cruisin-mom

The Beat Goes On

2008-07-01T21:08:00.001-07:00

Today is the first day of a new law here in California.

You must talk on your cell phone "hands free" or...

you get nabbed with a nice little fine. Close to a hundred bucks, is my understanding.

Thank goodness for this new law. After all, now we'll be safe.

Because...while that mom in the mini-van is turning around screaming at her kids, and that guy over there is smoking a cigarette while shaving, and that new teenage driver is applying her mascara while gazing into the rear view mirror, and that 50 something business man is downing In and Out on his way to his next meeting, and that salesman is fiddling around with (no, don't go there) a CD...

at least they won't be holding their cell phones!

So, this afternoon, I crawled into my car, put my earphone in my ear, strategically placed a bag of jelly bellies on the seat that I could easily attack, and set out for the ride home.

As I drove down the infamous 101 Ventura Freeway...I happened to look to my left.

And there it was...I thought I had seen it all in my 52 years. But, apparently I hadn't.

The guy next to me was "playing the steering wheel".

Playing the steering wheel you ask? Yep, that's what I said. He had a set of drumsticks and was drumming on the steering wheel.

And keeping a pretty good beat, I might add.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for safety...I even think it's a good idea to enforce this new cell phone law, but hey...

Seriously? Do you really think cell phones are the only problem out there?

I'm just sayin'.

NO...You come on...

2008-06-24T22:30:00.000-07:00

LOVE THIS COMMERCIAL

I guess that's why they call it "the Blues"

2008-06-21T09:37:00.000-07:00

I don't think there has ever been another set of eyes quite like his.

Is there a woman alive (at least over the age of 40) who doesn't think Paul Newman was the epitome of hunk in his day? And, quite frankly...even beyond his "day".

The latest news, is that Newman is sick with lung cancer. Not sure if it's true, but the most recent pictures of him do not look good.

Not only gorgeous, he has managed to sustain a very long marriage with the beautiful and talented Joanne Woodward, survive the death of a child, has been an avid fan and participant of race car driving, created a natural line of foods, given enormous amounts to charity, and has had one amazing acting career.

Recently, an old interview conducted in his home, was shown on t.v. And on the wall was a sign that read:

EVERYONE BRINGS HAPPINESS HERE...
SOME BY COMING...
SOME BY LEAVING.

Wow...I love that.

What a way to throw your guests off balance and keep them wondering...

which one am I?

Dream a little dream of me

2008-06-09T08:56:00.000-07:00

post inspired by Jack

A few nights ago, I had a dream that all of my teeth were falling out.

A few at a time.

Painlessly.

But out they came, slowly but surely.

I don't remember panicking, but I do remember thinking there must be something symbolic about this dream. It seemed this had to be one of those "universal" dreams that many experience.

Kind of like that dream where you float through a room (or am I the only one who has had that dream?).

There are many interpretations for a dream when teeth fall out. It depends on how they fell out, how you were feeling during the dream, and what is going on in your life at the time.

One interpretation is, it represents letting go of something, a changing relationship.

So, I think I know what it means for me. I think it has to do with letting go of my children...

who are no longer children.

This is not for the faint of heart. This is more difficult than giving birth. How do you let go of the piece of your heart that has been forever changed? Is "let go" really the term we must use?

Some say the "tooth" dream is about appearance, fear of getting old and ugly. I don't think that's really it for me. (although, if I end up looking like the gal above, that might bother me a little)

Or is it all a bunch of bunk? Maybe dreams mean nothing.

Hmmmmmmm...

It happened again

2008-06-08T13:52:00.000-07:00

Went to two car shows today. It's amazing how there can actually be two car shows in one city, both crowded.

The first was in Johnny Carson Park, across from Burbank Studios, home of the Tonight Show.

While driving there, I wondered out loud to my husband whether or not Jay Leno would be there. He has his own amazing collection of cars, and has been known to show up at these things.

We walked through, perusing the classic cars...no Jay Leno. Oh well.

Off we went to our next destination...Woodley Park for another classic car show.

As we were walking around, we noticed a crowd gathering by one particular car. Of course, being the incredibly nosy person that I am...I insisted we make our way over to see what was going on.

And, lo and behold, there was that familiar silver hair, blue jeans and work shirt.

Jay Leno was was there, drawing a bit of a crowd. No obnoxious paparazzi, no screaming, no fainting.

Just regular folk politely asking Jay to pose for a picture and sign an autograph. And he happily complied.

