A Family Tradition

Lately, Mack and I have been going to a little diner up the road from our house called Cafe '50s. It's got a jukebox and records on the walls and shakes with whipped cream on top. It also has an egg scramble called the La Bamba for $5.95 which can be credited with my recent 5-pound weight gain.

Across the street from '50s is a little pet shop, so after we eat, we've been stopping in to look at the corn snakes and pistol shrimp and snapping turtles and little baby bunnies. During our first pass through it was a pretty typical pet shop, but on our most recent visit, we started to notice its creepy underbelly.

Like this thing.
Know what it is?

Would it surprise you to know it's a freakin' shark egg? Because it blew my mind.

Here I'd gone 30 years thinking sharks were mammals, believing that they shot out baby sharks like killer whales shoot out baby killer whales. But no, they're egg layers. Just like a bunch of chickens.

As if that wasn't enough to make me stand there slack jawed in the middle of the pet shop, then I looked more closely and holy crap. There was the egg yolk, an umbilical cord and a little shark swimming around in that sack acting all frustrated that it couldn't get out.

Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (a series)

One of my favorite things to do is watch television. Shocker, I know.

I like to lounge on the couch, relax into reality shows and feel good about myself. Being married has made my television indulgence even better.

See, now I have a handsome man to fetch me things.

He comes out of the bedroom and heads into the kitchen. The words, "Will you get me some water?" come out of my mouth as he makes his way.

Normally he's very accommodating, probably because I feed him. But the other day, in the midst of my completely relaxed state of mind, he revolted.

I tried to use a whiny voice to sway him, but that only escalated the revolt. Next thing I knew, he had me mounted, arms pinned, and he was scaling up.

Up toward my face. With his crotch. In boxer shorts.

Yes, my husband decided to settle the score by teabagging me. I am as horrified as you are.

Just another Friday in Los Angeles

Woke up to shout of husband's phone alarm.

Curled into his armpit to get a few more minutes of sleep.

Felt morning wood in my butt cheek.

Forced my way out of bed and into the shower.

Hated getting wet and starting all over with self maintenance.

Called Leiah and listened to Ben yell "MOMMY!"

Felt love surge.

Climbed onto scooter to head to work.

Gloated internally that it was Nov. 13 and warm enough that I'm riding a scooter to work.

Worked.

Suggested Freedom Friday lunch break to colleagues.

Headed to lunch of jerk enchiladas, fried plantains and cantaloupe juice.

Walked along the beach.

Practiced tight rope walking.

Came back to work.

Worked.

Had tea.

Scooted home.

Ate veggie lasagna.

Sipped wine on the porch.

Enjoyed my lot in life.

Huxtable Residence...

I grew up watching Thursday night TV back in the '80s. Instead of Friends, ER, or My Name Is Earl, Thursday night's must-see TV back in the day was Family Ties and the Cosby Show.

I gave up on the Cosby Show in favor of Roseanne in the '90s (she came on at 9pm, so I credit her with getting my bedtime extended to 9:30)... probably because in my mind I was Darlene and Shannon was Becky and FINALLY SOMEBODY KNEW WHAT IT WAS LIKE.

No, I'm not gay. Still.

The Cosby family was sort of off my radar until Liz moved to Kentucky. I was used to going to sleep to Law & Order or Forensic Files, but when Liz would stay the night, she'd ask, "Can we please fall asleep to something that's not murder?"

Fair enough. So we watched the Cosby Show.

Tonight, after I came home from 13 hours of work during which I got absolutely nothing accomplished, I turned on the TV, tried to forget that tomorrow will be just as annoying, and settled into that old, familiar family.

The Cosby Show should be on TV today. As should Family Ties and Roseanne. Dirty, Sexy Money and Lipstick Jungle just don't make kids the way the '80's lineup did.

How did this happen?

The last time I saw Renee she looked like this.
Now she looks like this.
Where is my niece and what have you done with her fat stores?

What I Did While Obama Made History

After Mack and I did our civic duty at the polls and collected proof in the form of a sticker, we came home to watch as the first African American in the United States became the leader of the free world. And this is what happened...

Kitty tried to kill me and steal my Obama-Biden t-shirt.
Obama supporters cheered and chanted at Grant Park in Chicago in the brisk November weather.
McCain supporters listened to the guys from the FreeCreditReport.com commercials perform at the swanky Biltmore Hotel in Phoenix.
Kitty tried to drink my beer.
Wolf Blitzer said, "Bonanza."
A panel of 5 white people discussed how having a black president will affect race relations in the United States.
Kitty stole Mack's breath and he went unconscious.
Paul Begala said, "Peace out, Cub Scout."
McCain's extra neck skin started to be a distraction... and has he always had stroke eye there on his left?
Obama wins Ohio. I got jiggy with it.
Dana Cash said they've turned off the news at the Biltmore, likely to preserve what's left of the "festive" atmosphere since they opted NOT to have an ice luge.
Guy Working the Map said, "I wouldn't bet a dime on McCain winning New Mexico."
Mack ate some pumpkin chili and broke out his Quantitative Analysis homework.CNN's graphics officially went over the top with the Capitol Building in the middle of the table and the rainbow of seats over it.
And then they hit the ridiculous mark when they HOLOGRAMMED IN Will.I.Am... as if he was Princess Leia.
Finally, the polls closed on the West Coast, and my candidate was awarded what he had worked his entire life for.
Let us never underestimate the power of a community organizer ever again.

