Why?

Because right now things feel out of control and for the past few days it seems life has passed by in a haze of americanos, spreadsheets and conference calls.

Because it's almost the weekend, and that means that I get to spend more time with Teen.

Because sometimes it's nice to be back in the shadows laughing and dancing.

Because when I saw it tonight, this picture made me laugh on a day when almost nothing else did.

Because, hey, why not?

There's no place like home

It started sometime last week. I was rushing around the house trying to make coffee, put on my shoes, pack a lunch and track the time on the stove clock so that I could get to work just a mere 20 minutes late...when it hit me.

I don't want to do this.

I don't want to rush off to my thankless job. And I don't want to drive to the valley to do it. I don't even want to be in California right now. I just want to be home. I want a lazy morning with my Mom and Popi drinking multiple cups of coffee at The Bean followed by a stop at the Co-Op and eventually an early evening with my feet up while sitting on the deck listening to the birds chirp their arrival back for the summer season...

And therein lies that annoying saying of the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence proving to be true.

And since I sometimes like to fancy myself as both an adult and a professional, I squashed all my homegrown Stillwater, Minnesota longings, poured some almond milk into my coffee, drove over the hill and walked into another 11-hour day of marketing madness.

Then today during the same make-the-coffee-put-on-the-ballet-flats routine, my phone rang. The screen read Mom's Cell...she probably thinks I'm on the road already, but I'm late...as always. Do I answer, or do I call her back? I answered. I'm a daredevil like that.

Mom: Oh, hiya Sara Lynne! Listen, I'm at Aveda right now...
Me: Hi, mom.
Mom: and I know you said you wanted one of their mascaras... but they have TWO mascaras!
Me: (under my breath) Huh? Wha?...Need. Coffee.
Mom: So, there's a Mosscara and a Mascara. One thickens and one lengthens.
Me: I use the Mosscara. In Black Forrest, please.
Mom: Oh yeah? Sooo, you knew there were 2, didya?
Me: Huh? No. I just looked at it last night. It said Mosscara Black Forrest.
Mom: Oh, ok then.
Me: And thanks for getting that for me mom!
Mom: You bet. No problem. You have a good day, ok?

I hung up the phone, and there it was again. The urge to get in the car, drive to LAX and fly home for a little R&R, Mom and Popi style. I don't know if this is a normal affliction among others, but if not, then I blame it on them. I blame them for being too fabulous in the role of parents, thereby making me long to return to them whenever times get rough.

Wait...isn't the first thing crazy people do is blame their parents?

Crap.

Cheers, mate!

I would look around filled with anticipation and take a quick little sip. I'd follow that will pulling a face, spluttering and then trying my hardest to look like nothing had happened. I was somewhere in the age of under 10 years old and waiting for my Popi to momentarily walk away from his Saturday night can of Old Milwaukee or Miller High Life. It was disgusting and I silently fretted over the fact that I was the offspring of a crazy person.

Fast forward to those drinking-formative years of college. And not just any college, but the University of Colorado, where we not only like to pump out the most NASA astronauts, but also some hardcore partiers. Actually, it's the latter that CU is most notorious for - and if you don't like beer, then you gulp down Cosmopolitans in Nalgene bottles during tailgate parties (of which, it must be said, I recommend nothing LESS). I never really took to either.

And then, at the age of 20, I was off to Australia for 5 months. After 24 hours in my new country I hadn't had enough water - in fact, dehydration was the technical term - but I couldn't worry about that. I made a new friend and we went out for a lunch of pizza and beer. I'd read parts of the oh-so-fabulous In a Sunburned Country on the flight over, so I knew exactly what I wanted; I would be ordering a VB.

In one sip, my mind was changed. This beer had taste. Actual taste. It was the sipping experience of singing the Aladdin favorite, A Whole New World. There was flavor in a chilled beverage with an alcohol content substantially greater than that of American pisswater... I swoon; I pine; I lament the fact that VB is yet to be exported from the magical land of Oz.

To my great delight it wasn't just VB (though my first love remained my true love, to be sure). There was Toohey's New, Coopers, Emu Bitter, XXXX...and those are the ones that 7 years later I still remember off the top of my Aussie-beer-loving head.

And then...I moved to Boston. Home of obscure microbrews (Magic Hat #9, I await our reunion with a thirsty longing) and Sam Adams, my time in Boston cemented that I wasn't just an expatriate beer lover... I was on the road to becoming a beer snob. Me! the daughter of a mother who wouldn't touch the stuff and a father who loved whatever was on sale for the cheapest price!

