That time I "broke the law" and went to Cuba

It was 2 p.m. on a Wednesday and I was about to go to Lexington to watch Ben for a few days when, in an attempt to delay our goodbye, Shannon said, "Come to Cuba..."

An impromptu airfare search led to an impromptu text message which led to an impromptu ticket purchase which led to an impromptu vacation with Shannon in Cuba. It was an incredible experience, one that started with being pulled over within minutes of getting off the plane, featured a dramatic foot pursuit, and culminated in a day at the beach.
I didn't really know that much about Cuba. I knew that it's under embargo from the U.S. because of Fidel Castro, that it's known for its rum and cigars and that toilet paper, as well as aspirin and sunscreen, is scarce. Beyond that, I was an idiot, especially when it came to Spanish.

The first thing I noticed about the country was definitely its politics. There were Viva la Revolucion billboards everywhere along the highway. Here we have billboards for Love's Truck Stop; there it's pro-Fidel propaganda everywhere you look. It reminds me of Iran in that way, but without the mask of religion. And since religion isn't the driving force, there is sex and art and music and drinking and a hussling so intense it makes you appreciate the cardboard messaging tactics that our beggars use. It wasn't until the end of our trip that I finally learned how to say, "Leave me alone," a phrase that could've saved us a lot of headache when Shannon wasn't around to be our guide.

That being said, when we were with Shannon, I loved Habana. I loved the antique cars that give their passengers an air of class (because of the embargo, Cuba hasn't been able to import many new cars and have kept models from the '50s and '60s on the roads). I loved the swanky hotels with outdated upholstery that's stained with decades-old activity. I loved the mojitos and the national beers (there are two, Bucanero and Cristal).
I loved the crumbling facades on the outskirts of the pristine and antique Habana Vieja and I loved wandering from plaza to plaza and remembering what it was like that time we visited Madrid.
I loved visiting the Necropolis de Cristobal Colon and walking up and down the streets of the dead. I loved stepping into the very U.S.-influenced El Capitolio and gawking at the tense nipple that the enormous bronze female sculpture was sporting, wishing aloud the Ashcroft was there to squirm underneath it. I loved sitting on the steps and having a "romantico" photo taken of the three of us with a 100-year-old pinhole camera.
I loved spending a day on the beach even though the high winds threatened us with Portugese Man O' War jellyfish. I loved touring the Castillo del Morro and realizing how ridiculous a weapon the cannon was. I loved chatting with the man in the watchtower and looking through his gigantic binculars at the Bacardi building and the lovers on the Malecon. I loved watching the sun set from a patio on the sea and will never forget the fishermen pulling up fish after fish from their intertube boats long after the water turned black from darkness.

And, even though it was shattered by theft, I loved the night I spent drinking rum on the Malecon with new friends and my older sister and listening to musicians parading up and down the sea wall. My camera was snatched by a sea crocodile and his accomplice, forcing me to dig into my memory for those precious moments I had during the trip and giving me a great story to tell about CSI: Havana starring Norlin Garcia and Mack Thomas. It sucked to lose my mementos, but even that eruption of tears and the consequential 7 hours at the police station couldn't undo the joy I felt watching Shannon eat $1 cheese pizza at El Rapido.
** If you're a government/legal/prosecution monger type, this is all fictional and a lie.

How in the...

Lately I feel like I can barely make a list of all the crap I've done before I'm off to do more crap that will then need to be logged into the blog so that in 3 years I can remember just what the hell I've been doing with my life.

In the past couple weeks I threw a 50th birthday party for my mom, went to Cuba with Shannon, got my camera stolen while sipping rum on the Malecon, went to Mexico with Mack, swam in the ocean while looking up at Mayan ruins, found out Mack would be officially going to med school at UK, bought an impromptu ticket to Los Angeles to move across country yet again, contracted a 24-hour flu with symptoms that made me regret giving my mom shit for worrying about the swine flu, and completely missed the Derby.