This was not our first encounter with Jay. A few years, I wrote this about another Sunday with him.

Oh yeah, last night we went out to dinner and watched Steve Perry walk by.

Living in L.A. is cool, no?

Goodbye Sydney...and thanks

2008-05-27T12:39:00.000-07:00

originally posted here

Two years ago, I wrote this post. Upon hearing of Sydney Pollack's death, I decided to re-post this, in tribute to a great film maker. Without Sydney, who knows...maybe my first date with Mr. Cruisin' wouldn't have led to the following...

I had just broken up with someone.

Well, that's not true. I had been dating someone, who, after a weekend ski-trip with the boys, came back to tell me he had met someone else. He told me...over the phone. Just as I was about to see a client. Nice.

I already knew Mr. Cruisin, as he was a friend of a relative. We would see eachother at various events, but he had a girlfriend. Although I thought he was cute, and funny...I didn't look at him in that way, you know, potential husband material...because he was, well...taken.

But as fate would have it...one evening right after a$%hole dumped me...I ran into Mr. Cruisin at a local restaurant. He proceeded to tell me that he and the girlfriend had broken up.

Now, you think I would have been jumping up and down ecstatic at this point, right? I mean, come on...nice Jewish boy, cute, funny, good job, tall, good dresser, hair on his head...what more could a girl ask for?

Well, being the "girl" that I was...I was too immersed in a self-pity party. Afterall, someone actually had the nerve to DUMP me! I was unable to see past my own sorrow, to notice that this perfect speciman of a guy was now available.

A few days later, the relative who was friends with Mr. Cruisin, told me that Mr. Cruisin wanted to ask me out. The relative told him not to...HUH? Well, as it turns out, the relative was just being protective, not wanting me to be a rebound, "transitional" person...and possibly get hurt.

Since I was still in a stupor and wallowing in self-pity, I didn't even react to this. I figured, okay, whatever.

Luckily for me, Mr. Cruisin is a self-made man. If you tell him he can't do something...he's all over it.

So, a few days later, to my surprise, I received a message at work...from none other than Mr. Cruisin. I proceeded to return his call, totally unaware that he was about to ask me out.

And sure enough...that's exactly what happened. We were having a fun, polite conversation, when out it popped...the question..."would you like to go out Saturday night?".

My head was spinning...how could I go out with this guy when my relative had just told me it wasn't a good idea to go out with someone who was on the rebound? Not to mention, I was still having a wild time attending my own self-pity party.

What to do?

I pretty much had to go out with the poor guy...I mean, he did just break up with someone...wouldn't it be rude to say no? I had known him for years, afterall, and he was my relative's friend, and I felt kinda sorry for him, having just broken up and all.

So, I said YES. We set up the date and that was that...or so I thought.

When I hung up the phone, a thought occured...

Should I really go out with him on a Saturday night?...afterall, Saturday night was notoriously "date" night. I didn't want to say no, but I didn't want him to think I was really interested in that way, since I had been warned by my relative that I would probably end up hurt.

So this was my quick-thinking plan.

I would call him back, and explain that I couldn't go out Saturday night...something had come up, but I could go out with him Wednesday or Thursday night. He said it would be no problem and we changed the date to Thursday.

It just so happens that following my phone call to Mr. Cruisin, my mother called. I proceeded to tell her about my upcoming date...telling her of the switch from Saturday to Thursday, and the carefully thought out plan behind this decision, when she had this to say to me:

"Cruisin-mom (she always called me that)...don't you deserve to have a date on a Saturday night? You don't have to marry him...just go out on a nice date...there's no harm in that."

Panic quickly set in...my mother (as always, dammit) was right. Why shouldn't I go out on a nice date, with a nice person, who could at the very least, end up being a good friend?

I picked up the phone, and called Mr. Cruisin back. I explained that the plans for Saturday night had been changed and I could go out afterall.

Mind you...this is all happening within a 20 minute time frame at the most.

Let's recap: Mr. Cruisin calls for Saturday night date. I say yes. I rethink, and call back within 5 minutes to change to Thursday night. I talk to mom 5 minutes later. I call Mr. Cruisin back to say Saturday night is good afterall. Cruisin Mom appears to be "nuts" at this point in time.

Thankfully, Mr. Cruisin was still in a bit of his own stupor, having just broken up with his girlfriend...so throughout all of this he was just kind of like "whatever".

By now the guy knows I'm nuts, but decides to show up for the "Saturday night" date anyway.