After college there was a period of time where I was working in Minnesota and living with my parents. On summer nights when I had just battled over an hour of traffic and the sun was still shining down warm rays, I would thrust the car into park, breeze through the garage door and kick off my heels while prying the cap off a cold bottle of Sunshine Wheat, my Boulder contraband that had crossed state lines in the caravan between Colorado and home. More than once my Popi exclaimed during this 30-second routine, "My god! You're such a LADY!"

I would always try my hardest to belch a response, but in lieu of that would settle for something along the lines of, "HELL YEAH I AM."

Since then I've cooled my consumption of carbonated brew in favor of wine. But there's nothing like 3 weeks in Europe to reignite the passion. And there's nothing like 3 weeks in Europe with your snobby-beer-loving-daughter to persuade a Mother who has spent her entire life shunning it, to not only try it, but to LOVE it and become a bit of a snob herself - correctly claiming upon first sip that one particular brand in Prague was "shit."

We tried it all. In each city - a new beer. In Amsterdam and Prague where we spent more time, we would sight-see...take a beer break; museum visit...find a sidewalk cafe for a new beer tasting; shopping...beer break; dinner time...beer time.

When Christmas came this year Teen and I were met with a case of Beck's bottles. It was the beer on tap during our river cruise portion through Europe and now Mom's bev of choice. We drank it out of champagne glasses while getting gussied up for the Christmas Eve festivities. Mascara on!...Cheers! Clink! Gulp! Hair dried!...Cheers! Clink! Gulp! Hey everybody, Popi put on his fancy shoes!...Cheers! Clink! Gulp! Needless to say, it was utterly fantastic.


Then, a few weeks ago during a mini-break in San (read: Man) Diego with Teen, my beer-loving life came full-circle. On a cloudy Saturday afternoon we abandoned window shopping for the cheap thrill of bellying-up to a bar to drink Mexican beer and blather on like the silly twits our fellow belliers might guess we were. But this was not just any dive bar. THIS was the "Sleazy Bar Scene Location" made famous in Tom Cruise's epitome of hotness, Top Gun. THIS was Kansas City Barbeque, where the beers were cheap, multi-sized bras whirl off the edge of ceiling fans and a gal can enjoy it all while sitting across from the aviator helmet (mask?) of the Holiest of Hotties, Maverick. GOD BLESS MAN DIEGO.

But there was more in store...of course there was. There was a little spot of heaven called Bondi Bar, where cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die I found for the FIRST time, Australian beers (besides the dreaded Fosters) for sale on American soil. IF YOU WISH FOR SOMETHING HARD ENOUGH, IT JUST MAY COME TRUE. It wasn't my beloved VB, but it was Tooheys New, which had been the beloved of many dear friends and which I had always found completely acceptable to get myself pissed with.

I DO have respect for beer. Hell yeah I do! So does kissy-face Teen...

Teen didn't know what to do with my euphoria... OVER A BOTTLE OF BEER. She's so used to watching me try to pull my hair out from career-induced stress during my normal life, that the amount of smiling a mini-break + Aussie beer induced was rather startling. So she settled for taking an obscene amount of pictures. It is a fact that grannies don't take as many pictures of kiddies dressed up for Halloween. The first Tooheys New I'd laid eyes on in almost 7 years was subjected to a full-on photo shoot.

My friends from Australia will be so jealous.

Oh yes, I love beer. I love the way that it has peppered my memories of this last decade. And I love the vision that I have, of me and Teen, with white puffy little hairdos, taking photos of VB's triumphant arrival to the States, in what I grimly imagine to be many decades from now. A girl can always hope...

Le sigh.

The things I hear...

Brunette: What's a PCP? What the hell am I supposed to write in here?
Red head: It's a primary care physician.
Brunette: A what?
Red head: You need to write in your doctor's name.
Brunette: I don't have a doctor. Can I write in my gyno's name?

(Red head takes a pause to let her mouth gape open.)

Brunette: (shouting out in a loud voice) Sorry everyone! I said, "gyno."

(Pause)

Brunette: (mumbling under her breath) Shit. I said it again.

The manly man that I love most

If Sex and the City and my own experience have clearly taught me anything, it's that it's hard out there for us single gals; a good man is damn hard to find.

However, my search has ended. I've found him and...not to brag...he's perfect. He's everything me and my girlfriends have ever said we've wanted, including...

Being nurturing and unafraid to tackle the roll of caretaker...

