll get you there and back but I don’t know how much longer it’ll hold after that.” So we figured we were fine.

We got down there in pretty good time and I had a great time. Let me rephrase. I had as great of a time as one can have at a baby shower with a bunch of people one does not know. I spent a lot of time with my cousin Maddy and I got to see pretty much all of my family, so I really have no complaints.

I left to go out to dinner with Iisha. We hardly get to see each other, so I was very excited. She chose Cheesecake Factory and honestly, who am I to argue? We get there and, well, shocker of shockers, it’s packed! We decide to head back towards her house because it probably won’t be as busy and it might even be cheaper, which is always a plus.

As we are driving on the freeway, I notice that the temperature gauge starting to climb. I think that I need to get off, but being the queen of procrastination, I keep going until I have no other choice but to get off. We pull into a Burger King parking lot, where a ton of steam comes out of the engine. It was enough steam to keep a sauna going for quite awhile.

I, of course, call my dad and inform him that his quick-fix blew up in my face. Almost literally. As he tries to figure out a way to get the car home, I call my grandma and tell her that someone needs to come pick me up. Here’s what the conversation sounded like:

ME: Hey Grandma, are Derek and Lisa still there?
GRANDMA: Why? What happened?
ME: My car broke down and I need someone to come pick me and Iisha up.
GRANDMA: YOUR CAR BROKE DOWN? WHAT? ARE YOU OK?
ME: Yeah Grandma, we’re cool. But I need someone to come pick us up. Dad is trying to figure out a way to get the car home.
GRANDMA: Why don’t you just call AAA?
ME: I don’t have AAA
GRANDMA: YOU DON’T HAV AAA? WHY ON EARTH DON’T YOU HAVE AAA?
ME: Because you don’t love me enough to pay for it. Can I please just speak to Derek? Or Lisa? Or Mark? Or Cheryl?
GRANDMA: Well Grandpa will come get you. Hang on give Mike directions. (Like I said, my WHOLE family was there) MIKE, KIMMI’S CAR BROKE DOWN AND SHE DOESN’T HAVE AAA AND NEEDS SOMEONE TO PICK HER UP….NO SHE DOESN’T HAVE AAA….I DON’T KNOW WHY…NOW COLLEEN (my mother) DON’T WORRY SHE’S FINE…YES COLLEEN WE WILL EAT EVENTUALLY…Ok honey, here’s your Uncle Mike.

Ten minutes later, my phone rings

GRANDMA: Derek and Lisa are coming to get you and Grandpa’s coming too because he has his AAA card and I might come too to make sure you’re ok and your mom is hungry so she might come so she can get something from Burger King and…
Me: GRANDMA…THE ENTIRE FAMILY CANNOT COME TO PICK ME UP. I HAVE MY FRIEND WITH ME AND WE ALL NEED TO FIT IN THE CAR. JUST SEND DEREK AND LISA.
Grandma: Well…Grandpa has to come because he has the card…ok…the three of them are leaving now.

After a lot of phone calls and texts to Alec, who was working at AAA at the time, we finally found a way to get my car back to LA and get Iisha home. (Thanks fave cousin!) The catch: I have to drive up to LA in the tow truck. By myself. With some random guy. (Ok, so technically not by myself, but you get it.) Now, I hadn’t even thought of this, but, of course, my Grandma had.

GRANDMA: Are you sure she’s going to be ok riding all alone with a truck driver back to LA? Aren’t you worried about her?
DAD: No BJ, I’m more worried about the tow truck driver having to drive up to LA with Kimmi. She’ll be fine.

Oh yeah. It was fabulous. (BTW…My mom finally got food because Derek and Lisa are the Dynamic Duo. Thanks for the concern, Mom.)

Neither Barbies nor Tattoos are Evil...Please Calm Down

I don’t know which is worse: The fact that Mattel has released a Tattoo Barbie or that a West Virginia politician is trying to ban the sale of Barbies completely.