The word I'm using to describe it all is "swirly." "Feverish" also works.

More to come, especially now that my temperature is holding steady at 98.6 and Laila is going back to school for the week. Whew.

Passportage

I got a passport 8 years ago to go with Shannon to Cuba. She was going for school and I was going as a journalist. Because that was the sneaky way I had to work it.

Well, that trip didn't work out, but the passport came and opened up the world to me. I've since been to Spain, England, Holland, Morocco, Jamaica and Iran.

In three and a half hours I will finally be using my passport to go with Shannon to Cuba. Mack is meeting me there for a 10-day getaway that will probably change my life (most trips do). And my passport feels good that its destiny is fulfilled.

And I thought I was bad.

Leiah moved into a new place a few weeks ago, so last week I spent a few days at her house watching Ben and helping her get settled. We went through clothes, found a roomful of wedding and baby stuff that could be donated or given away, and then had to tackle her keepsakes.

I have a soft spot for keepsakes. A soft spot that's about two trunks tall by two trunks wide plus an under the bed box full of photos. Mack loves my soft spot.

While I'm good at being practical about things like how many pieces of Gladware you really need, I'm terrible at purging keepsakes. Every time I open my own collection to eliminate things, it's like I get to go back in time, see who I was then, laugh at how ridiculous she was, and then come back to who I am today feeling very grateful and more like I have accomplished something with my life. Something like not being 17 anymore.

Helping Leiah was tough. She has the funniest notes that she passed during class and a love letter from a boy who was so sweet and so helpless in his feelings for her. She has fake wedding programs that she and her friend made for their future alter-ego selves. She has baby photos of a boy I love so much I'll probably keep his baby picture framed and on my windowsill even when he's 75. Those things made it hard to say no.

But there were other things.

When we were kids we had this awful wool blanket that was kept on the couch for us to cover up with if we got cold. This thing was brown and as scratchy as a beard, and it became known as Itchy Scratchy to us girls. Leiah decided she was going to love this blanket and claimed it as her own. Fast forward 22 years when she pulls Itchy Scratchy out of a bag, tattered and torn, aging worse than a smoking woman.

When I asked Leiah why she ever liked that obnoxious blanket she looked at me and said, "Because Amber. It's what I do. I liked Itchy Scratchy and I liked LJ. I don't know why."

We also came across her old orthodontics. When I say orthodontics, I don't mean retainers. I kept my retainers for a few years after I stopped wearing them, but mainly because I knew how much my parents had paid for those things and I felt awful pitching them. I guess Leiah had similar issues because we not only found her retainer but also her rusty headgear and her braces. Yes, her actual braces.


I'm I ever glad my packrattiness was tempered by a tiny apartment and a cross country move.

Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder how you turned my niece into Ozzy Osbourne.

This is an angel at Christmas, just 4 short months ago.

And this is how age makes us rotten.

I almost killed my nephew.

pancake breakfast at Denny's. a side trip to the mall. running through Dick's and hiding in the tents. watching the kids play in the playground. chasing each other and playing I'm gonna get your butt. laughter. joy. the casual stay by me in the parking lot warning. a repeat of the same warning. the turn to open his door. the realization that he's off and running. the looming SUV cruising out of its spot. the carnal shriek that squeals his name in such a way he whips around terrified and runs back. the welling up of tears. the hyperventilating of both of us in the back seat. his cries for mommy. my cries for how sad and scared he is. my mind wanders to horribly dark places called what if and I beg it to stop. the thought keeps creeping in and I try to kill it with gratitude. my singsong voice of happiness trying to undo the trauma. his silence the whole way home. the apology so heartfelt a piece of me died when I heard it. the sorry exchange, him for almost getting smashed by the car, mine for screaming at him and scaring him to his core. the delicate recount offered to his mother when we pick her up from work. her reply that sometimes trauma is a good thing. and that you can never take your eyes off of them, not even for a second.

