I Am Grateful for Intelligence

The Best.Jeep.Ever. has needed some TLC lately. It was time for an oil change, a couple lightbulbs needed replacing, new tires, a nice bath… I'm never upset about spending money on the Godly Automotive Wonder that takes me everywhere I want to go exploring. I love my Jeep even with its big 'ole feet. You know what they say about a large carbon footprint... oh wait...

I admit I've never changed my own oil or a flat tire though. Some things are better left to the boys to get dirty with, or the experts that have all the right tools to keep an easy 10-minute job from being a 5-hour headache. However, I'm not one of those girls that's completely helpless in the garage either. I own REAL tools. They are not pink or sparkly - they are SnapOn silver, Dewalt yellow, Home Depot orange, Makita blue, or Ryobi green with black dirt accents. (And none of them are diminutive! ;) I've replaced my own headlights, battery, wipers, and tail lights in the past. I've installed iPod adapters (which required taking apart the dash to get to the back of the stereo head unit) in both the Camaro and the Jeep all by myself. Once I even changed my own idle air control (IAC) valve after a brilliant mechanic broke it (and zip-tied it as a fix! WTF?!), then wanted to charge me $183 for a replacement! I did it myself for less than $70. Go me!

Obviously, I am not afraid or ignorant of my vehicles.

So I found myself at the local auto parts store the other day. It happened to be a day when I chose to wear nicer clothes because the boyfriend was with me and I like to look my best when we present ourselves together in public. We are each other's arm candy. :) My outfit that day included a beautiful cotton sweater, designer jeans, high heeled boots, appropriate jewelry, and my expensive (not!) sunglasses (THOSE have sparkles on the sides!) pushed to the top of my head. My flashiest name-brand purse (under $100 people, so hush up) hung from my shoulder. To be fair, I suppose this look does give off a certain impression, especially to men found under a car more often than in it.

Looks can be so deceiving tho, can't they? This is why I don't judge books by their cover (except for the new teen novel Tiger's Curse by Colleen Houck - I totally bought that solely because the cover was cool and it turned out to be an awesome story! SCORE! Her next book, Tiger's Quest, is coming out in June. Preorder now!).

I was looking for the lightbulb that goes over the license plate, assumably so my next victim of Texting While Driving can see who ran them over in the dark and report me to the police.

(I'm KIDDING.)

(Ok, not completely.)

Having never replaced this particular bulb before, and knowing there are usually several to choose from, I walked up to the register to ask the I-Just-Graduated-College-And-This-Is-My-Chosen-Career clerk to retrieve the correct part number.

"Hello, I need the lightbulb that goes over the license plate of my 2005 Jeep Liberty."

"Lightbulbs are in Aisle 5."

"Thank you, but do you mind looking up the number for me? It's much faster than going through the book." (You'd think the fact that I KNOW there is a number - or a book over there to look in for that matter - would be his first clue, but it went right over his head.)

"Oh sure… you said it's an Oh Five Jeep Liberty?"

I nod.

Not that he looked up to confirm.

(Tap tap tap.) "Okaaaayy… number 168…"

"Thank you." I turned to walk away.

A dirty, plump finger shoots out rather close to my ear. "It's down Aisle 5 there… on the right… here, I'll just get it for you."

I'm sorry, did the back of my head look confused? Even tho I'm already walking in the proper direction, Mr. Helpful whips past me like Dale Earnhardt Junior at Talladega.

"Thanks but really, I can find… umm, ok," I say pointlessly into the backdraft. Thanks for providing great customer service?

The clerk was already scanning the rows so I had no choice but to shut up and follow him. I'm sure he's looked at these things many times more than I, so a nanosecond after I arrive he dives for the correct item and starts heading back to the register. Again, I follow. About halfway there he turns around, shakes the package in my direction, and says as if speaking to a child:

"Now make sure you tell whoever is installing this not to touch the bulb…"

Wait... what? Whoever is installing this? What am I? Chopped liver? Why would the person installing it not be me, the same one asking for the part?

The boyfriend comes up behind me just then, at which point I apparently disappear in a chauvinistic puff of smoke. Relieved there is a penis in the vicinity, Mr. Helpful redirects his comment to my appropriately-gendered partner: "Hey, make sure you use a rag to hold the bulb when you put this in…"

Make sure you use a rag to hold what's left of your ego, pal, cuz mine is rearing up to its entire righteous five-foot-three height.

"I will be the one installing this, thank you," I say as I take the package from his outstretched hand. "And I know not to touch the bulbs because they are halogen and the oils on your fingers will ruin them," I add as I stalk to the register with an unladylike semi-snort of laughter while the two men stand there looking at each other, one with embarrassment and the other with a smirk.

Hello Auto Zone? The 50s called… they'd like their counter boy back.

"Ummm…" Mr. Helpful says, gesturing toward Automotive Genius No. 2, "… he'll ring you up." He wouldn't even look at me as he slunk behind the checkout and disappeared between the stacks of thingamabobs* and whoseywhatsits. I notice the other cashiers trying not to crack up. Whether it's at me or him I have no idea since my nose is so far up in the air at this point, I would drown if it started to rain.


So what have we learned today, kids?

For those of you who are curious, as I was, having never taken the time (until now) to actually find out WHY you shouldn't touch halogen bulbs, The Straight Dope (fighting ignorance since 1973!) has the answer here. If you don't have time to read all the technical explanations offered, the short version is "because it's baaad...m'kay?" Ok, not really. :) It's because your oily fingerprints leave enough residue to impede the infrared component of a halogen's light spectrum from exiting the glass, thereby collecting heat and creating a weak spot, which eventually can cause the glass to explode from stress (much like the heads of chauvinistic males when coming into contact with my ego), shortening the life of the bulb. (In which case I'd say the lifespan of the bulb is the least of your problems.)

Whew... good thing Mr. Helpful mentioned that rag! I thought they were only for dusting!

Ladies (and gentlemen), you now know how to completely disassemble a snarky cashier the next time they condescend to you about halogens. Word.

Happy Jeep having a day at the spa. :)

*You know how I know Macs are the smarter machines? Because they know how to spell thingamabobs!

Chinchillas and Children

People unfamiliar with exotic pets such as iguanas or chinchillas tend to either be afraid of them, or they wonder why I would want to keep such a thing because they assume these creatures have no individual personality. They would be wrong.

I went downstairs tonight and got some raspberries from the frig and was eating (read: inhaling) them in the kitchen. My chinchillas all reside in the breakfast nook because it is the easiest place to cool down in summer since it's like a small room (they are in danger of heat stroke over 75°F) and the easiest place to contain their mess and clean it up (they scatter hay and cage substrate on the floor daily).

Odin (our 10 year old light grey chinnie) saw me and was immediately sticking his pink nose through the bars begging for a treat: "ME TOO! ME TOO! ME TOO!"

 

I don't like giving him raspberries tho cuz of the tiny seeds (plus they are huge compared to his size if you think about it - that's like giving us a berry the size of a watermelon to eat all at once), so I gave him a small fresh blueberry instead. He loves those. Odin likes all kinds of fresh stuff - organic salad greens and grapes are other things I give him once in a great while (just in case new chinchilla owners seeking info are led to this blog, please note that giving fresh items such as this can cause diarrhea so if your chinnie does like these things, please don't give them anything large, and don't allow these types of treats too often. Once a month at the most for fresh items. Dried fruits are better; small bits of pineapple, papaya, apple, and raisins are your best bet. Chinchillas are junkies - they will quickly become addicted to treats, so you really have to monitor it and only give them one treat per day. That said...)

My other two chinchillas, Edwyn (charcoal grey, 9 years old) and Arty (the 4 year old beige that came to me just after New Year's - I'll have to put that in a different blog cuz that's quite a story), saw me give Odin a blueberry and they're like "US TOO! US TOO!" Suddenly I have pink noses poking through cage bars everywhere.

I gave a blueberry to Edwyn, who grabbed it and ate half, then probably dropped the other half somewhere in the cage to be revisited later tonight. (He's like that - they're nocturnal by the way.)

Then I offered one to Arty who sniffs it and says: "Uh no, I don't like that."

Me: Oh c'mon, you'll like it. The other two like them.

Another sniff.

Arty: No no, I'm sure I don't like these.

Me: How do you know? You've never had one. Here.

Arty: No, I don't like them. I'm sure.

Me: Seriously, try it. (Side note: Yes, I speak out loud to my animals.)

Arty: No.

Me: TRY IT.

Arty: NO.

Me: "Look stunad... they're the same as the dried blueberries you immediately pick out of your dish every time I give them to you. TAKE THIS. It's the SAME THING."

Arty: Gimme a treat.

Me: I AM giving you a treat! Take it!

Arty: I don't want that treat. Gimme a different treat. (Turns "the cute look" on me.)

Me: No, don't do that. Eat this!

Arty: NO, GIMME A DIFFERENT TREAT. (Turns up the cuteness by a factor of 10.)

Me: FINE.

I go get the dried blueberries in the treat container and give him one, which he immediately gobbles down. Mind you, this is the same thing I was offering him before, it's just that these have had all the water sucked out of them.

Arty: That was good. Can I have another one? I'm sure you didn't give me one yet. How come the other two got treats and I didn't?

(And the other two are in the background going, "Yeah, we didn't get treats either. We're sure. Give us one!" They are excellent little liars.)

This totally reminded me of my daughter when she was five. Or maybe when she was FIFTEEN.

Her: I don't like Indian food.

Me: Try it.

Her: No! I don't like it.

Me: How do you know? You've never had it. (A CLASSIC parent argument.)

Her: I just know! (A CLASSIC child response.)

Me: C'mon, try it.

Her: NO! It smells funny!

Me: Try it!

Her: NO!

Me: Ok here, have this instead. Take this bread (naan) and dip it in this sauce (tikka masala).

Her: YUM! That's really good. Can I have more? What is it?

Me: INDIAN FOOD.

Her: (No response.)

A similar story a few years later during the one month she lived here with me in California before running back to the boyfriend in New Jersey: Oceanside has a street fair in the evening every Thursday. There are a ton of food booths, but this one place sells Greek gyros and OH MY GOD are they good. Best gyros I've ever tasted. The first time we had them it was just luck in picking that out of all the booths; now I go back on Thursdays just for that.

Katy and I had been walking around and she kept insisting she wasn't hungry but she hadn't eaten all day (drama over being apart from the boyfriend... they cried on the phone together EVERY NIGHT for a MONTH - him included!). I finally got tired of trying to convince her to eat and bought a gyro for myself. As soon as I tasted it I knew she'd like it, but getting her to find that out was always a challenge.

Me: You need to eat some dinner. This is really good. Try it.

Her: No. I'm not hungry.

Me: You're missing out. You'll love it. Just take one bite!

Her: NO! What is it?