I’ll start with “Totally Stylin’ Tattoos Barbie."(Known on some blogs as "Tramp Stamp Barbie")

So the doll comes with “tattoos” for both you and your doll. You put them on with a “tattoo gun” (basically a purple water gun) and they are temporary and come off with a little soap and water. You can put tattoos anywhere on her and then share her with your friends!

I can’t say that I’m really surprised. Barbie has always gone with the trends and tattoos have become pretty damn trendy. The issue that I have, though, is that Mattel is claiming this doll will give kids a chance to be creative and express themselves. You know what, when I was growing up, I did have a Tattoo Barbie. It was the doll that I took a marker to and drew on. Then, when that got boring or I covered her completely in marker and had no other place to put any more of my gorgeous drawings, I would put stickers on her. Sometimes, I would even cut off all her hair and give her cool tats on her head. I didn’t need a special kit to express my creativity and I think that NOT having a kit forced me to be more creative. There is nothing wrong with having a Tattoo Barbie, but don’t market it as a way for kids to express their creativity. These dolls are just a way for Mattel to sell you more crap you don’t need for twice the price.

Not that I’m against Barbie or Mattel. I had Barbies growing up and I loved them. I don’t think that she should be banned.

In West Virginia, Jeff Eldridge, a DEMOCRAT (yeah, a Democrat—apparently not all Democrats are as liberal as some like to think. Unless he's a male feminist, which is a whole other issue...), has proposed House Bill 2918 that states (according to the West Virginia Legislature Web site): “It shall be unlawful in the state to sell 'Barbie' dolls and other similar dolls that promote or influence girls to place an undue importance on physical beauty to the detriment of their intellectual and emotional development.”

I’ll pause for this to sink in.

Here’s the thing. We all know that Barbie is not someone that little girls should aspire to look like. That said, think about all the great things Barbie has done in her 50 years of "life."How many careers has she had? How many different personas has she taken on? Plus, to Mattel’s credit, she has evolved with the times. In 1959, the only career Barbie had was Teenage Fashion Model, but in 2004, she was a Presidential Candidate. If Hilary Clinton looked like Barbie do you think Jeff Eldridge would call her a “detriment” to the “intellectual and emotional development” of young girls? Actually, I think that if Hilary looked like Barbie, we'd definitely have a female prez right now.

If parents would do their jobs, this wouldn’t be an issue. All a mother has to do is teach her daughter that different types of bodies, faces, hair color, height, skin color, eye color, noses, lips, etc. are all beautiful and that she shouldn’t strive to look like anyone else but herself. Explain to her that she is the most beautiful when she is herself and to never let anyone tell her differently. Period.

Now, if we’re going to ban a doll, it should be Ken. Talk about making being a “detriment” to “emotional development.” How many women do you know who still think Ken is the “perfect man”? I was personally more of a Brad* girl myself ☺ Although, GI Joe can come invade my territory any day.

(*for those who don't know, "Brad" was Ken's black friend introduced in 1969)

I totally get why it's called popcorn now...

I have a lot of stories from when I was living in Berkeley. There is one in particular that my dad loves to tell and since I have nothing better to write today, I am going to share it with you.

I lived in a house with 60 girls, and we had an industrial sized kitchen. We had a ton of stuff, like 5-gallon tubs of flour and sugar and salt and Costco sized things of spices and basically all the other essentials you would need for cooking, but on a much larger scale. We also had a 3-gallon tub of popcorn. The kitchen manager and I were sitting in the dining room one night talking about why we have so much popcorn, since no one ever uses it. One of the other girls says that it would probably get used more often if someone actually knew how to make popcorn on the stove top. If ever there was a moment that a cartoon light bulb would appear above my head and go off, this was it.

I remembered that my dad used to make popcorn for us when I was younger, so I pulled out my cell and called him up.

“Dad, how do you make popcorn?”

“You put it in the microwave and push the popcorn button.”

