Visiting Both My Homes

Last week I got to go home. . . to both of them, well, all three of them if you include my current home. I took a flight to Nashville and spent some time with my friends there. On my first night east of the Mississippi River in a while, I had dinner with some of my co-workers. It was so great to be among friends again. Not only that, but they were so sweet and threw me an impromptu bridal shower. Mostly it was just the opportunity to hang out with people who knew and liked me and whose lives I feel like I'll always be a part of or at the very least interested in.

The next day I got to hang out with my friend Greg and hit two of the places that I miss most in Nashville: Signature Nails and The Patterson House. I got a fantastic pedicure with a complimentary drink, a great foot massage and wonderful service. There are tons of nail places in LA, but I have yet to find the one that has all of those qualities. And the Patterson House. I think I've waxed poetic about the place and its drinks enough. It was the one place I visited last week that made Chef jealous. And the big bonus was that I got to have great conversations with Greg, which made me miss him even more.

The next day I went further north and saw my Uncle Ric and Aunt Deb, Grandma and my Aunt Mio. We had some damn good barbecue, which, along with quality pizza, is something I've yet to discover in LA. People don't just use smokers like they do down south. The history of barbecue isn't there. Then I visited my dad at his work, which was nice because it's always kind of cool to see friends and family members in their career element. Then I visited my Uncle Jeff and my other grandma, who didn't recognize me with the new hair and then when she did, she repeatedly told me how much she didn't like it. I also got to visit my mom's cousin and a family friend before heading off to New Harmony for the night.

Once in New Harmony, Robin and I went to dinner and then rolled around the city via golf cart. We picked out a location for the wedding reception next year (yay!) and then she showed me the coolest thing ever. We went down a dark path into the woods near the river and were surrounded by thousands of lightning bugs. It was like being in the middle of a twinkly light Christmas tree and looking out.

The next morning I had breakfast with Dad and Robin, took a tour of New Harmony and dad's office there, then headed to Evansville to hang out with Jack. We did lunch, then chatted and made muffins. Actually that's not a typo and I didn't make the muffins at all unless you count cheering him on from the sidelines. Did drinks and dinner with the Dicuses and Aunt Mio. Made tons more memories and was in bed at a decent hour to get up and in a car by 5:30 to catch my flight to New Orleans.

All in all, it was a packed but very much worth it trip to my previous two home states. I saw just about as many people as I could in the time allotted. Now I can't wait for them to come out West to enjoy some sunshine and the ability to be warm without being surrounded by air you can feel moisture in immediately.

And I'm back. . .

So I've been gone for almost a week and sporadic internet connection plus not wanting to waste valuable time away from my friends and family to blog. I know that I'll go into more detail tomorrow and the following days to explain what an awesome trip it was and why I have the best friends and family members ever, but today I thought I'd start with a wrap up from last week's goals.

• Chats with Chef this week: every day. Mostly via text or sporadically while I was gone but I did manage to call every day. Which was more a feat that it sounds like.

• Pages of fiction read: 111-- I was about 7 pages from hitting my goal on Saturday morning, and I sat down and made a conscious effort to finish. And did so!

• Fiction read:The Art of Racing in the Rain (it's getting good--and sad)

• Fiction listened to via audiobook: Freedom by Jonathan Franzen (just had a few hours last week and started back today)

• Creative writing every day: not so great--travelling is my not so good excuse on this

• Five pages written:Nope. Not even close. About 3 paragraphs written and I feel horrible.

• Calorie tracking: Nope. I sucked. I lapsed. I am starting again diligently tomorrow.

• Exercise:Took a break. Not a deserved break, but I didn't have a gym and running now kills my hips. Plus I am busting out all my excuses this week.

• Friends and family: This is one that I met!! Finally! I had the best visits with my father, stepfather, uncles, stepmother, grandmas, aunts, cousins, co-workers, friends and nearly every person that means a lot to me. It was worth every minute, every dollar, and every tear I cried afterwards from missing them all so much.

The theme for this week is: Excuses you make while travelling. Clearly I have not established enough of a routine and drive for a goal that it could survive the complete disruption in my normal schedule. And I had to reconcile that with myself. In fact, I gave myself permission to have a bad schedule today too in an effort to spend some quality time with Chef and steel myself for the reckoning that will be tomorrow's back in the swing of things routine. Wish me luck!

It's Summer (Check Local Listings for Season in Your Area)

Okay, here's a weird thing about living in California: the use of July 4th as the first official day of summer. I think it's partly because school gets out later, but its clearly different than the rest of the country that uses Memorial Day as the beginning of summer.

Even if it's not officially summer, it felt like it last week when I took the Pacific Coast Highway home. I think it might become a habit. There's a traffic time sign at various points on my journey home. I think if the first one reads 50 minutes or more to make it to my first change of freeways, then I'm going to just take the PCH. Normally, it would take longer, but with the delays, it can cut come time off. And aside from that, it's just gorgeous.

One of the things I like about where I work is that its nestled in the mountains. I get to travel through the valleys and see some scenic areas. And when I take the PCH, the trip is all the more lovely. The cars were littered across the way with surfboards poking at the back. There were tons of surfers floating on their bobbing boards. And it was 6 p.m. There are days when I get so caught up that I forget that I work in California. I live near the coast. It is perpetually summer. And I need to bask in that more.

This Week's Breakdown

I'm still working towards my goals. Here's my breakdown for this week:

• Chats with Chef this week: every day, multiple times a day. YAY!

• Pages of fiction read: 252

• Fiction read: One Day by David Nicholls- FINISHED; The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein(?)

• Fiction listened to via audiobook: Freedom by Jonathan Franzen (about 15 hours in)

• Creative writing every day: done and DONE

• Five pages written: Yes! I've been so move to write this week that I've actually done it longhand. In meetings that bore me. Maybe not the best, but still very exciting.

• Calorie tracking: done and done honestly.Even though I've lost 1.6 lbs this week, I've had cheeseburgers for my last two meals. So what of it?

• Exercise: Yes every day. Not twice daily as some days I actually had to live (or go see Ann Patchett or have extra Chef time).

• Friends and family: two nice emails, two nice calls. All in all, not a bad week.

Doing better this week. And I'm happy. So I guess that's not too shabby.

A Dad Memory for Father's Day

Dad sometimes doesn't get enough shout outs on the blog. I hate to admit it, but that's mostly because he's still alive. You appreciate your parents while they're alive, but the nostalgia typically comes after they've passed away and thankfully that hasn't happened yet.

But as I was in a media training last week and busted out a memory of Dad and one of the lessons he taught me. Or at least a funny memory that I've used to illustrate a point.