R.I.P. Halloween 2008

Somehow I managed to turn October (the entire month) into Halloween. I unintentionally used the same tactics I use in May for my birthday, and now I have no money and had way too much fun.

This Halloween was bigger and better than any I've ever had before. And by bigger and better I mean we had an ice luge.
For those of you past fraternity rush age, an ice luge is a block of ice carved with a little trail through it that you pour shots down and then catch in your mouth. I'm not positive, but I think it's what inspired the Beastie Boys to fight for their right to party.
Since I am past fraternity rush age, I concocted a "witch's brew" to save myself from having to succumb to peer pressure and ingest shots of actual liquor. And no, I did not go as a wimp this year. I went as Regan from The Exorcist.
The ice luge was a centerpiece of the crime scene we set up in the carport. In anticipation of my best Halloween party yet, Sandra and I did a few rounds of crime scene photos that we used to create creepy ambiance on Friday night. Being on the verge of death is never really as much fun as we had faking it, a fact Jen can attest to.

In addition to mandatory costumes, I insisted every guest try the ice luge and get their mugshot taken. Because what fun is Halloween without a few requirements? And photographic evidence of poor judgment?
Since my neighbor does construction we had actual coffins -- one grown up sized and one baby sized. And we had a graveyard. To all the poor homeowners who hired my neighbors, thanks for the plywood and the styrofoam. They really made my month.
Hope everyone had a Happy Halloween. Or at least lived through it...

Waasssuuppp... the last 8 years

Remember that Bud commercial (back when Budweiser was an American beer) where all the guys "Wassup" each other? No? Well, here it is.

It's been 8 years since those guys made that commercial. So, they reunited and made this one. And they are not looking so good these days.

Not exactly Mr. Rogers... but then he was creepier than anyone thought he was.

I talk about my neighbors a lot. Partly because they are in such close proximity all the time and partly because they have sort of become my surrogate family.
They drive Harleys and they have a dozen snakes living in their house. Their baby girl wears skeleton clothes and sports a mohawk. They cuss like sailors and drink Jack Daniels. They have a pit bull. They decorate our garden with jawbones and skulls that Sandra got during her career in taxidermy.
At first glance, they seem like a scary lot. And until Halloween last year, I doubted that we had anything in common. I mean, I'm sure it's quite a sight to see me in my heels heading to work on a scooter while Bill in his tattered blue jeans heads to work in a truck I'm not entirely convinced isn't my grandpa's.

But Halloween, that time of year when people are allowed to let those dark parts of their personalities come into the light, showed that we are more alike than I may have realized. I love horror movies, they love horror movies. I love carving pumpkins, they love carving pumpkins. I love to be scared, they love to scare people.

Whenever I talk about my neighbors to my more "contained" friends, they seem to feel for me that I live by these people. But I love it. I've lived by people who were far worse (Roy, the mailman who nagged me about mowing my yard even when I was working three jobs to pay my mortgage, comes to mind) and by people who we far more secretive (I've lived by some people for years without ever seeing their faces, which made asking for a cup of sugar seem like an offense). With my neighbors now, what you see is the worst of what you get.

Most days, when we're not playing with blood and pretending to kill things in the name of Halloween, they make me coffee and share their pumpkin muffins. They plant colorful mums and water my plants. They bring down a bowl of veggie chili and invite us up to watch them feed their snakes. At the risk of softening their edge, they're really the best neighbors I've ever had.

(* no one was harmed in the making of these photos, except the pumpkins)

Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (a series)

I sat working on my Halloween shopping list, sipping a latte he made from our new espresso machine -- an indulgence courtesy of his first med school acceptance. He danced his fingers across the out of tune piano in the living room, creating an ambiance that echoes the one I want to have in the house I get with secret passageways and hidden rooms.

And in a few harmonious seconds, I forgot all about his facial hair wallpapering the sink, his obliviousness to the dishwasher and his post-judo practice smell perfuming the whole house and remembered that this is why I love him.

That is when he switched tunes and replaced Chopin with Kung Fu Fighting.

Adventures in Babysitting

On Saturday night I was trusted with the life of another human being... that of my neighbors' baby to be precise.

Which seems even more remarkable considering that they know I sent my dog to a retirement home and that my cat has been on her last legs for two years now.

I was all prepped to give my full attention to something the size of a pumpkin, was all ready to read books full of one syllable words and was totally committed to doing the same thing over and over again so she could give me a few good chuckles before she gives me that look that tells me I went just a little too far into crazy.

And then she fell asleep. Before her parents were even gone. Without even one game played.

So I laid on the couch next to her and watched The Devil's Rejects while she made little snores and no doubt had sweet dreams.