I think this is what they call a life lesson, for both of us.

I think Jesus is the Easter Bunny. And Santa Claus.

What do you get when your parents buy a minivan, your older sister comes home from England, your baby sister gets a lizard, your little sister needs to sleep and (almost) everyone's birthday happens in the spring?

An Easter weekend at Mountain Laurel Lake.

My parents booked a cabin on this bigger-than-a-pond-but-not-quite-a-lake patch of water a while ago, hoping that everyone would be able to come together and spend some QT together. Little did they know that more of us than they expected would be living under their roof, ODing on QT daily.

About 22 seconds after we arrived, Charles started fishing off the deck. And he didn't stop fishing until Sunday afternoon when the car was all loaded up and we were about to drive off. To his credit, he caught the first fish and the last fish of the weekend and increased his manliness by 86%.



Since we ladies don't like worms and cigars, we spent our time doing more ladylike things like playing cards and cooking delicious black bean burgers (Kristin's recipe) and birthday cake. My mom brought an egg dying kit so the mommies of us put on their patience hats and helped toddlers enjoy brightly colored vinegar with epic stain potential.

On the first night, we realized there was no way the babies were going to be able to sleep in the same room. Mainly because Renee kept popping up in her bed and saying, "Hi-lo" to Ben and Leiah while they were trying to sleep. So my mom and dad, you know, the people who PAID for and ARRANGED the trip, relocated from a bedroom to the loft. Betsy and I were also in the loft. On the pullout bed. Next to the prison toilet.

The prison toilet was actually a highlight of the weekend because it was the reason I laughed so hard I drooled. See, they'd put a toilet upstairs, but it was only hidden by a little screen panel so everyone could see and hear everything you might do in a bathroom. Like in prison. My mom was absolutely hilarious acting out a late night trip to the prison toilet, and I was doubled over in laughter and pain from laughter.

Another highlight was Boggle. Which is basically a game that I can add to my list of games no one can beat me at. During one round I actually came up with agile AND genius, and if you want to know how impressive that is, go get Boggle and take it on your family's Easter weekend trip.

I also recommend taking babies on your trip. Babies are freaking hilarious. Renee took her first boat ride with Dude and loved it so much that every time he'd circle in to drop her off, she'd look at me and her dad on the dock and say to Dude, "Let's go, let's go."
And Ben wasn't about to be out-funnied by Renee. After he'd made the goodnight hug-kiss rounds once, Dude asked him for an extra kiss. Well, that baby was exhausted and just couldn't summon the energy to walk over to Dude to deliver. Instead he stood on the other side of the room and blew a kiss AND a hug. And now we have a new family tradition.

During the day we took lots of walks around the lake. Well, we walked and Renee screamed and demanded someone carry her after she crossed the first bridge.


Renee was obsessed with throwing rocks in the water all weekend, an obsession I take the blame for since I showed her how to throw rocks in a puddle. We also took the babies "swimming" in the hot tub, dried off in front of the fireplace and drank beers.

On Easter the babies looked for their Easter baskets and then were sent on a hunt for eggs. Ben was faster than Renee, so Leiah kept having to sneak eggs out of his basket and drop them on the side of the road for Renee to find.

The entire weekend culminated in a pile of us on a hillside, watching the babies blow/lick bubbles, laughing at their new found addiction to jelly beans, and settling into gratitude for having so many people to love and laugh with.

Kentucky in the Springtime

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Keeneland with my mom, dad, Shan, Chaz and my aunt Mary and Uncle Bob. We bet on horses, drank beer, smoked cigars and enjoyed the sweet smell of fresh air. It was just one of those days that felt perfect and left a lingering happiness that'll probably last all season long.

Charles studies up on the horses.

Aunt Mary & Uncle Bob made the trek from St. Louis.
Shannon is as pretty as the weather.
Mom starts with the winning.
Daddy gets serious about it.
The cigars make it official.
Thanks again, Keeneland.