When I was first learning how to play the outfield in softball, I had developed a nasty habit. Whenever the ball was hit to me, my first step was towards home plate. Normally that wouldn't have been bad, but I'm not the fastest person in the world. So if I took my first step in and then missed the ball over my head by a step, it pretty much infuriated everyone on the team, including my coach and myself. Dad decided after a game that he was going to break me out of the habit.

When everyone was gone, he grabbed a bat and some softballs and told me to stay in the outfield. He hit some pop flies to me, but gave me consequences: if I took my first step in, then I had to run a lap around the field--my least favorite activity at the time. If I didn't take my first step in, he would run the lap.

It took me about ten laps of pure exhaustion to get the point. It took dad two laps to realize the lesson was learned.

The time it takes to stop and think about what you're doing is less than the time it takes to reflexively do the wrong thing. And you often don't end up trying to catch up.

Happy early Father's Day everyone!

When I Was Fearless

When Chef and I were swimming the other night, I relayed to him a story from my childhood. I don't exactly remember how we got on it, but it was a story about a trip I took with my mom (and probably some other kids too, my brother I'm sure, I just don't remember who else was there) to Kramer's Lake. Kramer's lake was clearly a body of water, as the name implies, but also included some water slides and big trapeze, as well.

I think I was about 10 years old and all I wanted to do was swing out on that trapeze. Fly through the air and land in the water below. I'm not sure if my mom told me specifically not to do it or if she just communicated that with her eyes and demeanor. Either way, I ignored it.

So picture me as a not yet five foot girl, standing on top of a large trapeze that was on an elevated platform and landed in waters, the depths of which were unknown (at least to me). We had a pool, so I was a pretty good swimmer. None of this seemed to matter more than the thrill of the swing and release. I had to stretch my little toes as far off the platform as I could to grab the trapeze bar. I had just laid my fingertips on top of it when I heard a familiar voice yelling in the distance. I can see her now in a colorful, yet sensible one-piece bathing suit, her shoulder length hair pulled back in a pony tail, and large sunglasses (before they were really fashionable). Her arms were waving and she was yelling "DON'T GO! DON'T GO!".

The "lifeguard" who was watching the lake was distracted by the woman who was walking as fast as she could through thigh-high lake water to get to me. I used the distraction to my advantage and swung off the platform, letting go at the crest of my pendulum swing. I landed with a thud in the water and swam--albeit slowly--to my mother. At that point, I figured the lecture was probably going to be the same if I had gone or just prepared to go. The embarrassment of being called out in front of all of these older kids was more painful than any landing I could've taken, so I let 'er fly.

"You're too short." "You're too young." "We don't know how deep that water is." All were reasons that mom said made the trapeze too dangerous for me, but okay for my 13 year old brother. None of them really mattered, because I had already gotten what I wanted. A moment to disobey and FLY!

When I told the story to Chef, I said "That was back when I was young. And fearless."

Since then I've decided it's time to get a little more fearless again. We'll see what that ends up meaning.

Speedo, You Let Me Down

Perhaps I didn't read closely enough, because I bought a Speedo swim cap yesterday to protect my faux red hair from the harsh realities of chlorine and it did not help.

Chef mentioned that swimming was a great workout and that since I had some hip issues, we have access to a pool and I'm looking for new ways to workout, it might be a good idea to swim some laps. He had good points on all of that, but my one counter was my hair. I pay good money to keep it as red as possible for as long as possible, so protection for my investment was going to be needed. Hence, the Speedo swim cap.

I put the darn thing on. It smooshed my head. My hair was back in a low knot, pressing against the nape of my neck. I looked like a giant blue condom tip. I was ready to go.

After about 10 minutes of slicing through the water with my arms as the blades (okay, so it was MUCH less graceful than that, but still. . .), I knew that my hair was already soaked.

The swimming was nice, though. Chef came down to get a workout too and keep me company. He also served to motivate me. Typically his presence alone gets me to up the workout ante, so to speak. Amazing how much harder you work when you're trying to impress someone you love. It's the "Hey, Mom! look at me!" syndrome as adults.

I have a feeling that I'll end up swimming some more in the near future, so if anyone has a suggestion for a better swim cap that will actually keep my hair dry, let me know!

I Wanted to Like Her. But I Couldn't.

Ann Patchett. The name itself was enough to get me in the audience. In fact, I had talked about her enough that Chef was the one who actually suggested we go when he saw she was speaking in LA. From the same series that brought us the Tina Fey-Steve Martin interview came the Ann Patchett- Maile Meloy conversation.

We went to this cool, old train station turned art gallery space and sat obediently in our folding chairs. I had brought my copy of Ann's latest book (purchased direct from the publisher at a book fair in CANADA!, by the way) in case I wanted to get it signed. I tweeted my excited. She was not only an author that I adored, but from NASHVILLE and could help bring a bit of longing to life. I braced myself for fun. She stepped onto the raised platform in a very Brentwood-housewife looking blue dress.

And from there on, I was utterly disappointed and entirely annoyed.

First of all, to call it a "conversation," as it was billed to be, would be doing it a disservice. It was primarily 90 minutes of Ann Patchett talking about herself and dropping names like they're hot. She told a few funny stories, but then preceded to drop her personal friendships with three prominent female writers, Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban, a famous opera singer and her numerous editorial connections into the whole thing. It was obnoxious.

She took credit for bankrupting Gourmet magazine because they bankrolled her elaborate trips for novel research with her just selling them an article. She said she didn’t do it because she couldn’t afford to pay for the trip, but because she didn’t like to make elaborate travel plans and they had a department to do that for her.

She mentioned having her first piece published in The Paris Review, but being confused because she hadn’t submitted to The Paris Review. She had submitted to Esquire, but they had passed it to The Paris Review without her knowing. How weird! (She said that with undeniable pride and I admit I’m envious, but also a little ticked).

She mentioned lots of things that mostly just made me angry. What she didn’t mention was that she has the luxury of writing because her husband, a doctor, takes care of little things like steady income and health insurance.

Mostly I was just irritated. I felt no humility or feeling of luck for her having won the genetic lottery. I mean, she’s white. She was born to parents who were pretty well off (mother is a nurse, stepfather is a doctor). Those two things helped her get into Sarah Lawrence College. And from there, the rest is history.

Of course, Ann Patchett’s talent is truly something to marvel at. As much as I’m now disappointed in having met her (and why I will probably never really want to meet Matt Damon or Peyton Manning), I still appreciate that she can sure write. I just now have to separate the author from the work to appreciate it. Which is really what I’m doing with Jonathan Franzen too.