Since that phone call, (or calls, I should say), I had developed the cold of the century. I was sneezing and coughing... and producing enough mucous to fill Dodger Stadium.

Ah, yes, I was a beautiful, red-nosed sight. And I had to decide what to wear on this okay-I'll go out with you on a Saturday night-but don't want you to get the idea that I'm interested-because you are on the rebound and I don't want to get hurt-date.

I decided to go casual, sweater and cords...nice but nothing fancy (hey, at least I wore something besides my blue jeans).

It was time, and Mr. Cruisin arrived...I opened the door, and there he stood...ADORABLE!!! My heart did that thing it does when you first realize you are actually attracted to someone...I believe it's called "skipping a beat" or "all a flutter" or "tingly all over" or "the need to throw up"...well, you get the idea.

There he stood...wearing a tie!!! I was dressed casual and he was wearing a tie...YIKES!

So of course, being the genteel gal that I was, I immediately blurted out, rather loudly I might add, "You're wearing a tie!!!" ...(Duuuuuh)

You know what that adorable man with hair on his head did? ... he bravely ripped off the tie! He could sense my discomfort (the scream may have tipped him off) . "Wow,...this guy is already getting me", I thought to myself, as I proceeded to blow mucous into a kleenex.

Off we went. We drove into Westwood (the ultimate date destination in those days) for a wonderful dinner and movie. A new movie starring Dustin Hoffman and Bill Murray had just opened (Tootsie) and we stood in line to see it. We talked effortlessly, really getting to know one another, while I proceeded to blow and hoch up buckets of mucous.

How could any man resist that?

Well apparently, this man couldn't. Here we were on a Saturday night, out on a non-date, date, having the time of our lives. The connection was undeniable. The conversation and laughter endless...not to mention the mucous.

He brought me home. We talked (yes, really, that's all) until the wee hours of the morning. At one point, I excused myself to the bathroom. And here is what Mr. Cruisin told me later about that moment:

He spied a mastercard bill sitting on my dining room table (open, so it wasn't like he was going through my mail). It was for a grand total of $32.50. It was at that very moment he knew he could spend his life with me.

Afterall, what woman has a mastercard bill of only $32.50? So, she screams and blows mucous and calls me 3 times within 20 minutes to keep rearranging our date...she has a mastercard bill of only $32.50. He knew then, I was the woman of his dreams. Needless to say, those bills have a few more zeros tacked on them now.

The evening was coming to a close...and he asked me out for a second date.

There was no turning back now. This man, apparently thought I was wonderful...mucous and all.
And I knew, that any man who could take in stride and laugh at endless streams of mucous and being screamed at on a first date, was most likely the man for me.

We danced the first dance at our wedding to...

the theme from Tootsie.

Just a spoonful of sugar...

2008-05-25T12:20:00.000-07:00

It was 1964. I was nine.
And I was going to see Mary Poppins.
My entire family was going. Parents, brother, aunt and uncle and cousins.

It was a huge event. I lived in Van Nuys, so we had to drive all the way into the "city" (Los Angeles) to see the movie. It was playing at a beautiful old theatre called The Carthay Circle theatre (it was later demolished, considered obsolete in light of modern multi-plexes).

In those days, you didn't just throw on a pair of jeans and run out the door to see a movie. Oh no. You had to "dress". I remember getting all dolled up, in a dress, patent leather shoes, and a pair of white gloves.

Yep, you heard me right...white gloves.

Movie going was serious business in those days. (Christ, I sound old...oh yeah, I AM)

As I have written about before (in fact, coincidentally, exactly two years ago to the day) all first run movies were shown in the city. So the trek had to be made over the hill if we were to see Mary Poppins.

I can't begin to tell you the anticipation and excitement I can still remember feeling. The whole event was like a dream come true.

Julie Andrews was so beautiful...who wouldn't have wanted her as their nanny. Not that I would have known what a nanny was!

I often wonder if seeing a movie is as exciting for a little girl today. Knowing that you can rent it in a few months if you miss it, and then watch it 50 times over, probably takes the same excitement out of it. But I wouldn't know...being so old and all.

I truly hope that's not the case. I truly hope that the same excitement and heart pounding anticipation is experienced today by little girls going to see a long awaited movie.

It's an experience that I can still feel and smell and taste all these years later.

I'm Alright

2008-05-24T19:41:00.001-07:00

Your name please

2008-05-23T08:14:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, I wrote about our blue and gold macaw here. It's funny, I wrote it at a time when I was getting 20 to 30 comments on a post, and yet this particular story only pulled 3 comments.