The Night Jen Became a Man-Eater

One week ago today, Jen and 7 of her gal pals hit the streets of Louisville for a fancy dinner and a night on the town. Because I am a brat, I told Jen via text message that I wasn't going to be one of those 8 gals, ruined her day, and then showed up out of the blue while she was getting her nails done.
April & Whitney, Jen's former roommates from UK, had booked us a couple rooms at the 21C Hotel in downtown Louisville and made dinner reservations for us at the swanky restaurant next door called Proof. Everyone who didn't have to pack clothes for the next 6 months in a single suitcase got all dressed up and beautiful, and Jen even debuted fake eyelashes for the occasion.

Then out came the champagne. The pasties. And the crotchless underwear.
At 7:30, we headed into what would be named "The Gone with the Wind dinner" by Christina, one of Jen's sorority sisters who has incredible eyes and a reliable stash of Chex Mix. Three hours of nibbling and waiting and being a little ignored later, we stepped out into the street and let the wind quite literally push us to 4th Street Live and the Maker's Mark Bar.

Here's where things turn kooky.

Now, I've only been to a couple bachelorette parties. At Heather's, we all dressed up like cowgirls and went to a honky tonk bar and rode the bull and drank beer with penis straws and hired a gross man stripper and did the two-step with ugly guys. At Megan's, Liz and I sat at the bar at Marikka's while Megan enlightened us on the value of balancing your checkbook. Even with my limited experience though, I know that the bachelorette party is supposed to push the bachelorette out of her comfort zone... if for no other reason than she'll be spending the rest of her life there once she's married.

So while everyone was classily sipping their Bourbon cocktails (except for a very brave and pregnant Tara), Kara, Jen's friend from UK and my friend from Spanish class, and I decided we needed to spice things up. We decided Jen needed to get 30 kisses on the cheek from 30 different guys before she could go home and call it a night.

The first guy I asked said he couldn't because his girlfriend was right there, but I asked her if it'd be okay, and she said sure. One down, 29 to go.

At one point Jen power grabbed every guy who passed us by and pushed his lips into her cheek. It was then Kara and I realized we probably should have attached a consent clause to the 30-Kiss Challenge.

While the man eating was fun and definitely shifted the evening from regular girls' night out into bachelorette party mode, the real good times started when Jen clamored up onto a bull in a honky tonk bar full of shame. Yes, she objected at first. Yes, she tried to negotiate. Yes, she whined. Yes, she refused. But when push came to shove, that bachelorette climbed her coiffed side braid self up on that mechanical beast and held on for dear life.
Seeing Jen on a bull. That was way better than watching her collapse under the weight and sloppiness of a stumbly bachelor in the middle of the street who was one of her 30.

Thanks for being a good sport Jen (& Mike). Hope you had a good time. And the best part, you never have to do it again!

Family Ties

I've been sleeping late and watching HBO and eating delicious dinners and going to Walgreens as my primary leisure activity since our move ended last week. That move was awful, and when I say awful, I mean I cried 6 times in two days and if it weren't for those tears, I wouldn't have made it through.

At one point, while looking at an impossibly heavy and awkward piano and wishing my husband preferred the flute, Mack looked at me and said, "Go on, babe, cry it out." And that is when I experienced a cry-laugh for the first time in my life.

Looking back on it, I can hardly believe we made it through it all. I can't believe we got everything packed up, that we made the first storage unit work at all, that we made the couch fit in the second storage unit without taking out that fluorescent light, that when I broke out with a fever after moving for two days I didn't just go on and die. I can't believe we got on our flight and came back to Kentucky and I was able to collapse into people I love and needed more than ever.