Miss Kitty's seen better days...

Like when Jen was here. Not only did Jen make our house literally smell like roses, she also did the dishes, groomed the cat, and made the bed. And now, Kitty is once again thinking she's royalty, this is her kingdom and I am here only to serve her Iams and make Mack's life better suited to lounging with her.

Fine then...

Apparently my challenge wasn't very... well... challenging. My mind is busy being creative about other things like HALLO-FREAKIN-WEEN!

Anyway, here's the real reason Jen posed at Muscle Beach. I think his name is Dark Sexy, but I'm not positive. Jen was the one who got his number...

Extreme Tourism...

Jen is a tourism super model. She does all the right poses and is just so when it comes to getting her travel pictures taken. This makes assembling Martha Stewart-esque scrapbooks much easier.

But in the case of the photo below, Jen played up her tourist persona to bring you a very special glimpse of Muscle Beach. Can you tell what it is? Leave a guess in the comments and then I'll do a big reveal in a couple days. The first winner gets a trick or a treat... I get to decide.

A little toupee experiment

Jennifer is here. Suck it to the rest of you who want her. I won this weekend.

We've had oodles of fun that involves bicycles and margaritas and ravines and minimal blogging, but for now, I offer you this: a segment we call "uh, what's up with the hairpiece?"
Hey, we tried to be perfect, but alas, Mother Nature issued other mandates. Since it's been a losing battle, we've instead opted for perfect fun, which, to quote my future president, makes us potentially a little "too awesome."

Lisa, this one's for you...

Just about a lifetime ago, I had the privilege of being an observer of "A Summer of Staches." The "SoS" was a season of change for several of my guy friends, wherein they all agreed to grow mustaches and wear tank tops.

Lisa asked earlier this year if anyone had photographic evidence of this event, and while I had a mental picture, I just could not find the physical one. I pulled out boxes upon boxes of photos, making Mack think I'd caught the crazy that Barbara Hershey gets in Beaches when she's all, "I've got to find the picture of my mom's hands or else my daughter will die!"

I gave up and assumed it'd been lost in the move. Until last night.

While tidying up for Jen's visit (just 10 more hours!!!), I was trying to toss Mack's microphone to the top of the bedroom closet. It decided the top of the closet wasn't where it wanted to be, so it took aim at my head. I fell into the shelves where I keep my hot rollers to dodge its attack, and in my state of grace, I knocked a decorative photo box off the shelf. Photos spilled out chronicling misplaced moments from my life, and there, at the bottom of the pile of memories, folded in half, was The. Stache. Photo.

Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (a series)

Sitting in our respective spots in the living room, after watching a thrilling episode of Project Runway and eating pumpkin muffins for dinner, Mr. T looks my way with a glint in his eye that means he's thinking about something not related to judo.

"We've had some great adventures," he says.

"Season Finale, part 1...," I remind him, ruining the sweet moment that's about to slap me in the face.

"How many other couples can say they've been to Africa and to a McDonald's diner together?" he ponders.

"Or to jail."

No, this is not "baby fever"

But, come on, when meat collides as it has in this photo of my neighbor Sadie and her cousin, it needs to be shared with the world.
So as not to explode your mind, I cropped out the BABIES KISSING, because that would have been cuteness overload and the kiss was really not letting the meat have its moment.

Now, if I could just get my chub to look that cute...

Riddle me this...

Right, so, okay. There's this thing. It comes once every four years, but it lasts only about two minutes. And basically. Yeah, basically, people have died trying to get this thing. Uh huh, they've died. Like more people than have died in Iraq have died trying to get this thing. And now EVERYONE has it. Everyone. They've given it to Every. Single. Person. It's doesn't cost a penny. But it could cost you everything if you don't do it. So, what is it?

Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (a series)

Mack slumps into the house after a long day of school and discovers me hard at work on his computer. Reading stories.

"Babe, seriously, can we get some groceries?" he whimpers. "I really can't go to school all day and not eat."

I tenderly point out the fact that it's not the we don't have food... it's that he won't make it. If it doesn't come in a microwaveable bag or a banana peel, suddenly it ceases to exist.

Broken into a state of ludicrous from starvation, he turns into a crabby monster.

"Don't treat me like I'm a baby," he huffs.

"Stop acting like one and I won't," I tenderly retort.

"Get out of my face and don't talk to me the rest of the night."

Normally, I would have thrown some hate back in his face because that's what makes us happy, but he was hungry, and I know how hungry can make you insane.

Like when I'm hungry (or tired), I turn into this:
I tenderly stood up, left his computer, went into the kitchen and started cooking every morsel of food we had in the entire house. I made him two grilled cheese sandwiches, a dinner plate's worth of green beans, pasta salad with green beans, basil and tomatoes from our garden or my Aunt Becky's garden, potato salad and tuna salad. Then I went to the grocery store and replenished some of the snack stash, even throwing in a bag of hydrogenate-free chocolate chip cookies in the hopes that it would sweeten him up a little bit.

And that is why I earned an A+ in wife today.