Anyway, the whole night was sitting there wondering if I was the only one who thought she was utterly obnoxious and looking at the room full of aging yuppies. Many people in their mid to late 50s wearing gorgeously made, expensive clothes that they put together to look like shit. Bad, short women’s haircuts and men wearing “statement” glasses—big, bold, black rims and odd shapes. They were people ready to be mobilized into doing something for society, but instead of putting that to actual use, they rallied around the idea of the independent bookstore and the evils of Amazon and the Kindle. While I understood the message, I thought it was a little diluted for them to be nodding their heads vigorously to Patchett’s battle cries against mass booksellers while I literally watched some of them guzzle Starbucks coffee. (By the way, Patchett described her contributions to the bookstore she’s planning on opening in Nashville as the “flash and the cash”—also a little retching).

It was all in all too much. I couldn’t believe that I was the only one who wasn’t drinking the Kool-Aid. It wasn’t until I left and Chef said “So, what did you think?” tentatively that I realized there was at least one other person who felt like I did.

“I think that I’m a little sad that my favorite author is an asshole,” I said.

“I’d call her a ‘Douche in a Blue Dress’,” Chef replied.

The floodgates then opened as we exchanged quotes from the evening that left us both with a bad taste in our mouths. And for the second time that evening I truly appreciated Chef.

Did Michael Richards Teach Us Nothing?

Can we all just agree that spewing hate speech in front of crowds is a bad idea no matter what expectation is of humor? First it was Michael Richards spewing racial slurs on stage in the name of comedy. And just a few days ago it was Tracy Morgan taking on gays at the Ryman in Nashville, again using the thin guise of comedy.

Saying you meant something to be funny doesn't mean you just get to say it. Freedom of speech protects your right to spew idiotic crap without fear of being jailed for it. It doesn't protect you from the consequences.

I love good comedy. It takes a courageous view of the world and usually has someone going out on a limb to do it. But typically these aren't funny comments. I know "funny" is subjective, but typically it's humorous, not hurtful, in nature. There are some racist things that are funny, just as there are some misogynist things that are funny. But in the end, funny typically does not entail descriptive words like "rant."

Here's my one-line for comedians: If you or someone you trust feels you have to issue an apology after you tell a joke or "rant," then it's probably best to avoid it.

I Didn't Do TOO Badly This Week

While it was only a few days ago that I posted my goals, I've actually been working off of them for over a week. So I decided to hold myself accountable. And because frankly, I'm not very good at just holding myself accountable on my own (I weighed 229 lbs at one point if you needed proof of that), I'm going to post my results each week for as long as I think it's interesting to post. I realize I'm dipping dangerously into the "Bridget Jones"-type of blog post, but I think you'll indulge me. So here goes for the first week:

• Chats with Chef this week: numerous and multi-times per day

• Pages of fiction read: 204

• Fiction read: One Day by David Nicholls

• Fiction listened to via audiobook: Unfamiliar Fishes by Sarah Vowell and Freedom by Jonathan Franzen

• Creative writing every day: Complete

• Five pages written: Not so much. I got three pages done. Maybe I'll get the other two knocked out today.

• Calorie tracking: done and done honestly. It actually made me order a few things differently than I would've and eat less than I would've gorged.

• Exercise: Twice daily for a total of an hour. I actually had sore muscles this week for the first time in a while. I don't think I was honest with myself before about pushing myself.

• Friends and family: sent several emails this week out of the blue. If you didn't get one, you may soon.

I have to say that it's the reading that I'm enjoying most. And the writing that's leaving me the most to try and be honest with myself. It's challenging me most right now which is probably why I haven't finished my page quota for the week. I'm writing some non-fiction and it's hard to be as truthful as I want to be about others without revealing too much about myself.

C'mon, People. Stop Posting Pictures of Your Genitals

Is it egomania? Is it promiscuity? Or is it just plain stupidity? I'm not sure why famous people think it's a good idea to take pictures of their bodies or junk and send them to people they don't really know.

Did the world really need to see Brett Favre's junk? No. Don't text it to a girl you barely know.

Did I really need to see Anthony Weiner's weiner or chest? Nope and neither did the chick he sent it to.

I'm continually baffled about why people who are famous send illicit pictures of themselves to strangers. It's generally not a good idea for ANYBODY, especially someone who is say, in the political arena or gets media attention. Because for all the good things the media attention can bring to your life (and it does bring good things to most so don't let them fool you with this "I never asked for this" crap), it can also take you down.

Here's a good rule of thumb for all celebrities, politicians and others:

If you get bothered in bathrooms for autographs or can get good tables at nice restaurants just for being you, don't send any photos of any bathing suit parts or otherwise embarrassingly skimpy areas out via twitter, facebook, text or other social media outlet.

I Make Time Because They Make Me Happy

Going along with the falling back in love with books theme, I also did a little personal inventory of things that I am making time for because they make me happy. Or maybe the actions themselves don't make me happy but the end results do. So here are my weekly goals that I hope to keep track of things that make me happy (Yes, I realize it's a little sad that I have to have goals to do things that I enjoy, but I'm a goal-oriented person):

• I will chat with Chef every day. Pretty easy most days. Not so easy when I'm travelling.
• I will read 100 pages of fiction each week.
• I will write something creative (fiction, non-fiction, blog) each day.
• I will write at least 5 pages each week of something for my fiction or non-fiction pieces.
• I will record my calories-honestly-each day.
• I will try to be honest with my self, even when it's hard.
• I will do some form of exercising each day even if it's just walking (more than normal, of course).
• In my off hours, I will try and let go of having a "schedule" in my head and just enjoy the moments.
• I will email a friend or family member each week just to see how they are.

I've had these in my head for a while and will post how I did on Saturday. There are some other ones, but those are private. I know I've met some of the goals already. Others. . . well, I still have two days.

Falling In Love Again . . With Reading

While I clearly didn't have the best time on my Canadian excursion (the company was lovely but the location-not so hot-although I'm willing to try Canada again--just maybe Vancouver,) there was one definite plus: I fell in love again with reading.

It's not like I ever truly fell out of love with reading, but you know how it goes. I hadn't had the best of luck reading the most captivating books lately, so I wasn't super excited to get through them and then I opt for a magazine instead. Not a good sign for a novel. I breezed through Bossypants because it is clearly awesome and then I picked up Water for Elephants right before I left for Canada. It had been sitting on my bookshelf since before the move. I remember buying it at McKay's in Nashville for $2.

It took me about 3 days of intermittent reading to get through it and it was a really entertaining book. But I left my Kindle at home on the charger, so I went to the Chapters store and bought two more books. I breezed through the first one in two days and started on the second one on my flight home.

