Do Not Bet An Expert

My friend John made the mistake of betting me about a Jason Mraz song just now. Those of you who know me, or who are true Mraz fans, will immediately see the folly in this and are already laughing.

Because "geek" does not begin to cover us (a pun for my fellow fans :), John has my entire iTunes library to listen to. The songs were on shuffle and to tease me, he sends me an IM saying Mraz came up and how lame the song was. I asked what song. He says, “America.” I said there is no Mraz song called America.

“WANNA BET? WANNA BET?” I can practically see him dancing around the other side of the Web.

Oh foolish boy.

“Ok, fine. I bet you there is no Mraz song called America.”

What he wants if he wins is ridiculous, but I agree to it because I know he doesn't have a prayer. I admit he usually wins our bets, often on technicalities, but not this time PAL.

He says it is listed in my iTunes under Live @ Shepherd’s Bush Empire on 2-16-2004.

I launch Apple's God-like Database for Music and filter Mraz Shepherd’s Bush. There is a track called America. I play it.

First of all, I know right away it is not Jason’s voice that starts the singing (although hearing anything over the crowd is a challenge). So I look up the show on archive.org. It is Gary Jules, who played the venue with Jason that night. Jason does eventually throw in a verse and harmony on the chorus, so technically he is singing the song, but this does not make it HIS song, which is what John was claiming.

Second, I look up what lyrics I can make out (thank GOD for Google!) and find the song was originally written and performed by Paul Simon.

HA. Victory is sweet.

John never made me define what I wanted if I won because he was so sure I was wrong. So now… hmmm… what do I want? Mraz will be playing Vegas in May... am I that cruel? :D

What Is Is Not Negotiable

(Written yesterday, Thursday)

One of our chinchillas, Hopi, has been chewing her foot to the point of bleeding the last week or so. Every morning it looks like someone has been murdered in her cage and I wipe down the shelves again. This has happened before and I’ve had her to multiple doctors who all give me the same conclusion: there is nothing they can do because they can’t define what’s causing her behavior. It would be so much easier if chinchillas spoke English.

There have been blood tests and scrape tests, pokes and prods and several veterinary Mercedes payments thrown at this issue, but no answers. Hopi was a rescue so her medical history before the 6+ years she’s been in my care is a mystery. We don’t even know how old she is. Sometimes the Universe is just like “Here is your lesson in Acceptance. There is no textbook; you get no explanations. Pop quiz coming up soon. Good luck and Happy Thursday.”

ARRRRGGGG.

My best guess for her Emo attitude (definition: despondent outlook and erratic penchant for self-mutilation) is a chain reaction of lack of attention and diet imbalance causing depression. (And that goes for humans too.) It seems like if she has too many treats and/or not enough scratching behind the ears, that’s when the trouble starts. Normally a couple days with more focused love and less goodies fixes the problem, but this time her conduct has continued despite my efforts. This morning I noticed her food bowl was untouched and the hay dish barely sifted through. Altho she still hopped to the door when I opened it, not eating is a very, very bad sign. Even though I wouldn’t trade my time with my animals for anything, this is definitely the crappier part of having pets.

So I’m standing at the sink putting dishes in the dishwasher, thinking about how I’m going to have to tell Katy that we have yet another fuzzy rat possibly gearing up to transcend into her next form. I’m already hearing the drama and distress in my head from the other end of a phone call not yet made (nevermind my own despondency).

This kind of thing tends to trigger my shittier, child-like emotions about parenthood until one stubborn thought pushes all else out of my head: IT’S NOT FAIR IT’S NOT FAIR IT’S NOT FAIR.

In an effort to bring order back to the courtroom of my brain, my Higher Self bangs a gavel on my third eye and rises above the din saying, “How did we end up here again? What about it is not fair?”

Ego whines: “It’s not fair I always have to be the bad guy. As a single parent, I never get to be the good guy. If there’s bad news, I have to deliver it. If the kid is doing something wrong, I have to correct the mistakes. I’m the one to dispatch punishment for undesirable behavior and remind her what is the more acceptable path. I am the nag, the critic, the police, the pain in her ass (literally when she was younger) and the executioner. No one shares that burden with me – it’s all me, all the time. I NEVER get to be the good guy!”

(I submit as Exhibit A all the “I” and “me” statements in that complaint. Give it enough rope, and Ego will always hang itself. Higher Self just rolls its eyes.)

Logical Left Brain is on defense and reminds me, “Yeah, but it’s not like there’s never good news, or compliments to offer, or moments when you think your heart will bust open with pride over her accomplishments. Besides, even Katy says you’re the cool mom and all her friends think so too. You get to enjoy all that, and that’s when you get to be the good guy.”

All parts of The Brain nod in agreement that parenting is not always bad, however, Ego’s not ready to give up yet.