Me: Lamb. (mistake - never tell them it's anything but beef or chicken)

Her: EWWWW!!! GROSS!!! NO!

Me: TRY IT! It tastes like beef. You won't know the difference.

Her: NO!

Me: TRY IT!

Her: FINE.

One bite, no comment.

A few minutes later...

Me: Do you want more? You need to stop sulking and eat something.

Her: I'm NOT sulking! FINE. Just one more bite. (Rolling her eyes.)

Me: You sure you don't want one of your own? I'll buy you one.

Her: No, MOM! I'm not hungry. (So much eye rolling her head could've been a bowling lane.)

Then I ask her to hold it for me (yeah, I'm smart) and it starts disappearing like magic. When she gets down to the last few bites she asks if I want anymore of it. I say no thanks, you finish it. No other comments are made. (I ate something later at home.)

These things are necessary silent victories lest you lose the next battle because your opponent has figured out your strategy. (She was 19. NINETEEN! Don't ever let anyone tell you the terrible twos stop in a few years! The only cure for that is moving out of the house!)

The next week she asks: Hey, can we get gyros again?

Chinchillas are much more stubborn.

It’s The Little Triumphs We Don’t Want To Miss

Hay House has been on the top of my list of places I’d like to work since I found out they are only about 15 miles from where I live. They are a publishing company formed by Louise L. Hay. Louise was one of the first people to bring the self-help movement to life, making the connection between mind and body back in the early 70s. My mother constantly referenced information gleaned from Hay’s words as I grew up. (And you thought I wasn’t listening, Mom!) Of course when I was younger, I blew most of it off (yes, youth is wasted on the young), but as I got into the study of science and consciousness myself from my early 20s on, I was surprised to find quite a bit of what I knew “innately” originated in Louise Hay’s wisdom.

A few months after I was laid off, I was “wasting time” watching videos on the net, and I came across You Can Heal Your Life, which is Hay’s signature movie. I consumed the entire flick in rapt attention, even though I already knew many of the principles covered. (It never hurts to bring it up to the front again.) In the movie, one of the women they interview uses the mantra: My income in constantly increasing. For whatever reason, those particular words at that particular moment, strung together in that particular order really resonated with me, so I wrote them on a post it note and tacked them to my mirror. (My mantra has evolved, as I mentioned in another blog post recently, but you have to tweak these things sometimes.) The results since have been undeniable. I haven’t had a regular paycheck for 11 months, but I have not lacked for money. This is not to say I’ve been rolling in dough, but so far my needs have always been met with minimal stress.

Even with my comprehension of the Law of Attraction and how we create our own reality, I am still in awe of the Universe when I get what I ask for. (I must note here that an Attitude of Gratitude has been my habit for long before this, and that is also an essential ingredient.) I know I still have many issues of self-worth that are not sorted out, but fortunately it appears I am making at least a wee bit of progress.

Anyway, this is just one of the reasons I so admire Louise Hay and the principles she’s pushed into the public light. When you consider that I’ve been a bookworm since I learned to read, and have enjoyed working for Pearson Education publishing science textbooks for the last few years, it seems working for a publishing house that puts out materials I can completely support with my whole heart is a no brainer. And I live right next door to them! WOOO!

I’ve watched their web site for job openings, but so far I haven’t seen anything that I feel confident in applying for. The other day I decided I was going to hand them my resume personally, hoping perhaps if an internal position came up they would consider me. My unemployment benefits are coming down to the end and although I have faith that whatever happens will be the experience I am meant to be having, I would truly prefer to have the experience of another income before the money runs out!

Morning before last I was at the boyfriend’s house working on my part-time projects for Pearson. About 2pm his internet connection kicked me off and wouldn’t let me back on. I took this as a sign to stop shuffling around and get on with the business of knocking on doors for jobs. I know the reason I procrastinate is because I’m afraid of being rejected, and failure, and half a dozen other negative things, but I also planned to visit Hay House that day so I tried to focus on the motivation of what that could lead to instead.

As I got dressed, I realized the outfit I’d brought didn’t look as nice as I’d anticipated. It really needed a belt, but since I was not home, I had no options. My Right Brain (seat of emotions and Ego) tried to argue that since I did not look “perfect,” perhaps it would be better to just go home, apply to some places online, and try again tomorrow. My Left Brain (place of logic) was having none of it. It sternly shook its neurons at Right Brain and argued that this has been my excuse for too many days, which is why it’s taken me so long to find a job. It took me a good 20 minutes to convince myself that the clothes did not matter, and to just get going.

As I got in the car I realized I’d forgotten to bring my portfolio with me that contains my resumes all printed on nice, formal paper. About two seconds later I realized I also did not have Hay House’s address (which took me quite awhile to sleuth out on the net, as they prefer to direct everyone to their post office box). Although I remembered approximately where the street was, I had no definitive way of finding the correct building, and without the internet connection in the house, I could not look it up again easily.

I sat in the car, observing the two sides of my brain firing off like an old married couple, and wondered how it is that I manage to live with myself. Maybe this is why I’m still single. There are already too many “people” in my life with just me.

Left Brain: Your resume is on a thumb drive in your purse. Just go print some on regular paper.

Right Brain: But it won’t LOOK nice and then I won’t make a good impression.

Left Brain: I doubt anyone will notice the quality of paper it’s on. The information on the paper is more important and speaks for itself.

Right Brain: First impressions count tho, and without nice paper people will think I suck.

Left Brain: ::rolls its virtual eyes:: Like the paper is an indication of your worth. Please. You’re making excuses.

Right Brain: Well I don’t have the address for Hay House anyway, so what’s the point? I should just call it a day and go home.

[Note: I had not even gone out yet.]

Left Brain: Hiding at home is not going to bring you income. And you’re running out of time. Don’t mess this up.

[“Mess this up” is not exactly the thought Left Brain used, but I’m trying to keep it PG here.]

Right Brain: But I’m AFRAID of people. And failure. And I don’t want to do this. I hate being judged. Why can’t someone just hire me without all this hassle?

Left Brain: Because they can’t hire you if they don’t even know you’re looking dumb@$$. Now go print out some resumes on regular paper and stop obsessing about all the reasons you “can’t.”

Right Brain: FINE. Whatever.

I go inside and the printer tells me the ink is low (Right Brain: “HA!” Left Brain: SIGH), so I only print one resume. It is now almost 4pm so businesses will only be open another hour anyway.

I listen to Right Brain describing how much I suck all the way to Carlsbad.

As I approach my exit on the highway, I pull myself together and decide this attitude is not going to land me a job with a company like Hay House. Instead, I give it up to the Universe: if I am meant to work at Hay House, I will “use the Force” as I have done many times in the past, and I will be led to their building without needing the street address. I know for certain this has worked for me in countless prior situations so Right Brain can’t argue with that, and is finally – thankfully! – silenced.

I remember that the street Hay House is on was somewhere on the east side of Palomar Airport, so I pass the entrance and the runway. A couple days before, I was in the same area for an interview with a temp agency and I stopped at a Subway sandwich shop for lunch. As I approach the intersection where the Subway resides, I notice that the street is called Innovation Way (at least on one side, it is a different name on the other). The sign seems to stand out to me, but turning onto Innovation Way would take me in the wrong direction. Nevertheless, I think “well, perhaps there’s a reason I was over here the other day and just because it’s a different name on the other side doesn’t mean it can’t be innovative. Sounds like a street Louise would put her business on,” so I turn left.

I spent about 30 minutes riding around, writing down names of different companies in the various business parks so I could look them up on the Net that night and know something about them before I walk in to ask for Human Resources. I kept hoping I would run across THE building.

I covered about two square miles of cold concrete edifices with the only results being a few “Oh, I didn’t know they were here!”s. It was getting close to 5:00 and I decided I would go through this one last park… they were white, one-story buildings with blue trim and really didn’t look like something that would house a publisher, but I figured what the heck. Things are never what they seem and they’re on my way out.

I wound my way through the alleys noting names on doors and how many offices that were obviously once occupied now stood empty. Recession city, baby. I headed to the back of the complex and as I turned a corner saw the sign I’d been hoping to find:

Holy crap, I found it.

"Look within." What is this, a Dan Brown novel?

(Ok, the tagline is not on the actual sign on the building, but I’m telling a story here – I have a Literary License. Get yours here.)

I couldn’t believe I actually found it (but then again, I could). I was hearing Yoda in my head as I circled the building looking for the front door. There were plenty of single glass entry points, but none with an obvious “come hither” neatly lettered on the pane like the surrounding businesses. You mean I have to figure out which door my future lies behind without even a hint? What if I guess wrong? Will there be lions waiting to eat me? C’mon – at least give me a CLUE!

I started feeling disappointed that I’d come all this way, managed to locate the building without the address, and now there was no apparent front desk. I’d found two locations listed online for Hay House (I figured one warehouse, one office), perhaps I was at the wrong one. Right Brain kicked in reminding me I should “just go home” but it was a weak voice compared to my determination now that I was this close.

My life is one big freakin’ metaphor.

As I rounded the last corner a second time, like any good Hollywood movie, I happened to see someone slip into one of the doors, and in the two nanoseconds it was open I thought I saw a reception area. Hmm. Could this be the entrance? Sure didn’t look like one, but there ARE handicap spaces right in front of it (that would be McGuyver Left Brain taking over). The blinds were drawn so I couldn’t tell what the space inside looked like, but I had asked for a clue and it looked like this was the best I was going to get.

I parked the car and sat there pushing down my flight impulse again. How stupid would I look (or how much trouble would I be in) if I walked into a bunch of cubicles where I don’t belong? People might look at me funny, or even worse, ask what I'm doing there, then I will surely keel over and die of embarrassment. Right there on their most-likely-blue commercial carpet.

My mother always told me that Grandpa told her, “Walk in like you own the place and no one will question you.” He was a Navy man. I have used this method successfully in the past. Today, not so much.

I gathered my resume and my courage and stepped through the door. Oh good – there IS a reception desk, with a receptionist behind it, so I will not be eaten by lions or arrested for being somewhere I shouldn’t be. The worst that can happen is I might look like an idiot. But I will survive this. Oh look, there are chairs. And magazines. And a fish tank. Because of course fish are tranquil and that’s what this company is about. Duh. And - haha - they have blue carpet. I really, really, really want to work here. Now pay attention. Don’t sound desperate. Smile.

There is a receptionist and another employee blinking at me in expectation.

Ok smiling… smiling… I need words… words would be good… please give me some words… from the brain, out the mouth… c’mon… shit, why didn’t I rehearse this or something? Is this what guys feel like when they walk up to a pretty girl?

“Hello, do you have a Human Resources department?” (Geez, could you come up with a stupider, more UN-informative opening line?)

“No, I’m sorry we don’t.” Employee exits. My paranoid Right Brain assures me she is snickering at my discomfort. Left Brain shushes the beast.