In the midst of that move, if you had told me that in a week I'd be at the zoo with my best friend, her two boys, my brother-in-law and my delicious niece looking at baby elephants and watching monkeys swing around, I couldn't have imagined it. But that's what happened. One week since I left Venice, since I cleaned out my apartment and kissed my neighbors goodbye, I spent the day enjoying the sunshine and laying on my mom and dad's deck while Renee played in a bowl of water for an uninterrupted hour. Bliss sort of describes it.

Lucky Duck

I'm in Vegas right now with Mack, Kristin, Will, Sarah and Shannon... a hodgepodge of unemployed, graduates, students, managers and doctors of geography. Shannon and Sarah have presentations to do and since Kristin has something called "work" to go to, we've been trying to find minutes to cram in with all of them.

Last night Kristin made corn on the cob and homemade, to-die-for black bean burgers, and then Mack and I jetted out to get Shan from the airport. We dropped off her things at her hotel and decided to go to Circus Circus. This is Shan's first time in Vegas, so, of course, she needed to gamble a little bit.

She decided to play the slot machines while we waited for Mack in the bathroom, and poof! out rolled $2.50 on her first try. Not a lot, but enough of a percentage earnings to spark excitement.

Then we went to the craps table, and poof! there went our money to the lords of the casino. Mack went to get some cash out of the ATM while Shan and I settled in at a $5 blackjack table. Then she proceeded to double her winnings while I proceeded to lose all of my money thanks to cards with fours on them.

Mack told us it was time to go after we finished our beer, and Shannon was all like, "You guys go on. I'm gonna keep playing. I'll be fine."

All I can say is thank goodness hers is the only hotel on the strip without a casino in it. Because with her luck and bank roll strategy, she may just give up on geography and settle into doubling down for a living.

Represent.

Dear Venice,

I just took another stroll through your peculiar little streets and wanted to let you know how much I love you.

I once took one of those Jeep tours through Sedona with Kate, and the lady driving was from Michigan. When we asked her how she ended up doing Jeep tours in Arizona, she said that when she visited she felt like that piece of Earth was made for her. That's sort of how you feel to me.

Now that my days here are numbered, I'm realizing just how much I'm going to miss about you. I'm going to miss your hidden walk streets and their decorative doors. I'm going to miss watching the ducks and the little crabs in the Canals. I'm going to miss the beefy pit bulls and Leo the Flying Lion Pomeranian who struts around like he's somebody. I'm going to miss the chance alley encounters with the sweet smell of crack. I'm going to miss seeing Gandolf the White, an alleged former gynecologist, walking around with his staff and patriotic paraphernalia. I'm going to miss the old guy who's been learning to skate board in the middle of California and Electric ever since I moved in. I'm going to miss Abbot's Habit, the Townhouse, La Cabana, and Mao's Kitchen. I'm going to miss stealing nectarines in July from the house with the Ohio flag. I'm going to miss riding my bike through the middle of your main drag. I'm going to miss the girl who paints giant green creatures on the sidewalk. I'm going to miss your gentle homeless people. I'm going to miss finishing off my beer during a walk down the alley. I'm going to miss the Lantern house and the Gingerbread house and the Kitchy house and even our little ghetto house.
I'm going to miss your year-round flowers and the sweet smells that blanket your tall fences. I'm going to miss seeing your boardwalk come to life and watching it go back to sleep. I'm going to miss hearing the drums on Sunday nights drifting 7 blocks from the beach to keep time on my front stoop. I'm going to miss the understated letters that adorn your gateway. I'm going to miss the guys who makes a circle of popcorn for the birds and then does some sort of worship from the center of the ring. I'm going to miss the way you turn a predictable walk to the beach into a Hare Krishna festival with enormous floats and flower adorned pathways and free food for everyone. I'm going to miss your skateboarders and your rollerbladers and your Smart cars. I'm going to miss the posting of the Declaration of Independence hanging on the fences on the 4th of July. I'm going to miss the strange posters and stickers that show the extent of the quick wit and sharp sense of humor of your residents. I'm going to miss seeing if Nice Cream pushes Pinkberry out of our neighborhood.

