For once, I’ve decided to view my unfolding leg of travel through rose-colored glasses.
I woke up spontaneously at 4:13am instead of the agreed upon 4:45am (agreed upon with my alarm), but it took me half an hour longer to get ready than I thought it would. Less stress at 5am is always a good thing.
I thought I had forgotten my phone in my business partner’s car and was going to call him to bring it back…but…(note to self: memorize important people’s cell phone numbers). I panicked for only a couple of seconds before I found my phone in my briefcase. And right on top, too!
I babbled incoherently to the ticket agent about the time I had forgotten my ID at the airport (see EPIC FAIL = TSA PAT DOWN, THOROUGH TYPE), and she was only alarmed for about five seconds before I produced my drivers license. She threw me a bone and said it was “early.” (It’s always “early” for me, if you get my drift.)
Tomorrow is the day I’ve committed to pulling in the carbohydrate reins (notice no one ever says they’re starting to eat healthier today), but I bought only two croissants at the airport bakery.
When I knocked one of the croissants off the counter, the very accommodating (accommodating not reaccommodating) woman behind the counter got me a new one. She said, “We won’t sell that one now,” referring to the one on the floor. Even though I deprived the bakery of some 2 1/2 cents, she was gracious enough to laugh when I said, “I hope you have a dog.”
I was pleasantly surprised when I saw TSA pre-check on my boarding pass (the coveted security line where you don’t have to remove shoes or laptop and where, if there should happen to be a terrorist, the screening is woefully inadequate.)
If you’ve never been to a swanky, super fabulous (code for very, very gay) neighborhood mixer in Palm Springs, you haven’t lived. Allow me to share the experience.
The first thing I noticed is the open (copiously flowing) bars at either end of the million dollar patio. (In my world, there are only jokes about not having an open bar. Actually, that’s my old world. In my world today, open bar refers to ballet, a ranch or cow roping.) The next thing I noticed was the parade of highly-stylized, fastidiously-groomed, very good-looking men in a bunch of matchy matchy outfits. Then there were the older straight women with scary dark, leathery skin from having spent 50 years beside a pool. You know, the kind of women who apparently find that kind of thing attractive and wear skimpy clothes in their seventies. Then I noticed the straight women who were on their way to scary dark, leathery skin but hadn’t yet rounded third, one of whom was drunk enough to ask if my “very, very gay” (as he refers to himself) business partner and I were “together.” I said yes because I like messing with drunk people. My business partner got as far away from her as he could. Continue reading “IS YOUR LIFE JUST ONE BIG PARTY? NO, IT’S A LOT OF LITTLE PARTIES.”→
And by technology glitch, I mean my bonehead move that could have ended badly but didn’t because I have a technology angel (and a parking angel and a falling angel). (But not a grocery store check-out line angel.)
I’m getting a little full of myself, I must admit. My Don’t Unfriend Me business partner and I have done a photo shoot, designed our business cards and stationery, established a FB page and a Twitter account, hammered out the format for our Deep Dives* into every controversial subject under the sun (intro, history, legal environment, ripped-from-the-headlines dilemma, debate, and takeaway—oh—and the all-important cartoon).
Whatever possessed us to take on sanctuary cities as our first deep dive? It’s like starting Bible study with the book of Isaiah. We decided the only thing sanctuary cities doesn’t include is Nordstrom. However. Doing the hardest one first has its appeal. I finished 4,119 words yesterday, and that’s just the Intro and History.
I was feeling oh so pleased with myself that I somewhat over-confidently taught myself how to use my fancy schmancy new headset for my radio interview this morning. I read the manual (at least I thought I did), tested every part, organized it carefully on my desk so it would be ready to go, and sat back, ready to rumble. Continue reading “MY TECHNOLOGY GLITCH DU JOUR”→
My fourteen year old son is home, and we are in the midst of an all-systems update from Parenting 1.0. It’s amazing what five months of family therapy can do. Especially for the mom, who, it turns out, was a rather significant part of the problem. (I hate it when that happens.) That’s not to say the other people at the party were all sunshine and candlesticks, but I can only speak for myself.
I must say in my defense that I was working on incomplete and erroneous information, which fact I use to rationalize quite a bit of my old parenting approach. Rather than confess every sordid detail of Parenting 1.0, I’ll just share some wisdom that triggered the update to Parenting 2.0: Continue reading “PARENTING 2.0”→
“You don’t know what happiness is until you have kids. And then it’s too late.” — Anonymous
If you’re a parent, you just lol’ed. If you’re not a parent, you don’t get it. Allow me to break it down for you. When you become a parent, a whole new dimension of emotion opens up inside of you, including moments of unspeakable happiness. When you become a parent, the dimension of carefree happiness, which you didn’t even know you had, is gone forever because you will never be carefree again. Once a parent, always a parent, and we’re only as happy as our least happy child.
Back to lifestyles of the rich and childless, two dimensions that—for some obscure reason—often go together:
“[A] middle-income family with a child born in 2013 can expect to spend about $245,340 ($304,480 adjusted for projected inflation) for food, housing, childcare and education, and other child-rearing expenses up to age 18. Costs associated with pregnancy or expenses occurred after age 18, such as higher education, are not included.” Continue reading “LIFESTYLES OF THE RICH AND CHILDLESS”→
About to hit the road for the long drive back to Salt Lake City from San Diego, my home for more than half my life that is no longer my home but will always be where I feel most at home. Utah is where I want to be, but California runs in my veins.
The La Jolla Writers Conference was a smashing success as it is every year and why I come out every year from Utah. I also come out to see my ‘framily’ and to get a shrimp burrito(s) from Cotija’s in Santee, and to drink in people with different ethnicities, religions, and clothing standards.
There is almost nothing worse you can do to a man than to inform him after the fact that he could have solved a problem he created but has lost the opportunity forever. The water is under the bridge, the horse is out of the barn, the milk is spilt. It might even qualify as cruel and unusual punishment.
Informing him that you knew ahead of time and could have given him a heads up before it was too late is grounds for divorce in eight states.