“Umm… is there someone I can leave my resume with then? I’d really like to work for Hay House so I was hoping to speak with someone.” (Way to sound confident, like you really belong here and they should hire you immediately – NOT.)

“I could take it for you, but right now we don’t have any open positions. You can check our web site… there is a card with the address right there.”

I take the card and hand her my resume (on crappy paper, wearing my sub-par outfit, NOT holding my professional looking portfolio) imagining it will go right in the trash as soon as I walk out the door. I SOOO do not want that to happen. What can I say to change her mind? DO SOMETHING besides stand there looking crushed you idiot!

“Thank you. I’ve actually been watching the web site but I haven’t seen anything come up recently that I’m qualified for. I just really want to work here, so I figured maybe if I brought my resume to you in person you could keep it on file and let me know when there is a place I would fit in.” (Now you sound completely desperate. Good job. Just go home you loser. What were you thinking?)

The receptionist is kind of at a loss for words, having done her job and not being able to offer me anything else. I don’t want to leave though as it’s really taken a lot to reach the place I’m standing, and I’m not yet convinced that crappy-paper resume isn’t ending up in File 13. I feel like a six year old on the verge of tears when the Universe finally shows some mercy and breathes a bit of brilliance into my thoughts.

“I know your time is valuable and I don’t want to take up too much of it, but it’s a funny story how I got here today…”

I proceed to relate an edited version of the events that led to not having the address, and how I left it up to the Universe to help me find the building if I was meant to work there, finishing up with how non-descript the entrance is and how thankful I am to have found it. I try really hard not to be as verbose as I usually am in storytelling, and pack all this into as succinct a narrative as possible.

I see the change come over the receptionist’s face just like they describe in books. She starts smiling like we now have a common ground, and agrees that it is absolutely difficult to find the place even when you DO have the address. Then the miracle happens.

The receptionist gives me the name and extension of the person I need to contact to follow up on my resume. SHE GAVE ME A FULL NAME AND PHONE EXTENSION. Of someone that has the power to move this forward, when appropriate... and even tho there are currently no positions open... at the #1 company on the very top of my “I Want To Work Here” list.

SCORE!!!

In the scope of life, this should appear as a minor event I suppose, but somehow I feel like I won the lottery.

There is no way that resume will go in the trash now, which I suddenly realize was the short-term goal. (My habit is to only see the end goal and forget about the steps in between, then wonder why I can’t simply leap from beginning to end.) I am reminded that “the journey of a thousand miles starts with one step.” [Chinese proverb.] I have never been so present in a moment in my life.

I am so grateful – even now as I’m writing this – to have accomplished that one small goal. I’m sure there are people that will scoff and go, “Well geez, all you did was drop off one resume. So what? There’s no guarantee they will give you a job.” This is true. I had the same thought. I have to wonder at this bizarre reaction I’m having myself. It’s not like I’ve never gone job hunting before, and certainly the Universe has its own schedule that trumps ours.

But my intuition says this: there are some crossroads in your life that are not evident when you are standing at them, yet are easily revealed in hindsight. Much like a hidden doorway (or math – ugh!), the answer is obvious once you’re on the other side, but standing at the beginning all you have is instinct and perhaps a few facts to base your direction on. I imagine there have been people that reach a point of success much further down the road, who look back from whence they came and think, “This all started because of that decision I made. Had I known that one choice was so important, I would’ve stopped to appreciate the moment more.”

Well I feel like I know, and even if I'm wrong, this is what it is to Be Here Now. I don’t know where this will lead, but I feel like it's the right direction, and needs to be appreciated even tho I don’t know what I’m appreciating yet, aside from a personal triumph over my own insecurities.

I guess I am appreciating this moment NOW because the success of knowing my resume will not go unnoticed in this company makes it much easier to imagine a time when maybe I’m standing in Barnes & Noble, autographing my bestseller book, thinking back to the day when I stood at that receptionist desk so beside myself, and Lupe the Receptionist changed my world. Wait until she finds out what she started!

Maybe it leads to nothing, and maybe it leads to everything. I am okay with allowing the Universe to keep that secret for now.

Winter Stories: Get Your Mug O' Hot Chocolate & Cozy Up

Story #1
I don't know who the architect was of the condo I live in, or if it was even that person that made this decision, but somewhere someone in the early 80s thought it would be a good idea to use radiant heat in my place instead of a conventional furnace. Normally I would be thrilled - who wouldn't love walking on warm floors in bare feet in the colder months? Except this genius decided to put the radiant heat in the CEILING, not the floor, even though the floor is tile and therefore would definitely benefit from some heat. Newsflash in Thermodynamics Einstein: Heat rises.
Needless to say, I do not use the provided heating system in my house. The downstairs unit may take care of upstairs, but upstairs would definitely only be keeping the spiders warm in the attic, and those little bastards don't pay rent.
Last year I purchased a couple space heaters from craigslist.com and they worked out pretty well. Even with three of them cranking they're not too bad on my power bill and they keep the areas I occupy warm enough.
One of the heaters did a great job heating the room, but the thermostat never seemed to work properly so it just kept heating and heating unless you were there to turn it on and off yourself. This was only annoying when I needed to leave the house for long periods; then I would have to choose whether I wanted to return to a freezer, or South America with Spunky (the iguana) sprawled out on his shelf sporting zinc on his nose and a margarita in hand.
This year, being unemployed, I decided I cannot afford to have a faulty thermostat helping SDG&E raid my bank account, so I kept watch for the same type of heater on craigslist. I finally found one for only $25 (I spent $40 on the first one; retail was like $80+ USD) and went to grab it. It looks exactly like the old one with a few extra scuffs. At home tonight I plugged it in and set the thermostat just as the gorgeous surfer dude showed me (amazing I even remembered how, I was so entranced by his steel blue eyes). It heated up past what I had set it at, then the temp number started blinking. I felt above the heater - still very hot. Hmmm. I waited a bit. I felt again. Still felt like heat coming out. I'm thinking darnit, this one doesn't work either! Maybe this is some faulty thing with all of these Honeywell models.
I sat playing with it awhile longer. Eventually I figured out that when the temp blinks, it has turned itself off to cool down, however, it doesn't feel like it because the metal grate above the heating element takes a long time to really cool off. Oh. Ok, my bad. So it IS working properly. Well yay for that.
I watched it do its thing for about 10 minutes, then I got to thinking. I wonder if I made a mistake with the old one and just didn't set it properly? Only one way to find out. I drag the old one upstairs and repeat the test process. Turns out it works perfectly! Now who's the dumbass about heating? ::sigh::
So anyone need an extra space heater? I mean seriously - when it gets down to 63°F, down blankets and wool socks just aren't enough!
~*~
Story #2
Last Saturday I attended a class on Brain State & Consciousness offered by Teri Mahaney at a new age store in Oceanside. It was a great class, but that was the third time I'd forgotten to bring something to write notes in. The Jeep hauls around enough "just in case" items to make any Girl Scout leader fall over with pride (no, I was never one of them), but paper is not among these items unless you count the deposit envelopes in the console, or the Starbucks contraband napkins in the glove compartment.
After the class I was determined to remedy this oversight, so I decided to stop by Barnes & Noble to buy a really cool notebook I'd seen that was on clearance (yes it was $7 - hell no, a $3 spiral bound from the drug store will not satisfy a Mac-toting, Starbucks-drinking, Whole Foods-shopping Snob Like Me).
Have I mentioned how DANGEROUS it is to let me loose in Barnes & Noble?
As I headed to the car consoling my wallet, I noticed Santa Claus sitting in the cafe reading a book. No, seriously, it was him. Round cheeks, big belly, white hair/beard, glasses, Reebok sneakers. If it wasn't him, I'll bet the dude never wears red lest he be accosted by small children everywhere he goes.
I made it to the car to leave, but my silly child-brain was poking me and giggling the entire way about how cool would it be to sit in B&N and read next to Santa Claus? (How old am I?) Even tho I had no intention whatsoever of speaking to him or saying anything about what I was thinking, the idea was just too much to resist. So I went back in with my books and sat down to read there. He even had THE PLATE WITH COOKIE CRUMBS NEXT TO HIM. C'mon! It was HIM!
I tried to sneak a peek at what he was reading but I couldn't see the title without looking like an idiot. I must've read for about an hour, or as long as it took to finish my latte anyhow. He eventually put down his book, took a snooze (I'm serious) for about 10 minutes, then got up and left in his sleigh. Ok, maybe it wasn't a sleigh, but I'll bet he had reindeer stuffed in the trunk. No, really.
I had such a nice time reading the other day tho that I went back tonight after picking up the heater just to be out of the house for awhile. I was looking for Augusten Burroughs' new book, You Better Not Cry. I thought it would be just like his previous publications - a regular size memoir - but it turns out these were just Christmas stories in a smaller, more compact read.
And read I did. In fact, I sat there and read the ENTIRE book in three hours. Straight through with one break for coffee. Which is good because then I didn't spend money buying the book (sorry Augusten!) but it was very funny in his normal morbid kind of way - MUCH better than his last full-length book, A Wolf At The Table. That one just made me cringe the entire way through and I hope never to read something that depressing again. You Better Not Cry was good though. It made me laugh out loud several times, to the point I was trying to suppress it so people didn't stare.
Lovely - there was a point to tell you that story, but I've been interrupted in writing it so many times I forget the point now. So I guess you'll just have to take it for what it's worth.
Ok, I remembered. Sort of. While in B&N, I also decided to pick up two classic children's stories for my Godnephew for Christmas. One was Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree, and the other was Maurice Sendak's Where The Wild Things Are. I remembered having read these stories maybe once or twice as a kid, but I did not remember what each story was about. I only knew they were classics, and certainly every kid should have the classics in his library, even if he's only 2 years old. I was being a good Godmother, right?
I get home with these books and decide I should read them to refresh my memory. I wish I had done this in the store now. First I open The Giving Tree. In my adult life I've heard over and over what a great spiritual message it sends, or perhaps it was supposed to have a really good moral to the story. I can't really remember, so I dive in.
It's about this tree that loves a little boy. And the little boy asks for things from the tree constantly - all through his growing up years. And the tree always gives him what he wants... all the way to the end when the boy is an old man and just wants a place to sit and the tree can only offer the stump the boy has turned it into as a place to rest.
And then the book ended.
Wait, WHAT?
Where is the awesome moral? The spiritual message? Isn't there at least some GRATITUDE? The tree gives and gives and gives, and the kid takes and takes and takes - even chops it down to build a boat for his own selfish purposes - and never gives ANYTHING back to the tree? Doesn't even plant a new one? What is he, the CEO of a logging company? WTF??!! HE CHOPPED DOWN A TREE and was completely selfish and THIS is a great book that has become a classic? Ok, well it says he loved the tree, but I have a hard time believing asking more and more of something and never giving anything back is a good example of love. Or perhaps that's the exact message. But I don't see how a kid would get that message out of the book. It was hard for ME to salvage that from the story!
To me, this book says he only loved the tree for what it could give him. That is not Love in my world. Love is shared. Love is a two way street. A mutual thing. You take, but you also GIVE. The tree was the only one doing any giving here. I've read Silverstein's other books - A Light In The Attic was one of my favorites as a kid and I had several of his other works. He's probably the only poetry besides Dr. Suess that I've ever enjoyed, but THIS... maybe I'm missing the point, but this is a SUCKY story. Chopping down trees is sacrilege in my book (all puns intended) to begin with. Besides, the picture of Shel on the back cover would give a kid nightmares. What editor picked THAT photo? Dumbass. This book is SOOO going back.
Ok, so that one wasn't what I thought it would be. Surely Sendak's work - which is now a major motion picture - is better. I crack this one open.
Max, the main character, backtalks his mother and gets sent to his room without supper. But instead of being remorseful and thinking about how crappy he treated his elder, or the story supporting respect for your parents, the kid grows a forest in his imagination, travels to "where the wild things are," becomes their king, treats them shitty the same way he felt he was treated, finally gets bored, goes home, and finds that his mother (presumably) has left his dinner in his room for him.
Wait, WHAT?! WHAT??!!
The kid acts like a total brat and gets punished for it, then spreads the negativity to imaginary creatures, and comes home to be REWARDED??! Are you KIDDING me?
Ok, MAYBE forgiveness is the message here? But that would mean it's forgiveness on his parent's part, and what of his being a brat in the first place? Shouldn't the lesson be NOT to be a 'tard to begin with? Forgiveness is such a stretch, and again, how is a CHILD supposed to get that out of this story? My ADULT brain had to really dig around for that one.
What is WRONG with these authors? And HOW - pray tell - have THESE particular books become such "classics?" I can only think that they are popular because people my age who had them as kids saw nothing wrong with how the characters acted because they were a bunch of spoiled brats themselves, and to a worm in horseradish, the world IS horseradish (as quoted recently in a MUCH better book for bigger, more intelligent kids: What The Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell - I HEART HIM!!).
And THAT, my friends, is exactly what's wrong with the world today. Nothing but brats born in the 60s turning into bigger, older brats and seeing nothing wrong with their bratty behavior because they have NO respect for their elders. At the risk of sounding just like my grandparents, what is this world coming to?!
Both of these books are going back. No wonder I don't remember them from when I was a kid. Their messages suck. If anyone has a better explanation of what I'm missing that others must be getting from these stories, PLEASE PLEASE enlighten me.
~*~
Story #3
Today was trash day in our neighborhood. I'm always grateful for the G-man on Wednesdays because I never want to take for granted the fact that I don't have to deal with the trash I create beyond getting it out of my house to the curb. What a blessing! I think too many of us don't often think about where it goes after that, or the people it takes to get it there. Or that we should really be making a much bigger effort to send less of it wherever it ends up. But that's another blog...
I personally have it down to less than one kitchen-size bag of trash per week, except for when I clean the chinchilla cages and I have a second bag full of their nasty peed-on cage substrate, which is all biodegradable anyway. The roommate has added a bit more to my weekly refuse, but mostly we are less trashy than most of my neighbors. And I mean that literally when I talk about the asshole with the two always-screaming children and mufflerless Harley under my bedroom window.
When I moved in and realized I had to buy my own rubbish bin, I bought a 42-gallon wheeled thing that I knew I would never fill in a week, but figured bigger is always better for those few occasions when not everything fits, right?
The first time I left it on the curb on trash day I got it back with a terse note that they would not empty anything larger than a 32-gallon can. Oops. Sorry guys. I took the 42-gallon back to Home Depot and got the smaller can. Everyone was happy.
Today though, the garbage man not only took stuff, he left us all a present. Apparently Waste Management got a new contract, or new truck, or something because everyone in my little condo complex received a brand new GIGANTIC plastic city-owned trash bin. This thing is the size of Kansas. Even bigger than the original 42-gallon one they were so upset about. I guess the trucks have stronger back muscles than The Man.
Unfortunately fitting this monster in my garage has been a challenge. It's only a one-car garage and with all my daughter's stuff packed up in boxes in there, there's not much room left for things besides the washer/dryer and the Jeep.
Now that it's 3am and my brain is getting fuzzy, I don't know why this is news, but it did make me laugh earlier trying to fit it in the garage. I swear the Jeep actually glared at it because the only place for it is right in front of its nose. I tried along the side but squeezing the car between that and the other wall was just too much maneuvering. The Condo Association won't let us keep cans outside where anyone can see them - not even on the back patio (not that I would want it there anyway), but seriously, where do they think we have room for these things? Why wasn't I consulted? Oh yeah, maybe if I'd go to the Condo Assoc. meetings I would know. :)
Okay, time for bed. I just discovered I have other blog entries I haven't even finished from awhile back, but there's no way I'm staying awake for that. I'm not even going to proofread this. Ooooo - living dangerously!