Appreciating those little things that women hold so dear...accessories...

Oh yeah, he's a keeper all right. And now with this new hairstyle of his, ChaCha is on the fast track to break not only my heart, but hearts all over the world.

I saw the sign & it opened up my eyes

I was late already. Traffic wasn't moving, as clearly it's completely reasonable for it to take a half hour to traverse the 2 miles from my house to the freeway. And all I wanted to do was take my travel mug and throw it (and my coffee) at the head of the driver next to me...the one who was listening to his heavy metal so loudly I could feel my earrings vibrate.

It was one of those mornings where you can't help but think, "My god, this day is going to seriously suck." I wished that I was in the midst of a Saturday, or still in bed...or at least still in the shower. And then, while stopped at that red light, the universe sent me what I like to think was a little sign.

First, my mouth dropped open. Then, I suffered a full-body shutdown as I was trying to laugh my ass off while also manically digging with my right hand to find my camera buried in my bag.

Now, usually I would never do such a thing...trying to take pictures while also driving on a L.A. freeway...but THIS was too good. Plus, Teen would NEVER believe this without photographic proof, so sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Sometimes, a girl has got to take 6 pictures of the truck in front of her - and say THANK YOU UNIVERSE FOR MAKING ME LAUGH.

Maybe there was someone traveling on the 405 that morning who saw this and thought I DID ALMOST FALL THIS MORNING. AND I WAS WEARING MY TOWEL WHILE IN THE SHOWER TOO. SHE COULD BE ME! Or, maybe I wasn't the only one taking pictures while wiping tears of laughter away.

Click. You won't regret a close-up.

On the side of a truck a picture of someone slipping in a shower would have likely been worth 1,000 words, it's true. But a fully portable mock-shower complete with green curtain, shower head, shampoo placed in a shampoo caddy, yellow loofah and a mannequin wearing a towel who is about to stiffly slip and crush in her plastic head? Well, that is absolutely, laughably, make-my-crappy-morning PRICELESS.

Modern day Cinderella

When she wears a sandwich board on the side of the road it reads: WILL WORK FOR PARTY DRESSES, PINK HEADBANDS AND A DORA THE EXPLORER DOLL. You'll recognize her as the one who's waving and blowing you kisses. Should you still have reservations, her resume speaks for itself.

Family adventures in food: Part 2

Bless this family of mine for always accepting one of my childish quirks; I play with my food. Still. Though I do restrain myself for all but one yearly occasion, Christmas Eve. On this holy night my family sits around the table of dirty dishes forever, sipping wine and patting full tummies. This is when I get out my fork and knife and get to work creating the yearly snowman.

Always based in mashed potatoes, he often sports a beef toupee, beef smile and green bean arms...with flecks of pepper rounding out the details.

The Christmas that Paige turned 2 the snowman was used as Christmas Day decoration near the all-important cookies. Paige was "helping" me in the kitchen for an actual minute, and when I turned around I saw that she had crawled up to the center of the table and was now grinning as she chomped away on something. Wondering which cookie had caught her eye I asked, "Whatcha eating Paige?" With crumbs spluttering, she let me know, "Potato." My eyes quickly darted to the only crumb of snowman left behind. OH MY GOD, THAT'S FROM LAST NIGHT! SPIT IT OUT! LET ME SEE YOUR MOUTH! HELP, HELP – I MAY HAVE POISONED HER!!!

She of course was perfectly fine, not to mention quite pleased with herself for causing so much commotion.

This past year the snowman was kept far out of the possible reach of curious toddlers. And yet, snowman did not go unscathed. No, no, this year he was firming up in the sub-zero garage when mom went out with some cardboard and without turning on the lights, put it all right on top of him. His beef toupee smooshed into his head a little bit, but otherwise the damage was minimal. Snowman is a sturdy work of art.

Gavin was so sweet to snowman... no squishing or attempts at eating

Family adventures in food: Part 1

When did it start? It's hard to remember. Maybe it was the time that mom went to cut the Dairy Queen ice cream cake, only to discover that ice cream cake straight out of the freezer is about as solid as a cement block. We still have the antique knife that was only used to cut the cake because it was a family heirloom and it was a very special birthday - but now that the knife is practically bent at a 90-degree angle...well, it's retained its status as heirloom for different - and funnier - reasons.

Or, maybe it was the time that wedges of cake were being dished out and one was promptly served straight to the floor. The carpeted floor, that is. Squashy.

