So mature

I came across this picture tonight while digging through files on my computer.

And I was particularly struck by the fact that Paige is more than double the age she was when this was taken 2 years ago.

She's grown up. Quickly.

Me? Not so much.

A long, long time ago...

Nine years ago today I put on a cap and gown and graduated from high school with my girlfriends in tow.

Since then, all 5 of us spent time studying abroad... at least 7 universities were attended... multiple jobs have been had... 2 weddings... 2 baby boys... 1 law degree... 1 soon-to-be veterinarian...

Not bad for a group of girls who graduated from public school in Stillwater, MN. I just can't believe it's already been 9 years.

What would my 1999 self think of me now? She'd definitely wonder how the hell I ended up in L.A., a city I never even wanted to visit, breathe in or fly over.

What would your high school self think of you?

This one's for you

You know who you are.

Last night I called you a butthead and you laughed. And that's one of the reasons why after 16 years of being friends I still love you with all my heart.

August 8 is closing in

I heart the Olympics. Especially the summer Olympics. Swimming, gymnastics, beach volleyball, synchronized swimming, soccer, diving, water polo and the completely quizzical rhythmic gymnastics... yes, bring it on. These are sports that I love to watch and that are often hard to come by unless it is the blessed 4-year mark of the Olympics. Woo. Hoo.

My all-time favorite athlete (the type where you Google News his name to see if anything of note has been going on lately) had the audacity to retire last year. In his early twenties. My allegiance will now have to shift from Ian Thorpe to Michael Phelps. We all must come to terms with it; we all must continue on with our lives. The Thorpedo would want it that way.

And in following Ian's spirit of always moving forward and trying something new... Teen and I have spent a couple of sunny days at the beach recently with a volleyball. Turns out, the tablespoon-full of skill I acquired back on the seventh grade team of wusses who ran from the ball has been completely diluted over time. After our first go at it, I had sand in crevices I never knew existed and my arms were so horrendously bruised that for a week after I could see strangers fighting back the urge to encourage me to get out of that abusive relationship. You can teach an old gal new tricks though, and we're going to keep getting better... because it's summer and we belong at the beach... plus, the sight of the other one flopping into the sand never fails to entertain, meaning we keep going back for more.

This last weekend we slathered on the sunscreen and headed for the AVP Tour in Hermosa Beach. We were ready to watch the pros in action...ready to be inspired...ready to see some real, live Ken Dolls soar through the air to spike the ball over the net in the manliest of fashions. Happily all of those pre-set hopes came to fruition, and even better, the team that had me glued to the TV in 2004 with my eyes inexplicably welling up with tears was also there for my viewing pleasure.

Yes, when Teen and I bought tickets for the women's semi-finals and finals, we had no idea that the gold medal winners from Athens would be there. Kerri Walsh and Misty May Treanor pretty much put the rest to shame. Trying to compare them to Teen and me... well... imagine a baby giraffe strapped into roller skates versus a cheetah charging across the Serengeti. It's worse than that.


Good thing we weren't trying to compete, but instead were just spending a gorgeous day being fans. Fans who wished that the shirtless foreign wankers in front of us would stop using their uber-zoom lens to take pictures of the silicon-injected Corona girls on the sidelines...

Olympic fever is on the rise. Are you ready?

Remember me?

Back at my computer with a glass of red wine and an open window letting the night air waft in... Tonight, for the first time in a few weeks, I can feel myself starting to come out of the fog. My eyes are roaming, more than darting. And I'm breathing slowly in time to some airy Azure Ray song humming out of the speakers.

Home...

Today I was asked by someone of importance, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I immediately responded with, "I don't want to grow up," which is both completely honest and a way of darting the question, because, really...who does? Who are the people who can answer that with certain conviction? Especially if you work in Corporate America? WHO is the dolt who responds with, "I want to be a Sr. Director of Marketing Communications. It's my reason for getting out of bed in the morning." I don't want to know that person. That person doesn't know that the Roger Rabbit is simultaneously the most ridiculous and fabulous dance move ever. It is - and I'm quite good at it.

When I grow up... I want to be an environmentalist and a tap dancer. I want to design jewelry and write a book. I want to go to Italy with nothing on the agenda other than to eat, drink and see it all. I want to take more surfing lessons and vent my frustrations by throwing paint onto a blank canvas. I want to model Manolo Blahniks and be a world-class chef. I want to travel from Antarctica to Iceland and everywhere in between. I want to spend my birthdays skydiving and swinging in a hammock tied to 2 palm trees. And sure, I want to tackle the corporate world too, but marketing doesn't sound like much fun compared to the rest of it. (Well, maybe being an environmentalist isn't fun, but it is important. So there.)

I don't want to have to decide today. The fog is still in mid-lift and I feel the need to treat myself gently during the evenings and weekends, because weekdays are nothing but a battlefield. Tonight I just want to sip my wine, resolve that I will try my hardest to not let my little blog go unattended for almost 3 weeks ever again, and watch the finale of Step It Up & Dance, to which I have been hopelessly devoted. It makes me clap...when I'm alone.

And even if it's my wishful daydreams making me clap, at least I'm clapping and smiling - genuinely - at something. I wish the same for you.