A Fruity Story

Yesterday - we're talking 24 HOURS AGO - I bought a quart of strawberries and a bag of grapes at Henry's. Both are organically grown because I'm like that. Both looked equally fresh because they probably were. I used the strawberries to garnish a raw foods dessert I made to take to a massage party last night. (Chocomole, totally awesome cuz it's from a totally awesome person, and it never fails to wow every guest at the gathering. Take copies of the recipe with you. Trust me on this.) I left both the extra strawberries and the bag of grapes on my counter overnight because I'm not partial to cold fruit and I don't have problems with pests that raid my kitchen (aside from my roommate).

This morning I go to cut up the remainder of the strawberries and they are COMPLETELY grey and fuzzy. I don't mean just a little part that you can cut out, I had to THROW THEM OUT. And I despise wasting food. WTF? The grapes sitting on the counter right next to them were fine. Not even a trace of science experiment. I wonder if I had stuck a camera in front of the berries overnight if I could've watched them grow a beard like a time-lapse movie without the acceleration.

This is not the first time I've seen this here in San Diego. The trouble is, it doesn't happen every time and you never know when it will strike. Some fruit I've left out on my counter for days with no trouble. Others commit suicide overnight. I can't figure it out. I mean sure, you never know when the things you buy actually arrived at the store so perhaps they were already old, but they felt firm and didn't seem to show any signs of severe decay. It is the weirdest thing.

At least I still have grapes. (Thank you Fruity Gods.) I will pair them with peaches in the blender and add some Agave nectar and see how that dance goes. Grapes and strawberries straight up are a much tastier smoothie though. I swear I'm going to do this raw food thing eventually. I got a recipe for a fruit dip type thing from a great guy I met at the last massage party. It goes like this (in his unedited words) for anyone that wants to try it:

The recipe is simple, all is real and raw, not from a can, I get the young coconuts a the asian stores call 99 Ranch Market, a case of 9 young coconuts is about $7.00, so here we go, to make a small amount you can do it with milk and meat from one coconut, hand full of raw cashews ( keep adding till gets thick ), small dash of sea salt, blend, try it, then add 1/4tsp or a bit more of raw agave nectar ( keep adding till gets sweet enough for you, and don't forget to add some love too, and thats it.

You drizzle that over fruit - he had cut up apples at the party - and it was delish. Oh, and when he says blend it, he means with one of the Super Blenders like a VitaMix or a BlendTec. I haven't purchased one yet, but I see it in my very near future. (If you're looking to get one, check eBay. There's been some good deals on nearly-new BlendTecs there recently.)

I guess eating raw requires more than sweet desserts tho. That's the part I'm not as excited to try - veges and such. Sounds like a WHOLE lotta salads and green shakes. Salad is all fine and good, but I'm not an iguana (despite Spunky's opinion).

Well anyway, that's my story for today.

Spunky, my fruity iguana.

Bibbity Bobbity Boo

I am in Texas visiting my friend, M, who is also Godmother to my daughter. We've known each other since high school and are great friends. M has a toddler that will be baptized tomorrow and she has asked me to be her son's Godmother. The difference here is that Katy (my daughter) was never officially baptized or christened - M's Godmother title is more an acknowledgement of our friendship and a definition of her role in my daughter's life rather than the more traditional mantle she's asking me to accept (not that my asking her was any less sincere!).

M grew up Catholic (her husband is a non-practicing Episcopalian) but has since sort of renounced the church after some less-than-stellar experiences with the people involved. My own beliefs fall far, far away from any organized religion, and most particularly the one she is recovering from.

The way I understand it, a traditional Godmother is responsible for making sure the child grows up with knowledge of (or following) the parents' beliefs if the parents are - for whatever reason (usually death) - unable to do that themselves. I chose M as Katy's Godmother because we grew up with very similar family values and I knew that even if our beliefs fell on opposite sides of the fence, she would most importantly try to instill the good values and manners we were raised with in my daughter. She has proved on many occasions to be a valuable backup voice in guiding Katy through some childhood issues, so these are no small shoes to fill despite her size 5 feet!

I was curious to know why she chose me tho since she knows how I feel about Catholicism, and I'm thinking she and her husband are probably viewing my role from a more classic perspective. She replied, "You have the kind of connection with nature and God that we're looking for." (If she read my blog, she might add "Despite that previous link.") This really blew me away. For one thing, it feels like a huge confirmation of a bond to the Universe that I strive for in everything I do, but often feel like I fall short on (as if we're not all entwined with the Divine, but you get my drift). For a second thing, to have my beliefs accepted so unconditionally in such an official way (even if it's not laid out for everyone else to see) means a lot to me. It had more of an impact than she probably intended because defending myself against people who just don't get it (or dont accept it) has unfortunately become the rule, so to have someone ask me to be something important in their (and their son's) life BECAUSE of what I believe is a strangely foreign concept in my head, albeit a good one.

I asked her to expand on her statement so I was sure we were on the same page and she gave specific examples that on several of our hikes in days long past, I've taken tobacco along to offer the Earth in gratitude (a Native American ritual others have laughed at or called me "weird" for - honestly I was impressed she even remembered that as I try to keep it on the down low after so much ridicule from others); she has noted (apparently) that wild animals seem to have an affinity for my presence; and she cited my ability to remember specific trees in a forest on different outings (they are like people to me, they all look different and some personalities stand out). In her opinion (and her husband's), I suppose that adds up to the correct formula for being at a certain spiritual peace with our planet and All. Which is cool!

Anyway, I wasn't writing this to boast, I'm giving background because of the neatest thing that happened today. We were in the backyard this afternoon - M was on poop patrol and I was playing ball with the dog to tire him out. We came across a frog that was investigating (probably more like terrorizing) a major ant population way out at the end of the yard by a small gathering of trees. I haven't seen a frog in ages so I stood there talking to him for a minute, and watching him use his hind leg to fling the ants off his eyes when they got too annoying. He was really cute - about the size of my palm. Not really out of the ordinary, right? Just Mr. Toad out there being himself and a crazy girl making conversation with Nature (out loud since no one was watching).