“Dad, I know how to make microwave popcorn, but how do I make it on the stove? Like in a pan?”

Pause. “You mean that in a house full of Berkeley students, there is not one among you that knows how to make popcorn on the stove top?”

“Yes, Dad. We are a bunch of idiots. If you won’t tell me then I’ll just go get my computer and look it up on the Internet, but I was just trying to show you that there are times when I still need to ask my Daddy for help.”

“Ok…put a few kernels in a pot, pour the oil up to the top of the few you put in, then put in one layer of kernels on the bottom. Turn on the heat, then shake the pot to keep them moving so they won’t burn. “

“Thanks, Daddy. I’ll call you and let you know how it goes.”

I walk into the kitchen, along with about 5 other girls, grab one of our big saucepans, and follow my dad’s directions. I’m standing around with my audience, watching the oil get hot and then…POP! A kernel pops and makes that fluffy delicious thing we call popcorn. Only, it popped out of the pan. Then, more kernels began to pop out of the pan. Along with hot oil. Now, there are five girls running and screaming in the kitchen because there is popcorn flying everywhere. One of them grabs a lid while I turn off the heat and move the pan to hopefully stop the popping.

After putting a lid on the pan and cleaning up all the popcorn on the floor, I call my dad again.

“Hey Dad. There was a very important part of the popcorn-making-process that you left out.”

“I forgot to tell you put a lid on it didn’t I?”

“Yeah. Thanks a lot, Dad.” I hang up the phone with my Dad’s uncontrollable laughter loud enough for everyone to hear.

To Grandmother's house we go....Part 2

Next on the agenda was dinner. Grandma had decided early to get take-out from a Mexican place because it was easier than taking everyone out. HA! First, there was the issue of the menu. Grandpa wanted to just get a platter for everyone to share, but Grandma was arguing that maybe not everyone would like something off the platter and would like to get what he or she wanted. She wrote down everyone’s order and then couldn’t read her own writing, so she had to go around and ask what everyone wanted again. Which no one could remember, so the menu had to be passed around again. Lisa and I asked her to get extra salsa and guacamole, which started an argument about how we are too picky because we don’t want the salsa she bought at the store. Which then transformed into an argument about how judgmental Lisa is towards Grandma and how Lisa just needs to relax and stop worrying. I added my two cents by reminding Grandma that she once attempted to serve me moldy bread so maybe all of Lisa’s worrying about Grandma’s lack of attention towards expiration dates wasn’t actually judgment, which only fed the fire. Finally, Grandma kicks me out by telling me to go with Grandpa to pick up the food.

Which didn’t happen. Grandpa had insisted on going because Grandma won’t be able to find the place. His words, not mine. So he insists on going and just as we are about to walk out the door, he says he needs to change his hat. This sets of an impatient Grandma who grabs her coat and me and says, “That’ll take forever, let’s just go.” Grandpa comes out all angry and I try to diffuse the situation by telling him to go make the margaritas because we all know Derek’s just won’t be as good, further substantiating my argument that alcohol is the remedy to any situation.

We get back with the food and everyone is starving, but Grandma is having issues with everything. “Do we want them on plates?” “Is yours cold, because I think this one is cold?” “Maybe we should put them all in the microwave.” “Who’s is this?” “Where does this go?” I finally get so irritated that I just take mine, in its Styrofoam container, and say, “I don’t care. I’m hungry, so I’m eating” and sit down and begin eating.

All through dinner, poor Lisa was just getting hit from every direction. Lisa does love to be the center of attention and she is much too nice to turn the conversation onto someone else, but it was really funny to watch. Everyone was asking her questions about everything. Her work, how she’s feeling, when she’s due, when she’s going to come down next, when she’s going to go to Sacramento to see Shelby, why she’s going to Sacramento to see Shelby, how long her sister was sick when she was pregnant, where they were going with Derek’s friend the next night, how she’s feeling…It was like an interrogation and there was nothing she could do to get out of it. I was greatly entertained by her discomfort.