Of course, books are something that I just love surrounding myself with PLUS I was working at frickin' Book Fair for 5 days, so I got even MORE tempted. Normally the Book Fairs I go to only have text books or academic writing (not the best for leisure time), but this one had FICTION! And good fiction. So I ended up buying four more books (hello? there was a conference discount!). So I left with two books read, six books bought and one more halfway through.

PLUS I just got two more audiobooks and finished the three I previously had. I've probably read or absorbed more literature in the last month than in the last 6 months combined. And I'm all the happier for it!

The Sinner Showing is Better

Chef and I capped his big 30th birthday weekend by attending what I like to call the "Sinner showing" at the local movie theater. It's the early Sunday morning (or in LA early Sunday afternoon) showing--you know, when most people are in church? Well, we sin, so instead of church, we saw "The Hangover 2." But I'm a non-practicing Catholic, so I can just add that to my list of other more relevant sins (hello? nearly 7 years living with a man and not being married or related to him), confess, say my "Hail Marys" for something other than sporting events and be absolved.

Until then, I was happy to be able to go to a movie in LA without a crushing crowd. Chef and I have hit this strategy a few times when there's a popular movie out that we want to see without having to deal with the annoyance of other people. Nothing can ruin a movie-going experience faster than being behind question girl ("Why is she doing that? Where is he going?") or narrates his own experience guy ("That is SO funny!" "I canNOT believe they just did that!").

We went to Arclight Cinemas in Hollywood and when we left, Chef and I agreed that it was sad that the actual experience of going to the movie was almost more noteworthy than the movie itself (which was good, but not as good as the first and we think will probably grow on us over time--in case you cared). We decided to see which movie theater had the highest rating on yelp to see if we could up the ante. I mean, it is the movie capital of the world, right? We should be able to get a VIP movie experience.

Here's the thing about Arclight. When you buy the tickets-online or in person, you pick out your seats. None of that general admission stuff. You know where you're going to be watching the movie and don't get suckered into buying tickets and having to sit in the front row. You know before you go.

Also awesome is the fact that they don't seat people after the movie starts. If you're not there when the feature begins, you can get a later showing or a refund, but you're not going to be interrupting everyone's movie by climbing over people 20 minutes in. And there are a few previews but NO ads, so the movie starts about 5 minutes after the posted time.

And if that weren't enough you can buy cocktails and beer at the concession stand (not at the sinner showing but for the late matinees and night showings for sure). Plus the seats are giant cushioned things that have moveable armrests in case you want to snuggle. Oh, did I mention they use real butter on the popcorn? REAL BUTTER!

These seem like small things. And they probably are, but think about it. Movie-going has slowly declined and become such a hassle that I'd rather wait for a DVD and watch it at home than go out. But now, I'm totally sold on going to the movies again.

Wait, I didn't declare that 5 lbs to customs. . . Take it back

I brought back a souvenir from my time in Canada: a fat ass. Well, fatter any way. The access to lobster and being stuck in a place where eating really is the only true past time were enough to add five pounds to my frame. FIVE POUNDS! How is that even possible in 10 days time??

I kept my calorie count even on the bad days. And on the really really really bad days, I STILL kept my log going. Without access to the AT&T network (because I was not about to pay the outrageous international rates just to sync my calorie counting app), it was challenging and humiliating to admit my daily defeat, but I did.

And this happened even though I worked out nearly every day I was gone. Oh well. I did it to myself. I just wondered why I couldn't check my extra ass in at customs and make them to my 5 pounds of flesh.

However, once I crossed into US territory, I didn't get much better. Chef turned 30 on Friday and with that came dinner at the swankiest place I have been to thus far. It's called CUT and is a Wolfgang Puck restaurant. And did I mention it's delicious? We had bone marrow flan, which was just fancy way of saying bone marrow. I had never had bone marrow before and let me tell you, it's worth getting. It's f&c#ing delicious. Like concentrated meat jelly. Like the flavor and soul of the cow were secretly hiding not in the flesh, but in the bones. It may sound gross, but if you like meat, it is not gross at all.

Since I'm confessing to that, I should also confess to the other dishes that may have contributed to my five pounds in the last 10 days (i didn't eat THEM ALL, but had my share for sure):

• Aforementioned bone marrow flan
• Seafood risotto with half a lobster tail
• Gorgonzola topped filet
• two servings of sticky toffee pudding
• loaded potato skins
• pretzel bites
• Lobster dinner with drawn butter
• Banana bread pudding
• Double bacon cheeseburger
• Taco Bell chicken quesadilla
• Taco Bell cheesy fiesta potatoes
• Meyer Lemon pound cake with Earl Grey ice cream
• The crispiest french fries I've ever had in my life
• Seafood salad
• Kobe filet mignon

Okay, there may be five pounds in there after all. Crap. Well, it was back on the treadmill and back to my normal food this morning. Looks like it will be double work outs for me this week . . .

My Time in Manhattan

Now this is more like it. I'm here for a work function tonight and got in yesterday. It's a completely different change of pace from New Brunswick, but New York is a completely different change of pace from most places.

Because I spent a lot of yesterday morning and Tuesday catching up, I felt pretty good about leaving in the afternoon to do some exploring. I mean, spending a 3 day weekend in Canada working a booth should buy me some goodwill for signing off an hour early yesterday.

I'm in Manhattan and to be honest the last time I was here both the World Trade Center and my mother were still standing, so that should tell you something. I might've changed a little in that time, too.

I went to one store specifically because I knew there was something that I wanted to get Chef. (He turns 30 tomorrow. Hard to believe because with that baby face he still looks about 18). I went, I saw, I bought, I conquered. I then decided it would be fun to try and walk back. In some red patent wedges. Not the best idea I've ever had, but I made it without having to amputate anything so SUCCESS!

I was just a few steps on my journey when a gaggle of gay men started pointed and looking at me. I instantly thought I was either in front of someone they knew or my mascara had officially melted in the heat and was running down my face. Turns out the answer was neither of those. One of the gaggle broke himself off and said "Where do you get your hair done?". Actually the first thing he said as he came jutting towards me was "Dont' worry I'm not going to steal your little XXX(store name here hidden for Chef's torture) bag." Then he asked about my hair.

"LA," I said.

"How long are you here for?," he asked. The gaggle exchanged nervous glances behind him.

"Two days," I said.

"Shit. Sorry, girl. I'm doing a fashion thing this weekend and just think your whole look is fierce," he said. "Would have loved to have had you."

"Thanks?" I reply and walk off with a little jaunt in my step (that only lasted three blocks before I realized the jaunt was unnecessarily adding pain to my feet. I can do 1-2 miles in those things before they hurt--after that, my tootsies are toast.)