The weird part is that much later this evening, I took the dog out again to pee and when we came back in, our amphibious buddy hopped right into the house under the dog's feet! At first I thought the dog had tracked a leaf or something in so I bent down to pick it up, but when it hopped away I realized it was my greenish-brown friend from way down in the back of the yard! Must've taken him all day to come up to the patio and wait by the door (it's a big yard).

I shooed him back outside quickly (with apologies) cuz I was afraid the dog (who is a large German Shepherd) or one of the many people now in the house (including two toddlers) would trample him if he panicked. Wildlife moves fast when spooked, which results in the humans getting spooked, then the energy level spikes out of control and bad things happen. Lucky for us tho, he turned around and hopped right back out the door in front of my hands. I regretted not following him outside tho. I mean he DID spend all that time coming up there to say hi! What a crappy way to treat a guest! I didn't mean to be rude. I wished I'd gotten a picture of him.

I poked my head back out a bit later, but it was too dark to see if he was still around. Oh well. He probably had froggier things to do. I made the joke to M's mother-in-law that maybe I should've kissed him and he would've turned into a prince. (Except I already found a prince that I like a lot - that's a whole 'nother blog tho!)

Tonight after we all retired to our respective rooms I looked up frog medicine because part of my beliefs is that when animals hop into your path like that, you need to hear their message. Jamie Sams' Medicine Cards gives a good basis to start understanding Mother Nature's missives. I knew frogs meant cleansing (they bring the rain to cleanse the Earth), but I did not remember that "...all water rites belong to Frog, including initiations by water." Well isn't that interesting since baptisms are exactly that, aren't they?

Once I read that, I realized he wasn't here to visit me, he came to bless the event. (How conceited do I feel now?! Sheesh. :( ) I can't wait to pass the message on to M tomorrow tho. Makes me feel a lot better too about participating in a ceremony I couldn't really relate to until now. I just love how things like that get explained even when I'm not asking a question directly. Divine alchemy is awesome.

I clicked on a couple more Google results about frogs (what did we EVER do without Google?!), and found more amusing tidbits that appealed to the ever-present child in me. One link offered this:

Frog is also strongly associated with magic and transformation. Beginning life as an egg, it becomes a polliwog, then a frog. It is thus a reminder to us that life is a miracle of change and transformation.

This message is particularly embodied in the story of the Frog Prince. In the Scottish version of this story, a queen who was ill could only be healed by a drink from the well of true water. When each of her three daughters tried to get this water, a monstrous frog refused to allow them access unless they agreed to marry him. The youngest daughter agreed and was able to heal her mother. She also later discovered that her unattractive bridegroom was actually a prince.

M's husband's family has strong Scottish genes, as do I, so this really caught my attention. I'm familiar with the tale of the Frog Prince, but I didn't know it was of Scottish origin. (And of course everything we read on the Interwebs is absolutely the truth! haha) I did another Google search to see if I could find the whole story in its native format, but got sidetracked by the Wikipedia entry about it. From that entry I clicked another link that explains that the Brothers Grimm adapted their frog fable from "The Well of the World's End," which, when you read what THAT is by clicking here, you'll realize is actually the origins of the Cinderella story (and what is my most favoritest fairy tale evar? You got THAT right!).

I thought the relation to Cinderella was even quirkier because before I came to Texas, I asked M what would be an appropriate gift for her son on this occasion. She suggested a biblical story. I was like "HAVE YOU MET ME? Where would I find such a thing? In the fiction section of Barnes & Noble?" I could hear her amused sigh two states away, and she said she was sure I could find something, and when I did, would I please write a dedication in the front. I already knew what to get actually - Neale Donald Walsh wrote a great book called The Little Soul and the Sun, which bridges the gap between our beliefs quite nicely, so that's what I bought. On the title page I wrote a brief note and signed it "Your Fairy Godmother" because by jove, I've always been partial to the Fey, and if I get to be a Godmother I want to be a magical one! (And HELLO... favoritest story includes Godmother of the Fairy sort!)

So what is the moral of this lengthy yarn? For one, everything is tied together no matter what we believe, and sometimes even more so BECAUSE of what we believe. For two, everything eventually comes full circle. And really, how awesome is the perspective when you make it all the way around the entire twisted sphere and a bigger picture comes into focus?

Let's just hope I don't accidentally turn anyone into a toad tomorrow at the ceremony.

I Remember It To A Tee

I posted this as a response to a recent blog by Jason Mraz, but since it's such a good memory I'm posting it here as well. My apologies for the repeat to those of you who may have already read it in the comments of Freshness Factor Five Thousand.

My mom took me with her on a business trip to San Francisco when I was in 6th grade. It made quite an impression on me because it was the first time I was allowed to stay by myself (not even at home!) while she went to the office all day.

The Hyatt Regency in Embarcadero Center (i.e., the hotel we stayed at) is where I developed my love of jazz because there was a piano bar at the bottom of the atrium. I wasn't supposed to leave our room so when things got too boring, I would prop the door open in case Mom called on the phone, and I would stand just outside at the edge of the balcony that overlooked the atrium and listen to the notes float past me on their way to the top. I made up all kinds of scenarios in my head about being a princess in a tower, or a grand lady from 100 years ago on holiday as I listened to the music. My imagination was (is) limitless. Nowadays someone would've probably called the cops on mom for leaving me alone in a hotel at that age. Oh well, we do what we have to as single parents.

Anyway, Mom took me to a magic show one night at this little hole in the wall place. It was kind of late for a 6th grader and there were no other kids in the audience. The people on stage called themselves Asparagus Valley Cultural Society. Most of the comedy material went right over my head and by the end I think my mom was a little sheepish that she didn't know the show was NOT really for kids. I mean who woulda thought? Aren't all magic shows for kids? Even if they don't end until 11pm?

As an aside, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. When Katy was around 7 or 8, we were on a trip to Philadelphia. I took her to the movies to see Beavis & Butthead Do America. I knew it might have SOME jokes that went over her head, but I had NO IDEA what Beavis & Butthead were really all about. I mean, c'mon... it was ANIMATED! Aren't all cartoons for kids? And when they say "DO America" aren't they talking about a road trip?! haha But back to our story...

The Mystery of the Peking Snow Duck (which was actually a rabbit, as made obvious by the punchline "that's Snow Duck!" as the "peeking" rabbit is pulled from under a cloth) was the best trick since it was probably the only one I really got (comedy-wise - magic can be understood at any age :).

The magicians said they would be in the lobby after the show and I begged Mom to let us stay and meet them because I can never get enough magic. (Maybe that's where my groupie nature started!)

The big guy from on stage came out carrying a cage. He let me pet the rabbit and asked if I would like to stick pencils in its ears. (Weird, the things we remember.) I giggled and said no. He thanked us for coming to the show and gave me a green tshirt with their name and logo on the front. It was too big to wear, but I slept in it for years, and I still have it (and it fits now).

The best part of the story? Those magicians were Penn & Teller. :)

Picture was taken in 2008. Click HERE for an account of how Penn & Teller started out (and yes, Wier was still part of the act when I saw them in San Fran). I think it's SO ironic that they spent years performing in Philadelphia (where I grew up) but *I* saw them all the way across the country. Not the first time that's happened. I lived in Arizona for six years before moving to New Jersey. After I moved to New Jersey I started working for a company that was headquartered in Scottsdale, in the same building that I worked in while I lived in Arizona. Nothing like moving across the country to work for the people upstairs!

I Could Totally Host An HGTV Show

I know I've been out of commission for almost a month, but deal with it. It's not that I haven't had any blog-worthy thoughts or stories, in fact, there have been tons; I just haven't made the time to write them down (shame, that). I am blessed with a full life.

Earlier this weekend my friend John and I found ourselves in Ikea looking for a ceiling fan for his living room. We recently refurnished the entire downstairs of his house using craigslist.com, moving his style forward from Early Fuck into something that will buy him some time to slap a ring on a woman's finger before she runs screaming to Pottery Barn. Although I'm good at putting together modern pieces from discount places, there are usually a couple things you just have to spring for to get the right effect in the time frame you want. Even so, "springing" doesn't mean you should ever pay suggested retail. (Please!) It may, however, require lowering yourself to shop in places that increase your karmic debt.

Trust me, Ikea hurts my soul almost as much as Walmart, but occasionally entering the labyrinth is a pain worthy of bearing in the interest of A Good Deal. Don't get me wrong; the original intent of the Swedish company is great: making the most out of limited resources/space/child labor in China. It's our overblown waddling American lifestyle that sodomized the Ikea concept until their giant blue box stores became the monolithic icon of rampant consumerism. But I digress.

Since wandering around with open, outstretched hands waiting for the fans to fall into them didn't work (much like my writing career), we asked a yellow-n-blue-clad stoner Totally Chill Shopping Assistant where their most stylish whirly-gigs might be. He tells us Ikea does not carry ceiling fans. Fan-tastic.

We turn to beat a hasty retreat, but like tourists navigating Manhattan, we realize we have no idea where we are, much less which direction the exit is. And the screeching children running amuck have long since eaten our trail of breadcrumbs.

Have you ever tried to escape Ikea? I think even the Marines would have a hard time finding their way out.

Both of us being humans of above-average intelligence (which ain't sayin' much these days), we follow the signs that say "exit" until we realize there are at least 100 of them and they are all pointing at each other. So much for logical deduction. Instead we make like cattle and follow the herd for about five miles until I'm distracted by kitchen accessories. This is Ikea's evil business plan. They force you (read: women) to walk past every single item they sell, hoping something will trigger the Impulse Buy Button in your head (generally, the male chromosomes lack this mechanism). If it's not bedding or furniture or artwork/plants/useless shelf items that strike your fancy, they'll throw some kitchen stuff in your face as a last resort. No one gets out without paying a toll. Hmm. Maybe Ikea originated in New Jersey, not Sweden.

Amidst the culinary paraphernalia, my eyes zero in on a 1/2 mile wide display of small bowls (probably rice bowls) that are the perfect size for John's nightly dose of ice cream. Did I mention John will keel over and die without this evening ritual? In fact, one night I threw out the melted, watery remains of a sundae because I assumed he was done, and he had such a reaction I thought one of us might end up in the ER. GAH. Did I also mention that my house has no appropriate sized bowls for this sacrament to the frozen snack Gods? (There is no such problem at his house of course. That would be like the Vatican running short on common sense... I mean alter boys... I mean wine glasses.) My cereal bowls are too big and my Pyrex petri dishes are too small. We can't have that. Ikea has won. They flipped my switch. (No, I have never been officially diagnosed with OCD.)