After dinner, the game-whore Lisa insists on playing Apples to Apples. Once again, my family is big on games, especially Lisa. I usually participate because it can be pretty funny and it’s a good way to get to know my family a little better. Sometimes, it’s a great way to offend my family too, which is probably my favorite thing to do. (Let’s not forget the “fuck” UpWords incident of 2002. The board said “dock” and I had nothing to put down but an “f” and a “u.” It’s in the Scrabble dictionary!!!) So we played. I sucked. I think I’m hilarious, so I put down things that I think will definitely get a laugh, but no one gets them! Come on, people. The adjective was “corrupt” so I put down “fuzz”! That’s funny (and in some parts of the country, very true). Plus, I have the worst luck in the world, so I get things that don’t make any sense with anything. Nonetheless, it was fun. I didn’t offend anyone, except maybe Grandpa with the implication that the police are corrupt, but he got over it really fast. Lisa ended up winning, and then we all went to bed.

The next day was not nearly as eventful, except for my mom asking me every five seconds about what time we were leaving.

I went to a maternity shop with Lisa so she could buy something other than sweats to wear, and I kind of offended the saleslady. She asked if I had any children while Lisa was in the changing room, and I just made a face like she had just accused me of murder and I thought she was an idiot for implying that I could do something that horrible. She wouldn’t talk to me after that. While we were inside, Derek drove around listening to the CD I made him for Christmas. Which, honestly, is not really his taste, but when we got back in and he said that he liked M.I.A’s “Paper Planes,” I knew he was coming around.

Then, we went to Starbucks and I became that annoying person I hate with 7 drinks, all of them complicated. No, I can’t just get 7 coffees. I have to get a half black, half passion iced tea with one pump of Classic, a syrup crème frap with mocha and a shot of decaf espresso, a nonfat latte with 3 splenda, a double eggnog latte….you get the picture. That’s a great example of why I hate when partners (i.e., other Starbucks employees) come in. We know all the ways to make our drinks custom and then annoy the hell out of everyone else by having them make it for us.
We were pulling up to the house and I had just finished saying how surprised I was to say that my mom hadn’t called to find out what time we were leaving, when my phone rang. I spoke too soon. As soon as we walked in the door, it became all about leaving and getting out of there so we don’t have to sit in traffic. It’s Saturday afternoon, there’s gonna be fucking traffic. Stop bitching. So we said our goodbyes, Lisa and I took a picture by the fire, and then we left. There was actually no traffic and mom slept the entire way, which was very nice. We got home fairly quickly and I promptly went to my room to upload all of my photos from the weekend.

I might complain a lot about seeing my family, but I really do love it. I love getting to see my grandparents because they are such good people and they are always willing to do anything for their family. My Aunt Kathy has been through so much and, even though she is a little, um, strange, she is nice to me and can be entertaining. My cousin Rodney is such a sweet kid and is hilarious when he sings along to his music, even if he does sing a little too loudly. Plus, he thinks I’m a riot, which I love. Derek, aka my favorite cousin, is such a great guy, I’m so glad Lisa found him. He’s really smart and I love talking to him because he reminds me a lot of my dad. He isn’t quite as antisocial as my dad, but he doesn’t talk just to talk or to have his opinion heard. When he does talk, it's worth listening to what he has to say.

Then there’s Lisa. Now, it’s kind of cheating for me to write about Lisa because I know she reads this. If I write about how amazing I think she is, she’s going to read it and then get all mushy and I don’t really do mushy. But I really do think she’s amazing. She has been through so much in her life, I am constantly in awe of the strength she possesses. I mean, just living with Grandma and Grandpa requires more strength than I have. She is also so passionate and opinionated and, just like me, she likes to be the center of attention! She is going to be such an amazing mother and I know that baby is going to have a great life because of her. This is not to say that I am not amazed by all of my family members, but going to Grandma’s and hanging out with Lisa just reminded me why I’ve always looked up to her. (Figuratively of course. I think I’ve been taller than Lisa since I was 6.)