I couldn't understand why at the time...and I didn't dare tell my bird for fear she would either fall into a deep depression, or take it out on me and attack.

So when I came across this story the other day, I couldn't help but think, WOW, now that's an impressive bird.

(AP) When Yosuke the parrot flew out of his cage and got lost, he did exactly what he had been taught - recite his name and address to a stranger willing to help. Police rescued the African grey parrot two weeks ago from a neighbor's roof in the city of Nagareyama, near Tokyo. After spending a night at the station, he was transferred to a nearby veterinary hospital while police searched for clues, local policeman Shinjiro Uemura said. He kept mum with the cops, but began chatting after a few days with the vet. "I'm Mr. Yosuke Nakamura," the bird told the veterinarian, according to Uemura. The parrot also provided his full home address, down to the street number, and even entertained the hospital staff by singing songs. "We checked the address, and what do you know, a Nakamura family really lived there. So we told them we've found Yosuke," Uemura said. The Nakamura family told police they had been teaching the bird its name and address for about two years. But Yosuke apparently wasn't keen on opening up to police officials. "I tried to be friendly and talked to him, but he completely ignored me," Uemura said.
Now, my bird?...she can say her first name.

But when I read that the bird said: ""I'm Mr. Yosuke Nakamura," well, that just did me in...

I have been laughing for 2 days straight.

(okay, so I don't have much of a life...American Idol and Dancing with the Stars have both ended this week...I'm in a deep funk, so give a girl a break).

And then, I couldn't help but imagine if this bird had been Jewish...

"I'm Hymie Goldberg, I come from the Bronx and I love to eat bagels with a little shmear. Now...get me home".

Wow, I'm really sumthin'

2008-04-26T07:39:00.000-07:00

Wendy tagged me last week...

I'm finally answering it.

The rules: to write a 6 word memoir...

If anyone else would like to do so, consider yourself tagged.

Here goes:

loyal,

empathetic,

understated,

imperfect,

funny,

woman

Wow, I sound pretty fantastic, almost perfect...don't you think?

Next assignment: to write the real one.

Hey Big Boy

2008-04-12T10:06:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, the place to get a burger, and I mean the ONLY place to get a burger, was Bob's Big Boy.

We'd head on over to Van Nuys Blvd. for the great "combo" plate. A burger, fries, and salad with the best blue cheese dressing ever.

And those milkshakes?...woah!

Years later, when I was old enough to drive, my friends and I would "cruise" down Van Nuys Blvd. right by the Bob's Big Boy, and all the way down to Mike's Pizza. (the best rolls imaginable).

We'd stand in the parking lot, teenagers gathered to talk and flirt, really quite innocent.

Last night, Mr. Cruisin came home from work and said: "Let's head over to Bob's Big Boy in Toluca Lake". Although the one on Van Nuys Blvd. has since been knocked over and turned into a car agency, the T.L. Big Boy remains...declared an historical landmark...alive and kicking.

Friday nights are "classic car night". Lot's of gray-haired baby boomers gather to strut their very old cars, oops, I mean very classic cars for all to see. The parking lot was filled to the brim.

By the way, if you're looking to meet a man?...this is the place to be. If you can tolerate the smell of exhaust and gas fumes that is. (isn't' that always the case with men? sorry, couldn't help myself)

A small price to pay to see people enjoying the California car culture. Boy do we love our cars.

But there is something refreshingly simple and heartwarming about seeing families out on a warm Friday night, enjoying a burger and the beautiful lines of a classic Cadillac or Camaro.

It was so crowded, you could barely move between the cars and the people. Every table was taken, some eating, some observing.

For a moment, it was like stepping back in time. Thoughts of carhops running around taking orders from teens pretending, even if for one evening, that they were totally in charge of their lives.

I couldn't help but laugh when I looked over to the far side of this historical landmark...

only to spy a Starbucks.

Old
and
new
colliding.

OFF

2008-04-08T23:13:00.000-07:00

Well, that's it for Adam Carolla...even my votes couldn't save him.

But, he went out with class, hilarity, and on a uni-cycle.

Yep, you heard me right...

ballroom dancing on a uni-cycle.

And here is what he said at the end, referring to his dancing partner Julianne Hough:
“I lost 20 pounds of fat and gained 105 pounds of angel,”

Coincidentally, that's just what Mr. Cruisin said to me the day we got married.

Oh yeah, that's me...the "angel".