I trip and fall right into the brand marketing assuming the bowls are cheap, so yes, thank you, I'll take four. I justify my potential purchase by pointing out it's possible picking them up with intent to buy will open a space portal directly to the cash registers, shortly followed by the exit. Unfortunately that turns out not to be true. After several moments of debate during which the bland oatmeal color (like the white ones at his house are more interesting?) and lack of identifiable pricing is discussed, we put them back since there was no escape hatch offered with the purchase, and he is immune to The Ikea Brainwashing Technique.

Being the more daring of the duo, he takes a sharp left and whips us through one of the ominous grey doors that surely will set off fire alarms and sprinklers if opened, alerting police and causing mass panic in which we will be trampled by millions of zombie shoppers in their craze to get away from they-don't-know-what-but-it-must-be-bad-if-the-alarm- is-going-off... but hey! Whaddya know? It's a free pass to the exit! Do not pass go, do not spend $200! Go John! I knew I kept him around for a reason.

So we're out and on our merry way, but the seed of having those bowls has already been planted. (Wait, didn't we go in there for something else?) They are cute and convenient and The Brain has already rationalized their existence in my life. This usually means they will end up in my cabinet one way or another.

Today I was at the dollar store checking to see if anything on my grocery list was available there. Dollar stores are widespread here in SoCal and thank God for that. The Universe loves balance so perhaps this is Its way of trying to offset the ridiculous cost of living in Paradise. Of course, this benefit is only available to those who can transcend the belief that Whole Foods is the only grocery store worthy of your presence (it took HOURS of meditation I tell you), and that fluency in Spanish is not really required to shop there (they employ one stoner Totally Chill Manager in each store for translation purposes if you really need him).

Anyway, as I was picking up some pasta and Toasted wheat crackers (ok fine, and a can of the cappuccino flavored cream wafers that look like straws, which I feel sick from because it's so hard to stop eating them), it occurred to me that they may have something similar enough to the Ikea bowls to appease my need to have a perfectly sized dish for every occasion. A quick scan of the assorted "china" (I use that term loosely) revealed some very similar bowls indeed. Same bland oatmeal color, and wow - they're about the same size and shape. I grab four ($4! Beat that Ikea!) and head home.

I sink my new bowls into soapy water to loosen the stickers. As I peel back the first one from the bottom of the vessel, I see a familiar name stamped above all the fine print.

You got it.

Ikea.

My Scritchy Princess

I have four chinchillas (Odin, Edwyn, Wilbur, and Hopi), an iguana (Spunky), and a leopard gecko (Geco, yes I know - so original) that currently reside in my care. In addition, pets that have already passed on include another iguana (Kiwi, @ 14 years old), and two other chinchillas (Zeus and Earl, @ ages 3 and 7 respectively).

When I lived in Arizona, an ex and I had 11 snakes and 7 lizards of various species at one point, and we started raising our own rats to feed them all. (Sometimes I look back on that time period and wonder who the hell was living in my body.)

From my youth, I can add to the list a parade of gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs, a short-lived pair of mice (man, do they stink!) and 3 dogs (one of which is Mark's, but I lived with her for 5 years so she counts).

Suffice it to say most of my time on Earth, I've been surrounded by a small zoo. I must’ve missed my calling as Jeff Corwin’s wife. Darnit.

Anyway… I’ve certainly learned a lot about the husbandry and medical analysis of exotics, with an unintended emphasis on South American animals. Maybe I should've been a zoologist. It’s never too late of course, but at this stage of the game I don’t think I’ll be going back to school. Maybe in my retirement, if I’m not too busy running the coffee house.

I hear you thinking, "What? No cat?" The only reason I've never had a cat is because 30 minutes after entering a kitty-inhabited house, I can no longer breathe without the aid of steroids (rabbits, same thing). It’s unfortunate that I’m so fond of air.

Actually, I was owned by a cat once (most cat owners will agree it's decidedly NOT the other way around) - a great orange beast we called Pumpkin. He was a stray that showed up at our door one evening meowing so loudly I thought he might be Conan O’Brien in feline form. He was amazingly persistent. I finally fed him, and he came back every night after that at the same time – 6pm sharp – and loudly announced his arrival and request for dinner. (I’ve known people like that too.) You could’ve set a clock by this guy. I would talk to him while he ate, then give him a good scratch all over and he would purr like a Chevy. He slept on our back porch in some old towels I set out, and disappeared every morning by the time I woke up. Eat, scratch, sleep, rinse, repeat every evening for over a year. This was well after we’d moved in, so I don’t think he belonged to a former tenant.

I found a new Human Slave for him when we moved so he wouldn't starve. It was really hard to give up his company when I left, but I couldn’t take him out of the territory he knew. He never came in the house. Best cat ever - no litter box required. That’s my cat story.

I am so totally off the topic I was thinking about though.

Hopi is our only girl chinchilla and she came to live with us about 5 ½ years ago. Originally I didn’t want any girls because I’d read about them spraying (standing up and shooting pee at you) when they’re pissed off (no pun intended) and I didn’t want my walls or my clothes painted in rodent urine. We were looking for a new cagemate for Odin after Zeus died tho, and I had an ad up at Petsmart. A lady (read: the original stereotype of a “Jersey Girl”) called from the ad saying she had a chin named Po that needed a new home. She assured me Po was a boy and explained he was a rescue she had taken in, but she had to find homes for all her rescues (including dog, cat, bird, and rodent species) because she was a mother-to-be and didn’t have time for the animals anymore. Hmm. Some “rescue.”

We agreed to meet at Whole Foods since she seemed reluctant for me to come to her house, and she thought mine was too complicated to find. (Whole Foods was two turns away from my street.) As soon as I saw Po, I knew there was no way that was a boy. Females are generally much larger than males in this species, and this was the biggest fuzzy rat I’d ever laid eyes on. I hefted Po out of her cage and checked underneath, but the sex is not always obvious with these guys, especially not for someone who’d never seen female chinnie parts before.

I asked the lady if she’d verified Po’s sex with a vet? No, she didn’t have the money to take it to the vet, but she was SURE it was a boy. Alarms are going off in my head at this point. I probably should’ve made an anonymous call to the SPCA to check her out, but I didn’t think of it at the time.

I figured the worst that happens is I take Po with me, confirm he’s a she, and locate a good home for her. I figured the animal had to be better off with me than this… ahem… “lady.” So Po, her cage, and all her belongings were transferred to the Jeep, and off we went.

When I got home, I unpacked the big black trash bag that was Po’s suitcase. There was a brand-new hamster wheel that was too small and unstable for her to run on (nice try), a dusty bath house (ok, at least she was getting a bath even tho it surely didn’t look like it), a bag of typical pet store hay, a couple miscellaneous chew toys (which were plastic and went right in the garbage), a cloth sleeping bag for her to hide in, and the piece dé resistance… a BOX OF BIRDSEED.

??!!

I called Jersey Girl to find out if she mistakenly packed the birdseed and would like it back. She chirped, “No no! Po loves that stuff! That's what he eats!”

Are you kidding me? I know you can’t tell boys from girls, but surely you can at least tell she’s not a BIRD?! At least that explained the crappy condition of Po’s fur.

Chinchillas have very delicate digestive systems and normally if you’re going to switch a chin’s food, you must mix the old food with the new food for a few days until they get used to it. This was an extreme case tho, so we went cold turkey from birdseed to Mazuri pellets. I kept the hay consistent for awhile, then switched her to the brand the rest of my babies eat. Obviously, she survived.

Po wove a web of chinnie charms around us until we were easily swayed into keeping her. This is what these guys do – if you look directly into the cuteness, you’re done for. We changed her name to Hopi because it was more girly and the sounds are close to Po.

Since she’s our only girl, and because she’s got a bit of an attitude (she literally grabs treats from your hand, demands to be petted, and grumbles loudly if you do something she doesn't like), I’ve taken to calling her The Princess. She absolutely adores being scratched behind the ears, under her chin, and she’ll gladly lift her arm up so you can get “the good spot." Here is the “Look of Chinnie Bliss”:

When we moved here, I ditched Hopi's latest cloth house because it was so gross and there was no way I was putting that in my washer. I replaced it with a wooden house like the other chins have. When there's enough commotion from the other cages, she's taken up Zeus's old habit of sticking just her head out the top of the house, sleepy and bleary-eyed with twitching whiskers, to find out if anything warrants her attention (read: TREATS). She'll sit that way until she decides if the shenanigans are worth further investigation. If they are, she MAY drag the rest of her fat butt through the hole (which she had to enlarge to fit through - many nights of hard construction work I tell you, when your only power tools are big pointy teeth!), but mostly she just looks annoyed that you woke her up, and she'd prefer if you would just open that door and give her a scritch already so she doesn't have to go through all that extra trouble of actually coming out of the house. I mean seriously, she was SLEEPING. Do you think it's her JOB as a PET to give YOU attention? Pahleeze.

Oddly, Zeus used to do the same thing with sticking only his head out the top of the box:

Her repeat performance earned her Zeus's old nickname of "Head in a Box," but tonight I realized her own name is already an acronym, I was just missing the last letter:

H ead
O nly
P lease
I nsert

T reat.

I mean seriously, there has to be some advantages to being the only girl with three brothers, right?

The Universe Snaps Back

Alternate Title if this was porn: A Sucky Story with a Happy Ending

(Can't wait to see what kind of automated Google ads THAT brings up!)

Last night, I sent email to two people on craigslist that each listed a vacuum for $25. One was in Oceanside, the other in San Marcos. The San Marcos vacuum was red and a little older (but not more than 5 years), and looked like your normal modern-day upright that uses a bag. The Oceanside vacuum was a cool lime green, rounded like a Dyson (read: newer), it was bagless (read: better for the environment), and I got attached to the idea that I would refer to it as "The Green Monster" in honor of the outfield wall at Fenway (for the baseball-impaired, Fenway is the home of the Boston Red Sox - Go Saux!). I even planned to get a team sticker for it.

San Marcos called me back first, but I really wanted the green one from Oceanside so I stalled with an excuse and told her I wanted to check out some reports on the performance of her model before committing to it - can I call her back in an hour? Sure, she says.

A couple hours later Oceanside calls and I arrange to go get The Green Monster. I'm under the gun because I have to meet my landlady in an hour, and it would take just about that long to get there and back. I go anyway, but first I call San Marcos and give a lame excuse about saving gas and ask if I could come by Sunday on my way to Encinitas? Sure, she says. I also told her that if someone else was interested don't wait for me - I didn't want to be unfair - but I honestly didn't think anyone else would inquire because it was an older model.

The Jeep sucked down an entire gallon of gas going to Oceanside, much like I inhaled an entire bottle of Bolthouse Hazelnut Latte, my newest addiction (trying to replace Starbucks; the Mocha Cappuccino and the Vanilla Chai also rock). The guy brings Big Green outside to show me and it's this tiny little thing that looks like no more than the stick vac I already have (and the stick vac ain't cuttin' it, which is why I'm looking for another vacuum). It was like expecting a roar and getting a yawn instead.