After that encounter, the rest of my experience was pretty mundane. I saw Rockefeller Center (and desperately looked for Liz Lemon--to no avail), St. Patrick's Cathedral (which made me miss Chef although not for the religious connotation), Time's Square, Herald's Square and the Fashion District. Then I did a whore's bath (as it so happens yesterday was the hottest day thus far in NYC at 90 degrees), and walked to a nice Italian restaurant for dinner. I'm glad I walked, because I ate like tomorrow was judgement day. And it was delicious.

Today, i worked in the morning then rolled out to walk to lunch with our freelancer and then walked back. Now I'm sitting here for another 30 minutes before I have to get ready for the event I'm helping with tonight. Then it's on a plane tomorrow for a low awaited reunion with Chef, the kitties and my own bed!

There are a few things I noticed about New York: 1) It's not nearly as intimidating as it was all those years ago. 2) Being here reminded of me of my first time when mom and Jack took me for a graduation trip and I inadvertently visited most of the places that we saw on that trip as well. 3) I prefer LA. I never in a million years would've thought that I'd say that, but damn, that weather is nice. And having grown up in the suburbs, the sprawl of LA -- "Los Angeles: Seventy-two suburbs in search of a city," said Dorothy Parker-- it just kind of hits home.

And I'm ready to get back there.

Things You Can Tell From a Booth

If you've never worked retail or had to work a trade show, job fair, health fair or career corner, you really should be made to. Mostly because if you do and then you go to a conference or any other thing that has the word "fair" in the title to make it sound more lively, you would feel some empathy for those people who are stuck in a booth with a smile on for 10 hours a day.

It's been 4 days here and most of 3 in the booth plus one day setting up the booth. I'm about over working it. It's grueling. There's about 5 minutes of customer interaction and 55 minutes of getting interrupted every 2 minutes by people who just want to look at the stuff behind you. So you can't really read or mess around on the computer for any significant stretch of time.

But there are things that you can tell from a convention booth. I can spot a Gender Studies academic professor or researcher from 10 paces. I know if someone is French by the squinty look they give me when approaching the booth. I know exactly how many times I can look at my watch before it's time to take a walk outside for a break in the day.

They are life's little lessons of observation and survival. And kind of fun. When not boring.

Like the Dollar Store Brand

Canada is like the dollar store brand of toilet paper. It's not Charmin, but like Charmane and it looks kind of like good toilet paper, but it's really just an off brand. That's like Fredericton, New Brunswick Canada.

I'm here for work. The place is clearly not a large town--about 45,000. And it's not super quaint and even though it has two universities, it's not a college town. At least not a US college town. It's like an off-brand Evansville. Except much smaller. And with fewer stores and shops. When the mall to hang out at was billed so lovingly by a local as "doesn't even have a GAP-- just a Sears" that's not a good sign. And so far it hasn't been.

The other odd thing is that it's on Atlantic time. Which means we're an hour a head of Eastern. Which means I'm four hours behind LA. And my body doesn't really know the difference yet. I have a feeling it will feel it soon though.

So, one day down and only 4 more here. And then two in New York. That's going to be a night and day difference. Kind of like LA to Fredericton. The one good thing is that the more time I spend here, the more I'm reminded why I love big city living. And it's always nice to be a little homesick.

Blame Canada

In a few days I'm heading to the other end of the continent--almost quite literally--for work. And each time I think of the trip, that famous South Park song goes roaring through my head and I instantly tap my toes singing "Blame Canada!".

Why am I blaming Canada? Did I not just mention that I'm heading there for work? Well aside from that, I'm also there for nearly a week in a small town and missing a holiday. Canadians either don't celebrate the same or don't have Memorial Day. So instead of kicking off the summer with a grill and a beach, I'll be spending my holiday in a booth and at meetings. (insert sad sound effect here).

Honestly, it's not that bad as I'm sure I'll make up the time later this month, but there's a long stretch between President's Day and now, so I was kinda looking forward to a long weekend. Oh well. Maybe I can find a nice place to have a good dinner and see a movie that Chef wouldn't want to see while I'm there. Besides, the Canada trip ends and I head straight to New York, so I'm sure that leg of the trip (albeit brief) will be pretty cool. I haven't been to New York in ages.

Anyway, please don't text or phone me and expect a response while I'm "international" (seriously how can Canada be international? That's just ridiculous). It's too damn expensive to respond. Another reason to Blame Canada.

What's Red, Puffy and Running all Day?

My nose? Nope. A Zit? Nope. My stupid, frickin' eye. I could feel it coming on and I'm an idiot so I didn't go to the optometrist.

Well, that's not entirely true. I didn't go to the optometrist because it was Saturday and the ones on my insurance weren't open. And since it was overcast yesterday in LA, I wasn't light sensitive and thought I was doing better.

Then I get hit full blast with a bunch of sunshine in my face sent me to tears faster than a movie with a cancer-stricken mom. I suffered for the morning in my cave like office and then decided that enough was enough. I couldn't go to a doctor near my work because my glasses were at home and once the contacts come out, they can't go back in. So I found a doctor near my house, got the quickest appointment and headed out.

I knew what I had. I've had it twice before in my life and it's not something you quickly forget. The optometrist, though, wasn't my favorite. I probably won't go back. Mostly because he seemed very proud of himself for having diagnosed me (after I told him what I probably had) and then proceeded to lecture me.

It was (as I knew) a corneal ulcer. My eyes have always had a hard time with contacts and not being "able to breathe" properly. But they haven't acted up in like 7 years, so it's not a huge deal. The guy then told me that I needed new glasses (which I never wear unless I have an eye problem). Finally he listened to me say that and then told me that I should get Lasik. He then told me that I needed to take Chef with me on the appointment because it was a decision that I couldn't make on my own. Had he had said that once or twice, I might've been okay, but he said it repeatedly, which honestly just pissed me off.

In the end, he made me "get my money's worth" and kept me in the chair for 30 minutes longer than necessary asking me if I had any questions repeatedly (which I didn't) and then almost forgot to give me the eye drop prescription that I needed.

So, drops for a week. Glasses (ugh) for the next couple of days. And then I need to find an IU optometrist out here. There's something healing about a Hoosier-taught eye doc.

I Thought I Saw A Ghost

Last night I got up in the middle of the night and scared the crap out of myself. Through my blurry night eyes and mussed up hair, I looked over in the mirror and thought it was someone else. I thought it was my mom looking back at me.

I think this is a natural occurrence in most women's lives. When they look back or hear themselves and think "Man, I'm turning into my mom." But for people who have lost their moms, this can be a satisfying and scary thing.

Honestly I was thinking about it today. Why now? I have a hair color that my mother never had. and I can never remember her having hair this long. After much thought I think I've nailed it down to a few things:

• I'm now getting to be the age my mom was when I was born. I'm in my thirties which is where my mom was when we met. (And by met, I mean she popped me out of her stomach-I was a C-section baby). So it's only natural that the pictures that I've seen are mostly from after that time. The memories I have are of her from the thirties and beyond.
  