"You are the example of everything that's wrong with t.v. today"

2008-03-18T19:53:00.000-07:00

Those are the words my son uttered (with shame and distain, I might add) to me last week...

...after making the announcement that I called in my votes to Dancing with the Stars...not once, not twice, but 12 times. (did I just say that out loud?)

I couldn't help it. I felt compelled. This is the first time I've ever done anything like this.

Really...

I swear.

No, REALLY...I'm not that kind of girl.

But I was possessed. I had to vote. I didn't think I could live with myself had my favorite been voted off, and I didn't even vote.

It's no secret I love American Idol. But this season of Dancing with the Stars has captured my heart (and my funny bone). Yeah, that's right, MY HEART.

I love Adam Carolla. He's hysterical. He grew up in the San Fernando Valley. He grew up very close to where I did, but even closer to where Mr. Cruisin did.

His haunts were Mr. Cruisin's haunts as a kid. In fact, he is practically my husband's clone, if my husband was Italian, had his own radio show, was on Dancing with the Stars, had a new movie out, was best buddies with Jimmy Kimmel and Dr. Drew Pinsky, and about 13 years younger.

Okay, so maybe not his clone. But Carolla cracks me up.
Mr. Cruisin cracks me up.

Daily life is not always easy. Laughter pulls us through, don't you think?

So, this season of Dancing with the Stars is providing me with the best medicine...dancing, laughter, and the chance to unwind on my couch without having to think.

And thanks to Adam Carolla...I have done the unthinkable...

I VOTED on a reality show.

(did I just say that out loud?)

Jumping the shark

2008-03-11T07:02:00.000-07:00

The term jumping the shark alludes to a specific scene in a 1977 episode of the TV series Happy Days when the popular character Arthur "Fonzie" Fonzarelli literally jumps over a shark while water skiing. The scene was so preposterous that many believed it to be an ill-conceived attempt at reviving the declining ratings of the flagging show. Since then, the phrase has become a colloquialism used by U.S. TV critics and fans to denote the point at which the characters or plot of a TV series veer into a ridiculous, out-of-the-ordinary storyline. Such a show is typically deemed to have passed its peak. Once a show has "jumped the shark" fans sense a noticeable decline in quality or feel the show has undergone too many changes to retain its original charm. "Wikipedia"
Post inspired by Neil

I love this term. What a perfect way to describe what's happened to much of television.

All of reality t.v. has jumped the shark (except, of course, American Idol)

So, I'll leave it at this...because I'm too lazy to figure it out myself...

which of your favorite shows, past or present, jumped the shark? and why?

"You look just like a friend of mine"

2008-02-14T19:55:00.000-08:00

Awhile ago, I wrote this post about being told twice in my life that I look like Carrie Fisher.

I suppose if pushed, we could all come up with someone, at least one person, that we resemble.

But for me, it has been quite odd lately. Over the last several months, I have been stopped, no less than twice a week, by someone who just has to let me know I look exactly like someone they know.

People have actually confused me, albeit for a moment, with their friends. "Oh my gosh, you look just like my brother's ex-wife's sister-in-law".

Last week, the guy making sandwiches at Bristol Farm's Market, was positive I was his regular customer that comes in weekly...I have never set foot in that market before.

Just tonight, while paying for Big Hunk candy bars (for my "big hunk" of a husband on Valentine's day...yep, I'm a real sport), a lady in line looked at me and said, "wow, I thought you were my friend, who lives across town...I was wondering what you were doing all the way over here!!!!". And she laughed hysterically. (I'm so glad I could provide her with Valentine's day entertainment.)

This has really got me thinking...

What is it about my face that actually has people stopping me several times a week to say that I look just like someone they know?

I must be the most ordinary looking person on earth, who just looks like...EVERYONE.

Or, perhaps, I have a comforting, friendly face, that doesn't intimidate people, so they think I'm their friend.

Christ, maybe I'm so ugly that people tell me I look like their friend, hoping I won't feel too badly when I have to go home and look at myself in the mirror.

Maybe I'm one of those X-Men characters, Morph-ine...I morph into people's friends, right before their eyes.

Whatever the reason, it has been a very strange phenomenon...

I love trivia, maybe you do too

2008-01-22T11:01:00.000-08:00

Apparently, only Val has a great sense of humor, and understood that my last post was a JOKE people...even my husband didn't get it...OY...

So, moving right along...