Basically, I'm going to miss your weird little vibes and your weird little people. You are the best place I've ever called home.

Secret [Sexy] Service

Thursday I got laid off, Friday our apartment was listed for rent, and yesterday Mack had an interview at UC San Diego. So all that extra time for blogging, yeah, it goes away when you've got to rent your place, pack up your belongings, sucker loved ones into putting you up indefinitely and cheerlead someone through the agony of the med school application process.

It also doesn't help when you're left slack-jawed and drooling over the hotness of your husband in a suit and trying to snap out of boy-watching freakishness usually reserved for adolescents.


He really is the hottest guy in the gay bar. No question.

We are screwed.

For more thought provoking, listen to TED.

Trouble Makers Have More Fun

You know you're entirely too close to someone when they're farts are familiar to you. That's the way it is with Heather. I have been smelling this girl's colon for my entire life. And even though I know she comes with squirty toots that you can taste if you're in an enclosed space, I still would have her visit every single day if I could.

[In a complete coincidence, Mack just farted as I wrote this and then broke out with, "I'm bringing Heather back..." to the tune of Sexy Back. He gets it.]

That girl makes me laugh til I drool every time. She is a trouble magnet, and potentially regrettable things happen when she's around... not bad things, just potentially oopsie ones. Like this:
The first night she got here, we went out with my friend Gio, who shares my birthday and my delight in taking innocent yet incriminating photos that would be completely inappropriate without the forgiveness of Pabst Blue Ribbon. He was so much fun he drunk texted my mom, tinged Heather and my Facebook statuses/stati with naughtiness, and got to hold our purses the 11 times we peed in the alley.
He also got to take the above reference innocent yet incriminating photos.
On Saturday we woke up, went to breakfast at my favorite diner, and then headed to Abalone Cove to see if the tide pools my neighbor told me about actually existed. When Jen visited last year, we hiked around looking for these stinking tide pools and could not find them anywhere. Jen was in a sundress and heeled flipflops and was either going to cry or kill me if I did not get her out of that failed outing immediately. Well, this time, with accurate tide charts in hand, we made it. And it was freaking awesome!
We saw orange starfish, maroon starfish, baby starfish, teenage starfish, adult starfish, sea vaginas, hermit crabs, bright purple sea urchins and tons of birds. Enjoy this slideshow music compilation courtesy of $3 and Animoto.com, which I also love.



We also discovered squirters. Some of you may know squirters as something else, but all we knew was that as we were walking around the tide pools trying not to step on sea urchins, some things would periodically squirt water at us. We channeled our inner scientists and named them after one of Mark Carrothers' old girlfriends. Would you be surprised that it was Heather's idea? Naaah.

Sunday was basically as perfectly lazy as it should have been. We walked up to Venice Beach, laid in the grass, read books, took photos of Sadie playing outside, took medicine for our aching calves, went to sushi for dinner, and vegged like the champion vacationers we are.

She left on Monday morning, and even with daylight savings time, it's been a little less sunny without Heather's spontaneity and easy laugh. She is good for the soul. And the devil inside.

Meeting Minutes

11:17 Boss suggests we take a walk to get a muffin.
11:18 Boss and I talk about how cute his kid is.
11:23 Boss orders a banana nut muffin.
11:24 Boss and I sit at bistro table outside of cafe next to a vibrant window box.
11:25 I drop the "I thought about it and..." bomb. With the words comes a huge internal sigh of relief. Feel very grateful for the supportive conversations with mom and mother-in-law this weekend. Boss shakes his head knowingly, surprises me with how easy he's making this, wins my favor and sincere appreciation.
11:36 I say thank you. Boss says thank you. We get up.
11:37 Walk back to the office feeling 100 pounds lighter and realize I STILL don't have a firm answer or absolute resolution.
11:41 Weight settles back onto my shoulders. Dammit Joan...