• I have bangs now. It's a simple thing, but my bangs were pushed to the side in my night time slumber-induced rearrangement. This was the way my mom wore her hair for my entire life. So that contributed to the confusion.
• It was the middle of the night and I often scare the crap out of myself so I was probably making a bigger thing of this than it really was.

So, I take a little pride in having confused myself for a while as I think my mom aged well (minus the whole cancer thing, of course) and she was always cute. Honestly, if I ended up like her in even a very small way, I would ecstatic. She was a pretty great lady.

Things I've Noticed Lately (Elliptical Edition)

Here are some random observations from my morning time on the elliptical. Please note that these things popped into my head at 5 a.m., so they may be a little odd:

• When did the fat on my face start jiggling when I run? Did this always happen or did it start when I hit a certain age?
• What is the term for the upper ass area that not quite hip, not quite back but still holds weird pockets of fat? How do you get rid of those things?
  
• Why does the guy (and I'm sure it's a man because he leaves the gym a mess) who comes in late at night insist on turning the AC units down as low as they can go? And then open the gym doors to the cool night air? Does he not know he's letting out "bought air"?
• I love that random southern sayings like "bought air" can still creep into my thoughts.
• Why did the apartment people put the air conditioning units up too high for a person of normal height to reach?
• If I were attacked walking from my apartment to the complex gym, I would make the attacker head to the gym or at least chase me there because it's got cameras.
• I know that by nature they're full of trash, but there has to be way to make the dumpsters not spew a stream of hot garbage air into your face when you close them. Why isn't someone working on this?
• Early morning news crews / anchors are bad no matter how large the market.

That's it for this installment of "Things I've noticed lately" Elliptical edition. Enjoy!

What a Coincidence

Just a few days after I write about the different versions of me and how I dress different for them, I got my latest personality test results back.

Latest personality test? Yes. It's a corporate thing. I actually enjoy it and most people do. Who doesn't like to hear about themselves? No one, that's who. I've taken a few different ones in a few different forms. This one was the DISC format. The DISC are dominance, influence, steadiness and conscientiousness.

What they don't tell you when you're taking it is that you're actually taking it for a "work" you and a "true" you. How they come up with results from answering like 24 questions, I'll never know. Nor will I ever take them 100 percent at value. Because it's like a horoscope. There's some piece of every one that resonates with a piece of everyone. So whether the results were based on the stars or research from a psychologist, it's still kind of the same.

Anyway, the work me was a D. Dominance. Ds make quick decisions, sometimes without a lot of information, they are goal-driven and often blinded by the path to the end result. Ds can appear unfriendly in work scenarios because they're thinking about steps to a goal.

That actually sounds pretty much like me. Maybe not so much in a my old job, but me in my new job. I don't have a lot of people to impress or harmony to keep. I just really see a lot of things that need to be fixed and am driven by the steps to try and fix them.

The home me is a combination of I and D. Which means that I'm still an extrovert (Ds and Is are extroverts, Ss and Cs are introverts). But it also means that I'm more outgoing in a friendly nature. I tend to be more persuasive and political. I'd say that is probably true too. I still have the D that's driving to get stuff done but I'm much more friendly about it.

So basically, I not only dress differently at home and work, but I act it too. And it's not just me. Which makes me feel simultaneously better and worse. Better because I'm not alone (although I rarely think that I am). Worse because I wonder how many people I see as one-dimensional and miss out on. I guess the trick is to make sure that my one-dimension is one that's somewhat interesting. And that if I see someone else who is interesting to see if their other dimension is interesting too.

And I just thought life was getting simple. . .

Waist Not, Want Not? Hell yes I want it!

I’m currently in one of those tricky phases of weight loss where you get good and motivated and you start to see results. Why is this tricky? For a couple reasons: 1) You get in a transition period in between your fat clothes and your skinny clothes. 2) You want this feeling to last, but you know it’s not gonna.

Oh the fat and the skinny clothes. If you’re like me, you tend to only be one or the other. Or you have some things that look better to cover the pudge and other things that look better when your svelte. Or maybe not svelte, but smaller. I’m also notorious for not wearing properly fitting clothes. I’m super belly-conscious, so I hate having anything that fits too tightly around the belly. On the other hand, I have big boobs so it it’s gonna be loose at the belly and fit the boobs, I end up wearing a shapeless tent on top. I find that the well-placed belt can help in some occasions, but not all.

So I venture into a store and find a few pieces that can help the tight stuff look less lumpy and the loose stuff look less frumpy. But as I try on I realize...I'm a few sizes smaller than I was before. So I like trying on stuff and looking good. Which opens the door for buying more clothes...clothes that won't fit in a few months when I've lost more weight. And I know this. I want to hold off on buying clothes, but it's important to reward myself, right? It's a vicious cycle.

And then comes part two. I get some momentum and I feel good about my plan, losing weight seems easier and everything's kicking on high gear. The weight's coming off and BAM! I get stuck. How the hell did this happen?How the hell did I stop losing weight? I'm still watching what I eat. I'm still under calories. I get so baffled that I get pissed. And when I get pissed, I want to eat fried foods. It's my way of saying "Okay, body, you don't like what I put in you? Well, wait until you see THIS!".

Oh, the cycle. The ups and downs. Right now I'm riding an up. I'm preparing for the down. But in the end, I just want to have the perseverance to keeping moving. Isn't that really what we're all asking for?

I Wish I Could Be Like Our Neighbors

I want to openly thank our upstairs neighbors for they are so nice and helpful to our life here in LA. Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without them. Their habits have inspired me and I think could inspire you. So, here are ways my neighbors are great:

• They aren't bound by the standards of time. They live a life free of things like "early mornings" and "respectable hours." They can stay up until 6 a.m. -- and often do--without the confines of society weighing them down.
• They're environmentally conscious. They are so reluctant to throw things in the trash that they often freely give them to mother nature. In fact, they often give to her specifically on the five foot area of shrubbery by our patio. We should honor their offerings, but don't. I often feel guilty when I'm forced to throw their trash away as I know it's not what they clearly intended.
• Their cleanliness is beyond reproach. I only aspire to the level of cleanliness that our upstairs neighbors live with every day. I think about that as the showers of soapy water come cascading down upon Chef and my's heads on the patio. This happens about every two weeks and is literally sending gallons of water and soap down upon our patio. I think they're trying to tell us that we need to clean our area as well.
• They are very frugal. Our neighbors are so frugal. Instead of spending the dollar or so to have a new key made, they use a rock--obtained for free mind you--to prop open our locked gates for all hours of the night.
• Our neighbors are hospitable. They feel confined by our security system and its unapproachability with codes and having others "be let in". Luckily, they work around that one with the above.