Who are the writers of the following songs?:

UH, uh, UH, oh no you don't...do not Google :)

1.Daydream Believer sung by the Monkees

2.The First Cut is the Deepest (Rod Stewart and Cheryl Crow did covers)

3.Smile (though your heart is aching)sung by Nat King Cole

4.Red Rubber Ball sung by the Cyrkle

I've been lookin' for love in all the wrong places

2008-01-18T17:57:00.000-08:00

Lonely Wives Dating Network: Married Women Looking to Meet New People (sexually explicit)

So there you have it.

This is what I found in my "spam" mail today.

And it's about time.

I've been waiting for something like this. It's so inviting, so to the point, so discreet, and so tempting, don't you think?

How long have married women been ignored? How long have we waited to be acknowledged as a viable group just waiting to expand our circles? Apparently...long enough.

Once you're over 50, and married for well over 20 years...life can become a little, shall we say, stale. So why not spice it up. And that is just what I've been wanting to do.

How many reality shows can one person watch? How much ice cream can one woman eat? (I've already been through all 31 flavors) And so, after searching my soul for the answers to these questions, this "spam" mail came just in the nick of time.

I can sit on my laptop (while watching t.v. and eating ice cream, mind you) with my husband right next to me...and he'll never even know that my while my fingers are quickly typing away...I am in actuality, having the time of my life.

This could be the answer I've been looking for. After all, what could be better...

I don't have to put on make-up or do my hair. I can sit in my grubby sweats. I can spill ice cream all over myself. I don't even have to give up American Idol.

Does life get any better than this? I DON'T THINK SO!!!

So, hopefully, before the weekend's over, I will have increased my...

"circle of friends "

*wink wink*

You're pathetic DAWG

2008-01-14T16:32:00.000-08:00

Call me pathetic, call me what you will.

But...

I can hardly contain my excitement. Tomorrow is the start of American Idol.

Again.

I love this show. I watch it from beginning to end.

Why, you ask?

Well, maybe it's the simplicity of it. Maybe it's that I'm jealous and wish I could sing. Maybe it's the fun of watching Paula Abdul, or Randy say DAWG just one more time, or hearing Simon give it to someone.

Maybe it's that I can lay on my couch and not think.

My line of work touches and breaks my heart just a little each and every day. (I will not mention what that is, but trust me, it's true...and I am honored and privileged to do what I do).

So, to lay on my couch at night, and be entertained, and laugh, and follow along with the triumphs and losses of people just trying to live out a dream, hey, why not.

Some say, American Idol is the easy way out. I don't agree. Because if you should make it all the way to the end, and win, you still have to prove yourself viable. In fact, many who have not made it to the end, have faired even better.

So, I'm off to Trader Joes so I can stock up on food for tomorrow night.

I'll be grabbing a big bowl of ice cream, laying on the couch, cheering the contestants on.

Since my last post went over like a lead balloon...

2007-12-27T07:08:00.000-08:00

...I will post again.

Just for me.

No longer for comments.

Those days are gone.

Soooo...

I am taking this week off of work (of which I do not reveal what I do for anonymity reasons...yeah, yeah, I'm a very important person in the witness protection program and can't have my identity revealed).

While lazing around the house yesterday with a cold and cough, and quite frankly enjoying doing absolutely nothing, I tuned into the Ellen Degeneres show.

She begins the show with a monologue, and then breaks into dance.

Wow, how great is that?

I turned to my husband (who is also on holiday from his highly confidential job, and sat very patiently with me while I hackingly coughed my way through the day) and said...

"What could be better, I mean really, than to have your own talk show, where you can get up and dance each and every day, with an audience cheering you on, and your own D.J.?"

Of course my husband turned back toward me and said, "why don't you blog about it?"

Isn't that cute? How sweet,huh?

And in that moment it hit me...

this guy has figured out how to get me off his back!

Now that I think about it, this isn't the first time he has gently suggested I go blog about some inane topic.

And all this time I thought he was supporting me in this endeavor, while praising my great writing talents (coincidentally, especially when they are posts about him).

So there you go. After two years of digging into the depths of my brain, cranking out stories from my past and present, the truth is revealed...

Turns out, blogging has saved my marriage. When my husband was frustrated with me, he told me to blog.

When he could no longer listen to my words (I know, hard to imagine), he told me to blog.

When I couldn't stop talking about the same thing over and over, he told me to blog.

Turns out...the act of blogging is more than just a place to express oneself...

Turns out...

Blogging is a marital aide. (you should pardon my expression).

Who needs Dr. Phil when you've got blogging...