I swear, in the picture it looked like a standard size, but I've been fooled this way before. Pictures are worth 1000 words, but they don't provide actual measurements. (Remember that next time you're looking at naughty things on the internet. You know who you are.) I even asked on the phone how many amps it had and he said 12 (which was the truth), so I assumed it had to be full size. It was certainly as loud as a full size. You'd think something like that would come with matching lime green, noise-canceling ear covers like landscapers wear so you can eliminate dirt and debris in style! What stick vac is 12 amps? That's like putting a 2HP motor on a blender! Oh wait, they do that.

Despite him promising that it worked just like a regular full size vacuum I said no thanks, that I couldn't afford to take the chance that it doesn't do the job as well as I need it to. So disappointing. I really wanted a Big Green Sucking Machine. Not a Small Lean Might Get It Clean.

So I pull around the corner from his house and call San Marcos to say, "Hey! Guess what? I found out I'm closer to your area than I thought and I was wondering if I could come by now to take a look at the vac?" But oops... someone else called about it [read: she had another person interested already and since I sort of passed, she called them] and they were on their way over. Crap. I so totally deserved that.

She promised to call me back and let me know if the guy took it, but c'mon... $25 for a decent upright? And it's a guy coming to look - guys aren't that picky. That thing is SO gone.

I headed in the direction of San Marcos anyway, hoping she would call in the 15 minutes it took to get to the exit where I'd have to decide to continue on or turn to go home. She didn't call. I argued with myself that she would call - maybe I should just pull over and wait. No, I had to go home and meet the landlady. ::SIGH:: I took the exit to head north.

Good thing, because my cell phone never rang.

Two hours later my home line blurts out its anemic summons (a whole 'nother story) and it's San Marcos saying she's SO sorry she didn't contact me earlier but her cell mysteriously erased my number so she didn't have a way to call me back! Ouch. Ok, I deserved that one too.

She was very helpful though, suggesting I check out a yellow vacuum currently on sale at Target for only $50. She said she bought the same thing and it's working great. I thanked her for the tip and we said goodbye.

Moral of the story: if you keep pulling the Universe's rubber band, eventually it's going to snap back and sting you.

The happy ending to this story is that I went back to craigslist (if they ever go public, I have to buy stock!) and found another vac for only $15 that looks like it will do the job well. And this time I'm not fooling around. I made an appointment and I'll keep it, and unless something goes horribly wrong, I will own it for less than either of the other two. Even when the Universe slaps you, at least it will kiss it and make it better after.

Oh, and this Mighty Hoover is teal colored - not exactly a Green Monster, but hey, it matches the Jeep! And I'll call it Edgar, even though I don't think my grandfather (who shares the name) would appreciate that too much. I'll have to use the J in front when I'm around him.

So J. Edgar Hoover will be in charge of digging up dirt and busting the floors as Finally Being Intolerable. (::giggles at her own joke::)

~*~

In other news... I was cleaning out the pictures on my cell phone and realized there are many I took to post here, but I forgot all about them! So here is what I've been saving up for you, my fellow Planetary Peoples.

Take a look at the store hours on this sign and tell me what's wrong with this picture:

If there are two extra days available for only 99 cents each, someone PLEASE point me to that aisle, because I can't tell you how many times I would've gladly given my last two bucks for an extra 48 hours!

And speaking of signs: Go Semper Fi! ...or not.

While we're on the subject of heroes, did you know Jewish carpenters fall into that category? Yes, folks, you too can own the Jesus action figure! He's poseable! He's inspiring! He saves...

...you money! Available at Borders Book Store (no kidding). Cross not included. Mary Magdalene sold separately.

I've always said there were plenty of good prophets in our history, Jesus just had the best marketing.

(The Google ad algorithm is now having a melt down figuring out if it can list ads for porn and Christian products on the same page.)

Seriously though, I took this pic awhile back at Starbucks (sorry it's blurry) because I was thrilled to see two of my own heroes sharing space on the rack. Frank Sinatra and Jason Mraz. Both Fond of Hats. These guys are the best crooners ever to inhabit our fair planet:

And I had this pic on my phone too... the story behind this one is that every time I'd say organic food is better for you, Mark would scoff and say, "Boron's organic, but that's not good for you!" Well sir, apparently it is in select cases! :P

And this... this is why I'm here on the West coast... being here to witness scenes like this is what makes this place like paradise:

And this last one was also taken at the beach... apparently kicked off in a fit of joy: (Dane Cook fans will know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.)

I can't see a lone shoe lying anywhere now that I don't think of that line. God bless Dane Cook. He's one of the people that makes me laugh almost daily.

Dear Owner of This Shoe: Your property has been impounded by The Ocean. You can retrieve your missing footwear at the Great Pacific Garbage Patch in 4-6 months. Karma is the only form of payment accepted. Good luck.

Some Enchanted Evening

Just about two weeks ago I drove 3 1/2 hours to Worcester, MA (pronounced Wuss-ter, which I cannot imagine spelled any other way now thanks to Jenn at Random Lunacy - check her out) to see Jason Mraz play one of his last gigs on the Music, Magic & Make-Peace mini-tour promoting his new CD, We Sing. We Dance. We Steal Things. coming Tuesday to an iTunes near you. So much of my trip was spent in the Present Moment it felt like living a fantasy, and I'm not trying to be dramatic.

This is going to be long, so make some tea and get comfortable if you’re interested in getting to the bottom of this.

Now let's see...

As some of you know, and others may have guessed, Mraz has been at the top of my Favorite Musician list for almost three years. Not just because he writes great songs with lyrical prowess and memorable melodies; if you read his blogs and listen to his interviews you will find a genuine, True person. He is not a fabrication of the music industry, a marketing department, or your imagination (although he will definitely engage it!).

Wuss-ter is 3 1/2 hours from where I live so originally I had not planned to go to this concert, but the temptation of seeing the show one last time proved too much. Once you're a Mraz fan, just plan on spending all your extra cash to go to his concerts because they're like Lay's potato chips - you can't stop at just one.

Yes people, he is all that and a bag of chips. (C'mon, how could I not go there? :)

I left work early so I could reach the venue in time. The weather didn't look good, it had been raining all day and driving long distances in rain makes me nervous. The Universe smiled shortly before I left though, and the roads were dry. What a blessing.

The drive proved to be just as charming as the concert. I discovered that CT-15 North is a beautiful route and very much resembles driving through a Disneyfied woodland forest. The highway is lined with trees and wooden fences, and I passed under several arched stone bridges with iron scrollwork along the top. Being that it's Spring, everything was bright green, pink, yellow - gorgeous colors everywhere I looked. If a cartoon princess had come skipping across the road, woodland friends in tow, I would not have thought twice about it.

As I was driving along admiring the view, I happened upon an exit for New Canaan, CT. Once upon a time, I lived in New Canaan with my mother in an apartment above a huge empty house that still holds the record in my mind for the Best. Kitchen. Ever. (Mom says I'm mixing up my memories, and it's possible I drempt the kitchen, but seems real enough in my head.) It was around the corner and down a few streets from a house Robert Redford owned (for real), and I remember we would joke about rubbing elbows with all the snotty rich people when we did our grocery shopping at Food Emporium. Now that I shop mostly at Whole Foods in Ridgewood (a very similar store in a similar neighborhood), I think about those trips and suspect I may have become one of the snobs. Hmmm.

We only lived there two months, but I have a surprising number of good memories from that place for such a brief period of inhabitance, so even though I didn't have time to use the exit, it was very cool to pass the signs and flip through happy thoughts like a photo album.

Further along the trail, there appeared an entrance to a tunnel through a mountain. Have you ever unexpectedly smelled something that reminded you of kindergarten? When I saw the tunnel, it must've released some mad rush of serotonin in my brain because I felt that same sense of wonder and excitement one rarely experiences after growing up. It was weird and awesome all at once. Amazing how something so simple can give you a thrill.

Mom and I traveled a lot when I was little, and I remember vividly going through tunnels in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, and the Smokies in Tennessee. They were long and dark and I'd make up stories in my head about mythical creatures that could pop out ahead and whisk us away to another time and place. (Have I mentioned what a large part of my childhood good ol' Walt influenced?)

Looking back I'm not sure why tunnels thrilled me so much (I avoid the Lincoln Tunnel like the plague) but it was way cool to feel that same anticipation and I literally laughed out loud at myself.

And this was all BEFORE I got to the concert!

The rest of the drive was actually uneventful, except at one point I found Benny & The Jets by Elton John stuck in my head. I tried to think how that could've possibly happened since I'd been listening to Jason the whole way, and decided it must be an association with Mraz singing Rocket Man, along with a realization that I hadn't heard him play Rocket Man at all during this tour and that I missed hearing it. ::cue foreshadowing music::

I arrived at Holy Cross College just before the doors opened. Jenn and Matt had been standing in line with a new friend, Bridgete, for over an hour so they were right up by the door. I felt COMPLETELY GUILTY walking past all those people to go stand with my friends at the front, especially when I saw how cold they all were and I'd just stepped out of a nice warm car. Thank you SO MUCH to my friends for their generosity! And thank you to everyone in line that probably thought I was an ass, but didn't say anything.

We were let in shortly thereafter and found our way to a place near the front of the mob at the stage. There was a bit of confusion about people who had tickets in hand vs. those forced to pick them up at will call, so we were about 4 people deep in the crowd despite the awesome line position. Oh well. I have no complaints. Standing there waiting for the first band, I thought it was kind of funny that I seem to always end up in the same spot relative to the stage.

Everclear opened the show for a reason no one is able to figure out. They're an odd pairing with Mraz, but fortunately I like their music so it was fun to see them live. I couldn't remember too many of the lyrics, but I recognized the songs, and they definitely rocked the house. I thought surely due to time they must be replacing part of the Music, Magic, & Make-Peace circus that has been this tour, but no. It was a 4 1/2 hour marathon of fun with no one left out.

Since my reviews of the first two concerts I attended (PA & NYC) went by the wayside, this will kind of be a combination of all three.

I have to say, the PA & NYC shows were great, but they were almost identical in every way - right down to the jokes between songs - and I find that odd for a Mraz production. In the past, his concerts have been less staged: the setlist was more of a crapshoot (in a good way) and the banter was less predictable, which is what makes it so worth buying tickets to multiple shows on the same tour. Don't get me wrong, both PA & NY went by at 100 SPH (Smiles Per Hour) and I enjoyed every minute. I was just surprised these two were SO similar and it makes me wonder if it had to do with record label control or if Jason decided it's easier to work that way, or you just can't be that spontaneous with that many people on stage or what. I've always had too many questions in my head, the most persistent being "Why?"