“Yeah, I’m the cool mom when things are GOOD. Why doesn’t someone else go tell her when pets are dying and deal with the tears? Whose shoulder do I get to cry on? Even though joyful times are sweet on their own, joy is doubled when shared with someone who has an equal level of investment and interest in the child, just as they say a burden is halved when shared. I never got to experience those higher levels of happiness as a parent because there was no one to share the joy with, so it’s not doubled, yet I still bear the entire responsibility of all the icky emotions. In my calculations, I got half the joy and double the burden of a regular two-parent system.”

(Which proves that my general suckiness at numbers and math extends to emotional arithmetic as well.)

Ego continues, “Just once (ok, maybe a lot) I would’ve liked to be the one Katy ran to saying ‘I did this bad thing that wasn’t really that awful and Dad says I’m grounded’ and I could be the hero and make it better. Instead I just get to deliver bad news.”

“Two-parent systems require a consistent, united front so that kind of action would be unwise. You’re just being a baby about telling her.” says Left Brain.

“Why don’t you go get a tall glass of shut the fuck up?” says Ego as it starts to go down.

Left Brain sighs. “What about family? They share in the joys. Why doesn’t that double it?”

Ego is quickly becoming blurry, but it still sulks, “Family is great, but the relationship between two parents, whether they’re together or not, is different and deeper when it concerns a child they made together. Different kind of bond.”

Higher Self concedes that point to Ego. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in awhile.

“So what you’re really saying is you’ve never accepted having to do this alone. It is only in our imagination that we assume the level of happiness would be increased or different if there were a second parent involved.”

Ego finally gives in. “Yeah, ok, it just sucks to do this by myself.”

I am tired of trying to interpret the Laws of Being Human, especially since Universal Law trumps all that anyway, so the entire mess adjourns indefinitely once again.

Deep down I know neither Hopi dying nor telling Katy nor being a single parent is a matter of fairness, it’s just What Is. I also know even if What Is sucks, you can't change it; you can only change how you choose to react to it and how much time and attention you choose to give it. It's always about your choices. Hmmm. I guess that means the Universe's pop quizzes are all multiple choice. haha

~*~

On a happier note, I stopped at Moonlight Beach this morning and sat for 30 minutes communing with the Pacific, sending out love and happy vibes to everyone I could think of, and imagining what the Switchfoot BroAm will look like in June when the beach is filled with surfers and music fans. Switchfoot is my second most favorite band ever. Their music is very happy, their lyrics are awesome, and Jon's (the singer) voice is cooly unique. Listening to them always puts me in a good mood. If you haven't heard them, check 'em out. Definitely worth your time.

I am still so amazed and grateful every day that I get to live here. It's no wonder California is the most populated state. What a beautiful place to Be.

~*~

(Written today, Friday)

Ok, true to the nature of my existence, right after I posted this the Universe gave me TWO signs (just in case I wasn't awake yet since I haven't had coffee...).

The first one was a Google ad that appeared next to my own writing for a site called Peace, Love, and Momminess. I don't usually click the ads on my blog, I'm just checking for grammar/punctuation errors, but the graphics on this one caught my eye. I clicked to see what the site was about. The top story today? "More Gratitude, Less Attitude." haha Yes, yes, I know. I was working on that.

That phrase made me think of a site I often visit called Great Day by Ralph Marston. Mark turned me on to it. The site gives a daily positive message and somehow it always seems to pertain to what I'm thinking when I check it (I don't check it every day). Today's inspiration from Ralph:

Interconnected

Taking positive action in one area of your life can lead to surprising improvements in many other areas of your life. For you are one whole person, and anything you do makes a difference in everything you are.

It all matters and it all affects you. The life you experience is the sum of every thought, every word spoken, every gesture and every effort.

If you find it difficult to be positive about one particular area of your life, then be extraordinarily positive about other areas of your life. That additional positive energy will spill over into all of your world.

All the parts of your life are interconnected in ways that it's difficult to even imagine. The result is that there are always plenty of opportunities for taking positive steps.

For even when you feel completely blocked in one area, there are many other areas of your life in which you can quickly and easily make improvements. Success and achievement feel great in whatever venue they occur.

Feel genuinely positive, even if it's just about one little thing. And the energy radiates through the entirety of your world.

I was already headed that direction, but thanks for the push Eternity. :D

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.

Retribution Shall Be Swift and Certain

I have this friend who shall remain nameless to protect the GUILTY. In the short time we've been acquainted, we've become pretty good at playing pranks on each other. I'd just like to say for the record: He started it.

No, really. He sprayed his cologne in my hair dryer so every time I turn it on, it's like a huge wave of Hei in my face. STILL. After a month! (Mostly because he keeps renewing it every time he's here!) Don't worry, his hair dryer smells worse now.