Drove my Chevy to the Levy

2007-12-24T10:11:00.000-08:00

inspired by Val

It's funny how all of your feminist ideals get thrown right out the window when staring into the eyes of a great big policeman.

Especially when you're 16. Especially when you have just gotten your license a few weeks prior.

There I was, newly licensed, in my brother's "kelly green" '69 Camaro. I had four other girls in the car with me. For those of you who know Los Angeles, you will recognize the exact off-ramp of the 405 Freeway I'm about to describe. The exit is Mulholland. As you pull off the freeway, there are a couple of lanes...you can go left from the left and right from the right lane...makes sense, right?

Sitting in the left lane with my four friends all screaming different things at me..."go left, no, go right, no left, no right"...I finally had to choose. Unfortunately, the last thing I heard was "GO RIGHT!"...and so, I did.

OOOPS! I was in the LEFT turn lane.

And there it was. The thing we fear most. The thing a brand new 16 year old driver fears most. Those lights, the siren. I knew I was "dead".

I pulled over, in my brother's kelly green Camaro. The Camaro that, in this year of 1971, had a huge peace sign in the back window. Not to mention the crap all over the car...a rolling trash can as it were.

The nice, rather large policeman came over to my car, motioning to roll down the window. I began to roll it down, and then it happened.

I burst into tears. Uncontrollably. I couldn’t stop.

The great big policeman asked me a few questions. I answered through my tears. My girlfriends were as still as statues. And then the miracle happened.

He asked me to promise I would never do it again. Hell yeah officer

Of course it was more like “y-y-y-es officer”.

“O.K.” he so generously said. “Then go, and don’t ever do anything like this again”.

And you know what? I never did. Until I was 34, and pregnant with my youngest. I was nabbed doing 40 in a 30 zone. And hormonal. And figured, hey those tears worked oh so many years ago, why not now, right?

So, bring on the tears! Only, this guy? Wasn’t buyin’.

Crap…out came the ticket book…I was doomed to “comedy” traffic school. (which, by the way…NOT funny)

I have never sped down that street again.

Somehow, the picture of a flashing 52 year old with tears streaming down her face, just isn't quite the same as a cute, perky, scared out of her wits 16 year old.

Maybe I'll soon be able to play the "poor old senior" card.

Hey, you do what you can.

Does this make my butt look big?

2007-12-16T12:14:00.000-08:00

AWWWWW...the holidays...

CAKE CANDY COOKIES...

EVERYWHERE

And so here is what I am acutely aware of this holiday season...

My derier enters the room about 5 minutes after I do.

Yep...everything I eat goes straight to you-know-where. The cake, candy, and cookies do not pass GO. They make a bee-line for my (in the words of Tyra Banks) "big fat ass".

Now, really, is this such a bad thing? Let's face it...it's worked well for J Lo hasn't it? Kim Kardashian had a whole show planned around her big booty airing on the scholarly "E" network.

So why shouldn't it work for a menopausal, post mid-life, Jewish woman, right?

In fact, I say, a big rear is like wrinkles...they are earned.

With hard work.

Determination.

Getting rid of wrinkles has never made sense to me. Have you seen botoxed women? Their foreheads literally do not move. What happened to aging gracefully? As far as I'm concerned, each little line and wrinkle is a like a road map.

A map that carefully lays out where you have been. The heartaches, the triumphs, the wins and losses, the births and deaths that have boosted up or torn out your heart.

All of these expressed in the little lines that run through our faces.

Wrinkles really are a beautiful thing. They are wisdom, laughter and tears all rolled into one.

And so, I say it's time we re-think the rear end.
It's time to find it's beauty, wisdom, and true meaning.
It's time to stand up and let the big rear be counted.

We must appreciate a large tush for what it really is...

it is a woman's expression of having lived a "full" life.

And so, the next time you realize yours is entering 5 minutes behind you...remember,

it is merely a testament to...

a lifetime of talent, beauty, inner strength, and wisdom.

Enchanted Memories

2007-12-09T11:43:00.000-08:00

When I was a little girl, I went to Disneyland twice each summer.

Yep, you read that right...TWICE each and every summer.

Why, you ask? Well, my father, an elementary school teacher, needed to supplement his income. So, he and a fellow teacher, borrowed money, worked hard, and opened a well-respected summer day camp in L.A.

The camp ran two sessions each summer. And each session consisted of various field trips...Disneyland, Knott's Berry Farm, Mattel Toys, and Helms Bakery, to name a few.