To Grandmother's house we go....Part 1

So I’ve been putting off this post for about a week now because I figure that if I write something that will make Lisa want to kill me, she will remember what a hassle the 6 hour drive down is and restrain herself. Not that I would ever write anything embarrassing about my fabulous cousin! Plus, as I thought, it ended up being really long, so I’m making it into a two-parter.

It’s the day after Christmas and my mom and I are headed down to my grandparents’ house in Palm Desert/Rancho Mirage/who the fuck cares it’s old people land. Normally this drive takes 2 hours and is excruciating because my mom can’t just sit quietly and say nothing, she has to fill any end in conversation with questions about something she’s already asked me about 5 times. Usually, though, she’ll fall asleep after about an hour and then wake up and we’re there! Well, not today. Not only was I at work the night before until about 2 am, but I didn’t have any coffee because we were running late and there are not easily accessible Starbucks on the way to the freeway. Plus, there were 2 accidents to slow things down and just straight up traffic the whole way. It took us nearly four hours to get there and we had to stop to go to the bathroom and get me some caffeine. I was so tired I had my mom drive, which is never a good thing since she tailgates and rides so closely to the car next to her, the side mirrors are almost touching. It makes me nervous.

We finally get there and walk into what feels like a furnace! I don’t know why, but old people always think it’s much warmer than it actually is, making the rest of us sweat. Then in the summer, you freeze because they are hot and turn the AC down to 65. I just don’t get it.

I should probably backtrack a little and explain why we went down. My Aunt Kathy, who lives in Concord (for you SoCal people, that’s in the Bay Area) and doesn’t get down here much, was here, along with my cousins, Rodney, Lisa, and Derek. Plus, I had two days off from work, so it seemed like perfect timing. Moving on…

So we say hi to everyone and get all our stuff in, and about that time, Lisa and Derek come back with sandwiches. Now, Lisa is pregnant for the first time and really not feeling well. Morning sickness that lasts all day, etc. Anyway, she had a craving for pastrami, so she called me and said she’d pick one up for us, too. Only, she forgot that Grandma and Rodney had wanted sandwiches, too, so she only got one for herself, my mom, and me. Being the wonderful granddaughter I am, I shared mine with Grandma, which caused my mom to go into a round of “Are you sure that’s enough for you?”

After lunch, we had talked about going to a movie, but Lisa wasn’t sure if she was going to go. She said that she was going to wait and see if she felt better before she decided, yet, everyone kept asking her if she was going. Mainly my mom, but I did hear Aunt Kathy and Derek a few times, too. Lisa was very nice about it, but if I were her, I probably would’ve snapped someone’s head off. When they had exhausted her, it was my turn, since I had said if Lisa stayed I would keep her company. “Are you sure?” “She’s probably going to just sleep?” “Don’t you want to see the movie?” “Grandma’s paying” “What are you going to do?”

So, the ladies went to the movies and the boys went to see some light show and I stayed home with the sick pregnant woman, who insisted we turn on the fire, because “it was cozy.” Being that I live very close to hillsides that are prone to fires, I’m not a fan. At all. But, she’s pregnant, so Derek turned it on before they left, while I talked Grandpa into turning the heat down to 72 (it was set at 78!). As soon as they left, Lisa fell asleep and I sat by the fire and read. I wasn’t planning on sitting by the fire, but my favorite chairs were there, so I faced my fear and sat there. About two hours later, I fell asleep too, which was great since I’d gotten a total of four hours the night before and had to deal with mother all morning.