Whatever the starting point may have been, I suppose it doesn't matter as much as the fact that there seems to be no end in sight. This family has had more than our share of comical mishaps with all things edible.

There was the german chocolate cake that Shell made me one birthday that involved a mis-measurement in the frosting. Result? Unveiling the cake revealed that every drop of frosting had slipped right off the 2 tier cake and was now pooling around the sides. Gorgeous.

(Is anyone else noticing a cake pattern here?)

And though there was no actual food involved in Popi's infamous incident, the packaging took a big enough beating for mention. Picture this: in the wee and pitch-black hours of a Minnesota morning, Mom and Popi and I were picking up some relatives so that I could drop them all off at the airport. The streets were abandoned but for one inexplicable empty milk jug in the middle of a wide open road. "Dad! Milk ju..." SMOOSH. "Never mind. You killed it. Well done." Popi's big brother and his wife were picked up a moment later and as we drove away from their house, someone looked out the window and asked the black morning, "What's that sound?!" Being the helpful child that I always am, I replied, "Oh, that's probably the empty milk jug that dad ran over. I think we're dragging it." So, as Popi pulled over on the side of the highway, cursing the entire time, I started laughing in the back. By the time he had tried to reverse the car at the same time his brother was trying to jump out to dislodge it, I was in fits of giggles. The circus had come to the side of the road - and ran over, then DRAGGED a milk jug in the process. Ridiculous.

Of course their blood is my blood, so I'm far from innocent. I'm the genius who left an entire 12-pack of diet Coke to freeze in my car - only to exclaim at first sight, "How did that dirty street slush get onto the inner roof of my car?! Oh wait, there's bits of diet Coke cans all over the car too.... SHIT." Refreshing.

And one of our greatest moments was a few Thanksgivings ago when mom sat down to the dinner table and "just felt like something was missing." She found the canned sweet potatoes in the oven 5 days later. And I'm still laughing.

Food on the forehead proves he's one of us

What got me reminising of the many memories that we still laugh at, was the addition of the newest misadventure. Mom and Popi bought a new refrigerator/freezer and when it was delivered and installed, the old one was hauled away. The only problem was... they forgot to empty the freezer... the freezer that contained the newly produced family-secret Swedish Sausage. Phone calls were made and the chase was on. Mom and Popi drove all over town in search of their freezer contents. Knowing how silly it all seemed while she was telling me this story, Mom capped it off with some wise, wise words, "Oh, you know, fuck me."

Scenes from a friendship

Boy and Girl are escaping the ungodly heat of the day by heading out for drinks at the Viceroy on Sunday night. Boy is driving with the windows down and Girl is so distracted by the wind whipping her hair around that she is constantly giving him directions a second too late, resulting in a total of 5 illegal turns. Still, she takes it upon herself to yell at other drivers who insist on proving their status as Grade A Imbeciles.

Girl: For crying out loud, grow a pair and turn! What are you waiting for, a blessing from God above?
Boy: So, your road rage comes out even when you aren't driving? Huh... wouldn't have guessed that one.
Girl: Well, that guy was a moron. There is no oncoming traffic to wait for when the intersection is shaped like a T.
Boy: I think he was trying to avoid mowing over the pedestrians.
Girl: But they didn't have a signal to walk. In fact, the big red hand was specifically indicating that they should NOT walk.
Boy: I can't believe you just said "grow a pair"...
Girl: Call it like I see it.
Boy: Look, the ocean... and the sun is setting!
Girl: I see what you're doing. I know you're trying to distract my road rage with something soothing and it's not going to... ooh, pretty!

Later - and finally off the mean streets of Santa Monica...

Boy: I felt like such a poser.
Girl: Nobody says poser anymore.
Boy: Why is that? What happened to poser?
Girl: I dunno. It's out. We're all posers now. Even the people who in the early 90's were all grunge and "individual" - declaring the rest of us posers - even they are wearing designer crap now and watching the same junk on TV, listening to the same Clear Channel-approved music. Look at Courtney Love. Calling someone else a poser now would be a serious case of the pot calling the kettle black.
Boy: (Long pause to stare at Girl like she has 6 eyes and 3 feet)... What goes on in that head of yours?!

Later still and after a few mojitos...

Girl: Look at that guy! What a nimrod!
Boy: Talk about outdated words. NIMROD.

Oh, did I mention that "Girl" is me? And that "Boy" constantly calling me out on my ridiculousness is what makes him one of my most likable friends? Just another night that turned out to be unexpectedly fabulous...