This was how I spent each summer, until I turned 10...the year my father died. The next summer, my mother would run the camp with my dad's partner, one last time.

I was reminded of all that last weekend when I went to see the latest Disney blockbuster..."Enchanted".

It is a tribute to all things Disney...and they were not afraid to make fun of themselves. (Of course, putting McDreamy in the staring role, didn't exactly hurt).

Isn't it strange how a movie can take you into the hidden corners of your mind...corners that have gone unnoticed for years.

Movies, just like music, have a way of transporting us to another time, place, or emotion that has gone unexplored for years.

Maybe that's exactly why we go to movies. To relive long lost feelings. To escape to another time and place.

As the movie Enchanted moved along, I found myself giggling like a little girl...enjoying every aspect of this movie. I felt slightly silly. Until I realized that an entire audience was enjoying it just as much as I was. I wasn't the only one finding their way back to a simpler moment in time.

Maybe it's that Disney is a constant in our lives. Always there, always dependable. Disneyland is, after all, the happiest place on earth. Disney characters find their way to the hearts of generation after generation.

Even when everything else changes or falls apart, Disney is always there.

I guess we need to be able to escape to those corners.
We need constants.
We need the things that connect us to the warm, safe places that exist in our hearts and minds.

Even if it's just for a mere 90 minutes.

A little sappy...maybe...but, hey...

Thanks Disney...

for connecting me to memories of my past, and for memories yet to come.

Selling my Soul

2007-11-30T07:18:00.000-08:00

Unlike most people, I'm willing to openly admit that I blog because I love the comments.

Oh sure, it's a great outlet. I love digging into the recesses of my mind (which has become quite recessy) and tying the past with the present as I have often done.

I love telling stories about my poor husband, the clutz, I mean PRINCE, uh yeah, that's it...PRINCE.

But without the feedback...it simply just isn't as much fun.

Now, when I first started blogging...I was a complete whore...selling my soul on EVERYONE'S blog just to get people over here to read.

And it worked...you began coming in droves. 10,then 20, then sometimes 35 comments a post would come.

But then...my blogging slowed down for personal reasons...and my posts were fewer and farther between.

The comments slowed down.

And now I'm back (well,sort of)...and the comments are very slowly coming in.

C'mon people, do I have to start whoring around again? I mean really, now I'm 52, not the spry 50 year old who started this thing.

Do you really want me out there "selling" myself again?

I DON'T THINK SO!

So, if you don't want that to happen...you'd better show yourself here...that's right...leave me a comment...

Are you still out there?

When this old world starts getting me down...

2007-11-27T08:08:00.000-08:00

(yep, that's my husband)

Last week, as I was pulling out of my driveway, I just happened to look...UP.

Lo and behold, there was Mr. Cruisin atop...the roof.

WTF?!!!!

This is the same man who has fallen off a ladder and twisted his ankle, fallen off a ladder and broken his toe, been knocked in the head while dumpster diving for accidentally thrown away keys...is this really the same man who should be up on a roof?

I don't think so.

So, how was I to drive off, while my husband was up on the roof? Everything ran through my mind...

-Maybe I should bring him his cell phone, so when he goes tumbling, he could call 911 to come scoop him up.

-Maybe I should sit there until he comes safely down from the roof.

-Maybe I should yell and scream at him for going up on the roof at his age, after breaking a toe, and twisting an ankle (which, by the way, he is still hobbling on, but of course won't admit it).

In other words, should I be an annoying, overbearing, controlling, protective wife, or should I be cool, calm, collected?

Well, hard to believe...but I drove off, putting all images out of my mind of Mr. Cruisin sliding off the roof to his doom.

While driving myself to my destination, not thinking about my husband's demise...my cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's me, Mr. Cruisin" (yes, of course he always identifies himself this way)

"Just thought you'd like to know...I'm off the roof".

OH MY GAWD...how sweet was that? Does this man know me, or WHAT?

And of course, in my own cool way, I calmly answered...

"OH, were you up on the roof?...hadn't noticed".

can I quote you?

2007-11-18T09:07:00.000-08:00

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

I found this quote today, and thought it quite appropriate for my birthday.

I think it's true. If you can find what makes you come alive (hopefully it's legal and doesn't hurt others)...then what could be better for the world?

We are here for such a short time. It seems that we should really make an effort to be "alive", productive, meaningful, and touch a heart or two.

It's not always an easy accomplishment though, is it?

Have you found what makes you come alive?