I woke up and Lisa was gone, tossing her lunch in the bathroom, no doubt. When she came out, we talked about my future and her insistence that I go to grad school of some sort. I’m definitely toying with the idea, but, being the impatient person that I am, I don’t want to spend 2 (or more) years in school. I want my life to start already! But that’s a post for another time….
The women come back and begin to tell us how “cute” Marley and Me was. Any movie that can be described as “cute” is one that I can rent, so I was perfectly happy in my decision to stay home. Lisa and I attempt to continue our discussion, but, of course, my mom interrupts with things like “Is that the book I got you for Christmas?” or “What time do you think we’ll leave tomorrow?” If she can’t be involved, then she’ll insert herself anyway she can. The plus side of her sitting down with us was I finally got the chance to say that I was re-thinking law school. I didn’t go into details, but at the very least, she has an idea and will leave me alone about applications for now.

I want to be a ballerina

When you are working on your resume, there seems to be a consensus about the most important thing: the objective. It gives the resume a focus. It shows the employer what your goal is. It helps you stand out.

So what do you write if you really don’t know what your goal is? What do you write if you don’t know what the true focus of your life’s work is? What do you put down for your objective if your only objective right now is to no longer have to serve coffee to idiots who don’t know what they are ordering or who don’t care that you don’t get paid enough to have to deal with all their bullshit? In other words, what would someone with a degree from Berkeley write when all she wants to do is find a job that will pay her fairly well and get her the hell out of Starbucks?

This is my current dilemma. I was sitting at Aroma today thinking about this. I’ve actually been thinking about this for quite awhile but it became even more apparent today because I was supposed to talk to my Aunt Stacey about all of my fabulous work experience and how we can make my resume even more amazing but, of course, we are now playing a mean game of phone tag and instead of getting some feedback on how to make myself appear even more awesome, I am waiting. It’s not my Aunt’s fault that she is supermom who has a career and two kids playing sports to take care of or that my hours are completely unpredictable. Anyway, so this is why my objective is on my mind.

I have so many things that I would love to do and that I’m interested in, I’m really having trouble in general, so writing an objective about where I want to be is something that is making me stress. I would love to work in something that would make me feel like my degree in English was not a total waste of time, but at the same time I don’t want to limit myself. As I have said before, I think publishing would be the most logical step because it would allow me to be somewhat creative and, while I don’t really think I would make a very good writer, knowing that I had something to do with the process of putting a book on the shelves would make me happy. If I have to start out working in “new media” as a reader or something, that’s great, but for me, I’m all about books because they are tangible objects. Like Giles on Buffy said, “Books smell musty and rich…If it’s to last then the getting of knowledge should be, uh, tangible, and it should be, um, smelly.”

There are also a lot of other things I can see myself doing, though. I am nothing if not a great partier, so something in party planning could be good, although I don’t know how well I’d be able to handle a crazy bride or a spoiled 16 year-old. Angelica has pointed out that she could see me doing something in fashion because I own more shoes than her entire family combined. It has also been said that I would be great at owning my own business, although what that business would be is beyond me because owning a business requires money, which I have very little of. There are a ton of things that I could do, but the issue is figuring out which one of these fabulous careers I would like to pursue, especially when all the experience I have is in slinging ice cream or pushing coffee.

Yeah yeah, I know. Transferable skills. Blah Blah. I get it. But when it comes to the shitty economy we are in right now, no one wants to hire someone with great transferable skills that they have to spend the money to train.

All of this rambling is basically just a way of me whining and asking: What the hell is my objective?

Classic Thanksgiving...

Since it’s two days after Thanksgiving, I of course have to post about it!

We went down to San Diego on Thursday to meet most of my family at my Aunt Christie’s house. It took twice as long to get there as it usually does, which wasn’t surprising, but annoying just the same. You can definitely tell that gas prices are down because everyone is on the road again!

When we finally got there, of course everyone else had already arrived. The funny thing was, I barely recognized my cousins! The have all gotten so old and have changed so much, it’s scary. Tommy and Kevin are just great looking young men who are both so smart and have really matured. Kevin has always been an attention whore, but instead of crying and being kind of a pain like he was when he was younger, now he’s the center of attention for being entertaining and funny. Tommy has always been very outgoing and talkative, but in just two days I saw that instead of trying to compete with his brother, he was quiet, but not necessarily shy. He seemed like he was in his own world and would talk to you easily and for as long as you were talking to him, but when no one was talking to him, he seemed perfectly content to just sit back and watch.