I can only hope that in time I will rise above my current level of thinking and break my habits of being unneighborly. Wish me luck.

The Two (or three or four. . . ) Sides of Me

Do you ever look at yourself throughout the day and wonder: Who is this person? Is this person the real me or is the real me at home in my sweats watching TV and cuddling cats?

I know there are lots of people who will tell me that both of these are me. But I don't really buy it. One of these is the natural me and one is the me that takes a little effort. And I'm reconciled with the fact that I can't skate by on my looks or brains. I'm just not that lucky. Then again about 99.9% of us are in the same boat on that one.

And there is no place that's harder for me to reconcile these two sides than in my work place fashion (not where you thought I was going with that, is it?). I like fashion for the most part (especially when I've got something to wear). But am I the suit or the blue jeans? Our work place is fairly casual--I think most of California is--and while I don't mind it, I also miss the formality of a suit. In fact, some days I bust out my suit and rock it despite the fact that people stare and I look ridiculously overdressed.

I think that's the main issue. If it were one way or another, I'd have less of a hard time reconciling the two versions of me. If it were either business dress or casual dress, the choices are more cut and dried. More representative of the two sides of my life that I like to treat Jim Crow-style--separate but equal. (But in this case it's actually true and not just a way to legally dupe people out of rights).

But this whole "business casual" crap is messing with me. Be business or be casual. Don't be both. It just opens up the spectrum for too many interpretations--nearly all of them wrong. And it makes the dress code enforcement a little like playing games with the neighbor kids when you were young. The rules change as to who is making them up and it's all a moot point when it's dinner time or the street lights come on.

Until then I just hope I don't show up to work in my Scooby Doo pajama pants.

Ouch.

For the last week or so I've been making an incredible transformation. I go to bed as a 32 year old and wake up as a 70 year old. It's quite amazing.

Sadly, not all of me is 70. Or should I be thankful. There are days that I would debate that. But mostly I'm thankful.

So why am I feeling so old? Because for the last week I have woken up with the world's worst neck crick. Actually, it's probably more than a neck crick. It's horrendous. It's what Chef thinks is a seized muscle. My neck (and subsequently my shoulder) are so taut and painful to move. There's a strip of muscle and tendon that run down the length of it. Chef's theory (and probably a right one) is that that muscle is refusing to move and tightens up because it's trying to immobilize my neck. It wants to prevent further damage.

Sadly there's really no medicine for that. No form of Aleve or Tylenol: Muscle Seizure that can help. I've tried warm showers to loosen it up and Chef has probably sprained a hand from massage. But still no use. And to make things more complicated, the pain is probably related to my sleeping with one arm under my head of my back.

I think this might be the one that sends me over the edge to doctordom. I've got to visit because at this point, I'm thinking muscle relaxers sound like a hell of an idea. And for the last trick, I've got to torture Chef by sleeping on my back. Hope I don't snore too loudly.

Not that, in the end, I'm looking for much. Just to wake up and feel like a 40 year old.

The Great Mother's Day Debate

Mother's Day has become like Passover to me. I'm not involved. I don't completely get it. And I only know it's coming when I see decorations hanging in Ralph's.

And this Mother's Day was no exception. Typically no one gets hurt. However, this year there was some carnage left in my wake. Because as anyone who has lost a parent knows, and especially those who lost one young, it doesn't matter how long ago you lost them, you still feel it. It hurts less over time, but there are still these twinges of angst and mourning that hit you when you least expect it and like a ton of bricks.

That's one thing they never tell you (sidenote: who is this "they" and how are "they" such experts on loss and how do "they" have so much collective knowledge of mourning?) is the longer someone's been gone, the more surprising the moment of mourn, so to speak, is. You expect (and are expected by "them") to feel great sadness the first year of these big events. First birthday, first Christmases, first Mother's Day, etc. In fact, if you don't feel a great weight of sorrow you almost have to fake it to make "them" feel like they knew and you feel like you're living up to everyone's expectations of sorrow.

This all leads back to my lack of Mother's Day awareness. Most times, I'm oblivious, see it, realize there's very little obligation on my end as I am neither a mother nor have a living one, and move on. This year one little bitch at Macy's tried to make me get into the spirit of Mother's Day and for that, she felt the wrath of Ash.

"Would you like some help finding a Mother's Day gift," all 5 foot nothing, 100 pound blondeness of her cooed a I was racewalking through the great cosmetics/ accessories divide on my way to the escalators and then through Macy's to get to Sephora. She had stepped directly into my path which on a day when I was more determined could probably have gotten her killed or at least severely bruised.

"No, thank you," I replied annoyed that I no only had to break stride to answer, but stop to politely decline.

"But we have some lovely new fragrances and some great cosmetic gift sets that would be perfect for your mom," she said.

I cracked a smile to myself because as much as I love my mother to this day, I thought of what little use cosmetics and perfume would be after a decade of decay. Not the typical warm, fuzzy, I know.

"No, thank you," I said. "I really don't need anything for Mother's Day." And I was just getting ready to start my jaunt again when she said the words that pushed me over the edge.

"Well, why not?" she said. "Everyone has a mother." If she had said it with a fresh-faced ignorance or naivete, I might've --MIGHT have--been a little nicer. But she was annoyed that I wouldn't stop. And I was annoyed that she stopped me. It was the combination of the two that turned the situation ugly.

"You're right," I said with a smile through gritted teeth. "Everyone does have a mother. However, mine has been dead for more than a decade now so I'm 100 percent certain that she doesn't have a use for a Mother's Day gift."

With her jaw now hitting the floor, I took the silence as my opportunity to continue on my way. If I hadn't said something twice before, I might've felt a little remorse, but this time I just hoped the exchange tempered her aggressive sales tactics. At least for another hour or so.

That being said, Happy Mother's Day to those out there and to my mom and all other lost moms. Your daughters (and sons, t00, I'm sure) miss you and think about on the first Mother's Day after you've been gone and every one after that.

What Should I Wear?

Two months from today I'll be married. A little hard to believe, but then again I've actually felt married for a while. At least in the practical sense. I've lived with Chef for more than six year. We've shared a bank account, responsibilities, cat duties and a lot of memories nearly just as long.

So I'm not worries or worked up about any of that. And now that I've made my non-decision on the name issue, there's not a lot of finish up. There's just one thing: a dress. I asked my friends for suggestions. Something short. Something not too formal. Something flattering. Doesn't have to white. Just has to make me feel special.