The Wuss-ter show appeared to have more spontaneity to it but later, when I looked up the set lists from the Canadian shows the two nights previous, I saw it wasn't quite as spontaneous as I thought. Either way it made me happy and that's really all that matters.

The Ring Master for this event was Justin Kredible, and he is exactly that. His bowling ball trick is my favorite for the "how the fuck did he do that" factor, and I still laugh when I think about his "learning a new trick" with the banana. It's a very a-peel-ing bit. :D

At Wuss-ter, as he was cleaning up from the banana trick, he flung some of the mashed fruit into the audience and a little landed on me. The next morning I tried to brush my hair and found it was still sticky from Justin's banana. ::snicker giggle::

I never did get a chance to ask Justin about his girlfriend's name either. Someone told me he's fucking Amazing, so I figured that's what they call her. Amazing is an odd thing to name a girl, but cool nonetheless. I'll bet her middle name is Grace. :D

Ok, enough with the bad jokes. (Justin started it.)

The Makepeace Brothers, hailing from Ithaca, NY, are awesome. I've never been such an instant fan of an opening band. I downloaded the songs available from SnoCap on their MySpace page and I already want more. You should too.

They use an unusual blend of instruments - bass, cajon, and uke or guitar, depending on the song - which makes them sound like much more than the three-piece they normally are. Actually, according to their MySpace page, there are four brothers and the bass player (a brother from another mother) in the band officially, but somehow I mostly saw three of them on stage. Dunno why the other two seemed hidden most of the time.

Things Gonna Wait, the last song in their set, is definitely potential hit material with the catchy hook and simple, happy lyrics that quickly become a sing-along. They bring all the musicians in the tour onstage to perform this one and it's a party atmosphere every time.

The only thing that bugged me a little about Jason shakin' his tambourine (and other things) during this song was the obvious shift in the tide of adoration anytime he moves around the stage. I love Jason dearly and he can't help the attention his presence draws, but I felt like it took away a little from the Makepeace Brothers' most shining moment. Mraz tries to stay in the background, but the crowd never buys it. MPB are so worth ALL your love every minute they play, it made me sad that people were so easily distracted.

Back on the up side, you gotta love that they wore Blend Apparel shirts at every show. F & A. (Censored for the sensitive. :)

William-Billy-Bushwalla-Galewood hits the stage with so much energy you can't help but be swept up by it. He starts out slow like he's moving in for a chaste kiss, then licks you head to toe with his funky eclectic groove and you're left thinking, "Hey, that was pretty sexy! Can we do it again?"

I've listened to his music before, even seen him perform at The Mint in LA, but I can't say I knew his tunes intimately before attending these three shows. I think Brown is my favorite. It makes me giggle every time because it's a sing-along with a lot of "don't sing heres" and "shhhhs" interjected as Billy conducts the audience, and of course no one gets it right. Creatures in the Yard is a close second (mostly because it mentions dragonflies, and how can I not love that?). And I have to agree that it's hard to be a gangsta with a basket on your bike, but Tittybangin' courtesy of Bushwallian Cruise Lines (giggle)... Vitamin Me (LMAO)... that was definitely a fav performance at the Wuss-ter show. As I've said before, polar bears envy Billy's coolness, and his wardrobe.

Bush's backup band is actually Mraz and his troop, but for most shows they took to wearing black electrical tape to "disguise" themselves for that set. By the time they reached Wuss-ter, they ditched the tape, but who can blame them? They probably had no facial hair (or skin) left from ripping it off each night.

Billy is so commanding on stage it was easier for the crowd to focus on him when they should. The couple songs that featured "Johnny Wishbone" aka "Sloppy Joe" (Jason's character) still elicited a higher pitch of hoots and hollers, but it seemed the love was spread a little more evenly.

By the time Mraz actually popped outta Justin's tent (snicker) as himself, I almost forgot it was him I was there to see. It was good tho, because I felt like, "Damn, all that AND I get to hear Jason? Too much rock for one hand!"

As I said, Mraz's sets in PA & NYC were almost identical, the difference being Sleep All Day in PA, and Plane in NY. At least both times he sang all the songs the way I love them best. Growling out words (yeah baby); Beautiful Mess had different chords at the end; extra verse and Wonderwall and Ian's bass solo added to Remedy (which saved it from monotony); Live High had "singing" instead of "selling" gratitude in the lyrics (selling just doesn't fit the vibe of the song), and in I'm Yours "god-intended" sounds much nicer than "god-forsaken." I know, details details, but to me the details are like a spice that sends it over the top. Banter in NY was more interesting than PA too, although I had to go back and listen to the taped version to understand a few things he said.

And by the way, can I have a "Hell YEAH" for tapers?!

The Wuss-ter show was in a different class. The crowd was worse, but the set list was better. He started his set with the middle verse of Rocket Man (so freaky - I thought maybe it was a telepathic moment in the car until I read later that he played it in Canada the last two nights as well), then he chose Bella Luna, complete with a request for the sea of cellphone stars (which always looks amazing).

Unfortunately a group of very loud drunk kids chose that moment to shove their way in behind us and I couldn't hear over their talking and shouting through most of the song. After several quick fantasies about death to the idiots behind us, I decided it was instead an opportunity to practice rising above my ego (not what I WANTED to do). Situations like that remind me I still have things to learn about maintaining Peace on the inside. I was hoping someone would put a video of the song on YouTube, but no such luck.

Older Lover was louder than the Rude People, which was way cool, and in the break he started singing "Can you read my mind?" I was thinking, "You must be reading mine because it's like you're taking my requests!" After that he played Life is Wonderful, and even added some opera in the encore (his range is incredible).

And speaking of the encore... No Stopping Us was an awesome choice (in my opinion) because he had the brass with him, and that song is just 10 times better with horns. I wasn't yet a fan when he released his Tonight, Not Again live CD so these dates were the first time I'd seen him with the extended band.

I love that the Grooveline Horns are from Austin because I have ties there. They were incredible, especially when they show up in the balcony (if there is one) or on the front barriers (if there isn't) and play in. your. face. during Live High. I dunno who had that idea, but it rocked. There was a nice distribution of solos among the horns on various nights as well, and each one held me transfixed.

Fall Through Glass was a brilliant choice for the second encore song because it is so upbeat, everyone is on stage again dancing and jumping, and the audience is just rockin' out on their own at that point, and I love that Jason is the kind of guy that will choose his best friend's song instead of another of his own. About halfway through they freeze in place while Justin comes out to name everyone (think: roll credits). He snaps some pics, thanks the audience, then they start up again and finish the song. You think to yourself, "that is the PERFECT show ending..." you're leaving on such a high note... but wait...

Everyone bows like the best Broadway musical and they leave the stage, but Jason hangs back, grabs his axe (my favorite one with the pink Om symbol in the middle), and offers a very intimate, personal performance of You and I Both. He asks everyone to sing along, and most do, but it's more like a bedtime story or a lullaby that leaves you all warm and mushy inside. In the middle he takes time to impress upon all who are paying attention his thoughts on gratitude, the Golden Rule, and environmental consciousness. These are the values I identify with that make him one of my favorite performers - the thread of Truth that runs through everything he does and weaves his success. He walks his talk, and that impresses the shit outta me. I'd say normally leaving an audience on a mellow note like that might not be ideal, but this worked like pixie dust.

So that was the end of the concert, but not the end of my story. Sorry. If you need a pee break, you know, it's the Internet - it'll still be here when you get back.

We drifted to the lobby and hung out for a few minutes, tried to take a couple pictures outside but we were all freezing, so after hugs and goodbyes we went our own ways.

I drove home in silence (yes, 3+ hours), not wanting to hear anything but the thoughts in my head. It was like a collage: pieces of the concert... thinking... musing. Driving can be like a meditation for me if I'm alone in the car, although I don't recommend 80 MPH on the Mass Pike as a habitual place of transcendence.

Before I knew it, I was back on CT-15, headed South this time. What had been an Enchanted Forest in the daylight looked a little creepier at night with the trees hanging over the road and no lamps above to light the way. I decided to go with it though since I was already in such an imaginative state. I wasn't really tired, but to ensure that I stayed awake I pretended the forest had been overcome by an evil villain, which threw it into darkness. I couldn't stop the car even for a minute or the spell would put me to sleep forever. As I was thinking this, almost on cue, a huge white owl swooped out of a tree and flew across my path, close enough to cause me to jam the brakes in reaction, but too far away to actually be in danger of being hit. He sailed in front of me and was gone in a blink. I broke my silence with "What the fuck?!" Then I laughed. For real. Out loud. Not only did I recently read in Tolle's New Earth book something about "One With Life" which I realized OWL is an acronym for, but if you look in the Medicine Cards owls symbolize magic, wisdom, clairvoyance, and an ability to see the Truth, even if it's covered up. Owls are awesome.

A little while later, while I'm still thinking how Disney-gone-evil the road looks, I pass a hotel in the middle of nowhere, and the neon sign claims it is the "Hi Ho." I laughed again, right out loud. Do you think dwarves are behind the front desk and maybe Snow White cleans the rooms? That was too funny.

I finally emerged from the woods onto the NY Thruway, and I swear it was like coming out of a fantasy and back to reality in every way. My mindset changed to one of "I just want to get home now" and the road was brightly lit and much busier even at 3am. I pulled over shortly after the ramp though to open the roof and gaze up at the stars. You can see so many more of them out away from NYC. I said a heartfelt thank you for such an amazing evening, but they just winked at me until I pulled back onto the road.

Not to ruin the mood, but I was almost on empty when I got stuck on the Tappan Zee due to overnight construction. Thanks to Jenn, all I could think about was her story of some kind of worm eating through the iron that holds the bridge up under the water (which is probably what they are doing construction for). The whole bridge shook every time a semi would pass on the other side. Thanks, Jenn! :P Fortunately we only had to wait about 10 minutes, then they let us through.

The last sparkle of wizardry I saw that night was after I pulled out of the 24 hour gas station. I looked to my left and there was a beautiful, HUGE, orange crescent moon hanging over the city. It was like the heavens conjured up a picture of Bella Luna for me since I couldn't hear it too well earlier. I would've played the song if I had it in the car, but I didn't, so I finally broke the silence with A Beautiful Mess instead. I pulled into the driveway as the final note faded.

It was 4am when I finally hit the sheets and I had to get up at 7:30 to go to work. I napped in the car at lunch to stay awake, and I ended up getting sick a few days later from the girl behind me at the concert sneezing and coughing into my hair all night, but...

It. Was. So. Worth. It.

Hey look, here comes the sun. Guess I'd better go to bed. Happy Mother's Day to all you Mothers out there! :D And a special Happy Mother's Day to Mother Earth because She deserves it. Make sure you remember Her today too.

Artwork by Jenness Cortez Perlmutter used without permission from American Meditation Institute, but I'm hoping a link will suffice. :)