Maddy and Davis I think have changed the most, but that’s probably because I haven’t seen them in forever and since I can’t keep up with them on Facebook. I haven’t really gotten to see them change. Maddy is just gorgeous. She’s almost as tall as me and thin, although not in a scary, anorexic, Lindsay Lohan kind of way. She is still kind of shy, but she’s also a lot of fun and she and I, as usual, ended up sitting on the couch talking and taking bad pictures with Grandma’s camera that she’ll be mad about when she goes through and sees them. Me sticking my tongue out has never been a favorite. Davis is HUGE! He’s like 6’5” and is a stick, just like his dad. When I walked in the door, I almost had to ask who he was. He was also really funny and entertaining and is a great kid. He insisted that the whole family play Catch Phrase, which I wasn’t all that excited about because I don’t share the love of board games that the rest of my family does, but it ended up being a lot of fun, and Davis was the one who encouraged it.

The food was awesome! Aunt Christie made a “fresh” turkey, meaning it was one that was never frozen, and it ended up being AMAZING! It was super moist and had a great flavor. There was also cranberry stuffing and cream corn casserole and green bean casserole and spice sweet potatoes and cranberry sauce and gravy (that my mom and Aunt Stacey made from scratch, a first for both of them) and these homemade croissant roll things. It was so good! I think it was one of the best Thanksgiving feasts I’ve ever had!

And guess who was still at the kid's table?! Oh yeah, that would be 23 year old me. Although, I have to say I had way more fun there. I like to complain about being at the kid's table because it is pretty funny that I’ve graduated from college and can legally drink (only 2 glasses of wine, I was so proud of myself) but I can’t sit with the “adults” in the dining room. But we had a lot of fun, especially when Tommy dared Kevin to take a bite out of a decorative pear from the centerpiece. Classic.

After dinner, I played Guitar Hero for the first, and probably last time. The boys were so good at it, especially Tommy. Davis kept talking about how he was better at Rock Band and I think that was mostly because he was losing to Tommy. I made Maddy play with me on “easy,” and even though she beat me, I didn’t do too badly for someone who has never played before. Even still, I don’t think I’ll have anyone shaking in his Guitar Hero boots.

We had dessert and I, of course, made coffee for everyone, with Uncle Greg heckling me to make him a mocha. Typical. After dessert, Davis convinced everyone to play Catch Phrase because it’s kind of a tradition in our family to play board games, which I usually suck at and therefore abstain from. But, I figured I might as well participate, so away we went.

It was a really good thing we put Grandma and Grandpa on separate teams because between the two of them, they took up almost all the time! Grandpa would come up with things that really didn’t make any sense and everyone would just look at him with blank stares until the timer went off. It was hysterical. Kevin of course kept creating strategies to cheat, like yelling out random shit or not answering until the timer was almost out. It was still a lot of fun, especially to see Grandma and Grandpa try to figure out how the buttons worked and what to say.

Overall, it was a really great Thanksgiving. I got to see a lot of family that I don’t get to see regularly and I got a chance to talk with everyone. I am really happy to see that my cousin’s have grown up and they are slowly becoming the amazing people we all know they will be. Sometimes I do wish we all got together more often and lived closer to each other, but it also makes holidays like this more special.

The best thing that happened that day was finding out my cousin Lisa is pregnant! She wasn’t there but she called and let everyone know and it’s so great. I am so happy for her and I know she’s going to be an amazing mother. What better day to hear this wonderful news than on Thanksgiving?

Even though it’s incredibly cheesy, these holidays are all about family and at the end of it, I am so very thankful for my family.



Now if only I can find a new job before Christmas so I don’t have to spend it at Starbucks! That would definitely be a Christmas miracle!