This past weekend I don't remember what prompted his impulse (not that he really needs a reason to feed his devious personality), but he managed to get ice down my pants not once, but TWICE, effectively rendering me without dry underroos while I was 45 minutes from home. The first time we had a good laugh, but the second time I was slightly pissed. Of course he was "sorry" (read: not really) and said so repeatedly in a lame attempt to avoid retaliation. Seriously, does that EVER work?

I played it off like I was mad until I figured out my revenge, then I looked him straight in the eye and said "You're forgiven" in that tone the evil villain uses when he/she's about to attempt killing the Hero. Except I don't give long speeches that offer the time needed for the Hero to form a plan and escape unscathed.

The rest of the day he was on his guard but nothing happened. I mean c'mon, I'm not THAT dumb. It's no fun if they're expecting it.

I helped him do laundry, clean the kitchen, and I made his bed for him. Except when I made the bed, I short sheeted it. :D Big mistake to leave me unsupervised. Short sheeting was not actually my original plan of attack - it was just something that came up while I was making the bed - but it turned out so well, I don't think the original idea would hold a candle to this now anyway.

I left him a note under the pillow too that said, "Still love me?" figuring he'd find it when he had to tear the sheets off to fix them. He usually asks me that after he's done something particularly evil.

That night he wanted to stay over at my house. You have NO IDEA how hard it was to say okay because I am not a patient person. You can run, but you cannot hide. And you gotta sleep at home sometime.

Honestly, today (Monday) I hadn't thought much about it because I was too busy. We talked a few times on IM, but nothing significant. Sometimes he takes a nap in the afternoon but today was not one of those days. I had all but forgotten the entire thing until we had the following conversation just around midnight. I was laughing so hard I could barely type back to him.

Keep in mind this man has a genius IQ and an ego to match (fortunately his ego is a positive, upbeat type - I'll give him that) which makes it that much funnier IMHO.

---

Him: u there?

Me: yep

Him: what did you do the last 15 minutes?

Me: Worked on the compset projects for Pearson

Him: know what I did? I spent it in the dark, trying to figure out how come the fuck I couldn't get under the covers...

Me: HAHAHAHAHAAAAAA

Him: 15 fucking minutes and I had to turn on the light

Me: ::is dying laughing::

Him: ok you so got me there

Me: 15 minutes? really?

Him: I turned off the lights

Me: ::falls out of chair::

Him: so I couldnt see

Him: and was feeling around

Him: and tried and tried

Him: and was "is THIS the edge

Him: no , that must be the edge

Him: wtf

Him: WTF

Him: ok HERE it is

Him: no

Him: not that

Me: OMFG my sides hurt

Him: then I was SURE I got it

Him: and got under

Him: then I was like "no it isnt right"

Him: back to square one

Him: how come my feet are cold and

Him: hmm

Him: ok

Me: OH man, make it stop - my back hurts now

Him: and ginger was meowing all the time
(Ginger is his cat who is just as much trouble as he is, trust me. She tattles on his other cat, Cinnamon, by meowing at my friend until he finds what all the fuss is about - usually something bad Cin has done.)

Him: was pitch black

Me: Tattle tail

Him: yes

Me: Did you find my note?

Him: yes

Him: then I knew what it was

Him: didnt find it until I turned on the light

Me: Now I have tears

Him: you so got me

Me: Damn

Me: 15 minutes

Me: I love it

Him: man I was all ready to get into bed

Him: and was like WHAT THE FUCK CANT FIND IT

Him: and had too much pride to turn on the light

Him: so I know I can find it

Him: I got in and out like 4 times

Me: I can totally see the whole scene too

Me: Oh man, now I need the inhaler I laughed so hard

Him: I am debating if I still love you

Me: No you're not

Him: its a tough one

Me: cuz you respect the skillz :P

Him: hAH

Him: YEAH

Him: ok I admit that

Him: but love is different than respect

Him: but you sooooo got me

Me: and that isn't even what I had originally planned to do to you for that ice cube

Him: sure

Me: It wasn't

Me: the other involved pancake syrup but you might be off the hook with this one because I dont think it could get better than 15 minutes of you fumbling in the dark with your pride and your sheets

Him: Ginger knew

Him: I think she wasn't tattling on me

Him: she was laughing

Me: ::still dying laughing::

Him: I hate you

Me: No you dont

Him: <-- NOT laughing

Him: ok I had a good laugh

Him: as soon as I saw the note

Him: I knew I had been had

Me: hahaha

Him: ok

Him: sheets straight now

Me: Good for you :)

Him: ok now I go to sleep

Me: You sure?

Him: if there are no more boobie traps

Me: I love you :)

Me: <--angel

Him: I love you too

Him: NOT

Me: :P

Me: 15 minutes...

Me: seriously need inhaler

Him: you soo got me

Him: couldnt figure it out

Me: FOUR times

Him: but when I saw the note

Him: man