My friends came up with some good suggestions but I waited too late on one and it's not available any more. The other is on its way to be tried on. So now I'm asking for your help. If you can think of something or see something, feel free to leave me a link in the comments or shoot me an email.

I Need To Write

Apparently i'm very concerned with my needs this week, as is apparent from my blog posts. Or maybe because I'm in town all week, I'm thinking about my need more. Probably on my drive to and from work. Or in the shower. Or in the gym at 5:30 in the morning when I'm alone with my thoughts and ESPN.

But I've come to think about things a lot more lately and realize that I need to write. That I have things to say. And not just blog posts but real things. Some are my inner most thoughts that I haven't caught up with in a while. My journal, or this volume of the tome I've kept since I was about 15, has not been updated in a while. Since I write some of my thoughts in the form of fiction and others on this blog, the things that I can't share with others has taken a back seat. Mostly it's just an unedited, uninhibited version that my children (if we choose to have them) will wince when reading.

Despite all that, I also know that I have a few stories brewing in me. One I think can be added to the latest version of the novel. One that i'm not sure fits and could be the beginning of another project. The only question becomes: How can I finish these projects? Or why can't I seem to? Why am I not prioritizing my writing a I do my sleep? Where can I find the extra hours in the day? Would it be the same to record my thoughts and then transcribe them? Does that count as writing?

I Need Continued Motivation

What is wrong with me? I have to remain vigilant (she type with a belly full of fast food). I can't fall off the wagon (she says from the ground as the wagon rolls past her).

For some reason it's been hard for me to string together more than about two weeks of motivation at a time. I can eat my little lunch and feel good about my small dinner for only so long before BAM! I'm ready to eat the house down. I was that way today. I had done well all day and then get home and I'm ravenous. So I suggest fast food. While I didn't get the two cheeseburger meal that I longed for, I did get chicken nuggets. And that's not good.

So tomorrow I will try again to gain my composure. To face my food demons and try to remember when my belly rumbles with hunger that the hunger is temporary. With just a few bites I will stop being a bitchy, whiny person and start being a normal rational one. I will not eat when I'm not hungry. (that's my hardest thing to remember but the first rule of eating, right? Why is it so hard?).

Tomorrow I start again.

A Great Couple Days in LA

I had a conference I was working in LA yesterday which means that I was actually home at a decent hour and that Chef and I got to run some Friday errands. We then went to our favorite hole in the wall Mexican place, hit William Sonoma in Beverly Hills and got treated to champagne and a 40% discount at the Banana Republic in honor of the royal wedding. Not a bad Friday night.

And then today after Chef got up at 5 a.m., I rolled over. I get up at 5 a.m. every week day so I refuse to do so on the weekend. I ended up closing my eyes and getting up at 8:30. Hit the gym, hit the shower and then we packed up for our usual Saturday morning grocery run. I'm firmly convinced that you can do anything you need to in LA as long as you do it before noon. We got in and out and home.

Just in time to realize we're hungry. Since I'd worked out and was craving red meat, we went to Irv's burgers. It's literally a hamburger stand on Santa Monica Blvd that has some tables outside. The little Asian lady that works there draws a quick portrait of each customer on their paper plates. It's literally only a little more detailed than a stick figure, but was so cute.

And the food was good. Just well done food at a good price. Plus we got to sit the beautiful, breezy sun drenched patio. It was one of those days that we were just glad to be living in such a beautiful place. And it made me realize how much I love LA. The vibe of the city. There are shits here but there are shits everywhere. It's mostly just the ability to have access to anything I could imagine. And the weather.

What's up with the Tornadoes?

I've never been a big fan of tornadoes. I can't think of many people who have actually been through one are. I never understood people who thought it would be cool to chase down the storm.

I'm totally a "in the bathroom with my cats huddled in the tub" kind of girl. And I don't see anything wrong with that.

So I applaud my smart storm friends who were lucky enough to make it through the recent tornadoes that hit the south and the Midwest. My family lives in a town with some flooding so there's really no end to the effect of the storms.

What I am thinking about is whether there are more than average tornadoes this year. Doesn't seem like there have been more and with a higher degree of destruction than before. First St. Louis and the Midwest, then the South. I honestly think everyone needs a tornado break. Do you think I've got enough pull to arrange that or should it be requested by a multitude of people?

Either way, I know those who were affected would appreciate the break from the storms and every one would like the chance to catch their breath.

The Lilting Accents on my Radio

The last two nights I've listened to some southern drawls on my radio and it made me feel like I was back in Tennessee. I was listening to my first audiobook: The Help. I don't think I would've normally picked up the book if I were just on my own. I'm not really one for many bestsellers. At least blockbuster bestsellers.

But when you're trying to find some free audiobooks, the choices are most likely going to be the most popular ones. So, The Help it is. And I'm kind of glad that I'm not actually reading it. Mostly because it's a little slow in the story section. The voice acting is really well done and the southern accents are pretty dead on.

But most of the reason why I'm enjoying it is because it's not just music. I'm a visual learner, so I have to pay attention to the recording to really follow along. I can't tune it out like music. So before I know it, I'm through a chapter and halfway home.

But I need some suggestions. I can go through about 3-4 audiobooks a month so I need some help. What should I listen to next?

A Reality Star and A Football Player? Really?

Normally, I don't give a rat's ass who gets engaged to who. Okay, maybe I care a little. But when it's a reality TV star, I typically don't care at all. However when that reality TV star gets engaged to an NFL player that grew up near where I did and played college football in the town I lived when I lived there, I care a little more.

And that's why I'm perplexed at the engagement of Kristin Cavallari and Jay Cutler. Really? A chick that got her fame from drinking to excess and pretending to be a plotting manipulative bitch (in reality she probably was a plotting manipulative bitch, but she was one in high school and frankly, who wasn't?). How much, aside from notoriety, could they possibly have in common?

I mean, I really don't see Kristin Cavallari chowing down on some barbecue at Judge Bean's in Nashville. I also have a hard time seeing her pick up the phone at a Wilford Brimley 'betes testing supply commercial as she remembered to reorder Jay's strips. Or learning to cook without sugar.

Will Jay now have to buy a line of clothing she designs to movie premiere? I also question their publicist. Seriously? Why did you announce any wedding news this week when the world is only hearing the words "William and Kate"? Wait a week and let your engagement bask in the post-matrimonial after glow of the royals.

The one thing I'll give her was that she was smart enough to say yes to a Tosh.0 guest appearance.

Just sayin'.

I Hate Motorcycles

When I first moved to LA and took that long trek to the DMV, I was forced to take another written test. I wondered at the time why there were so many questions on it about motorcycles. I mean, sure, you need to know about motorcycles, but they make up such a small portion of the vehicles on the road and were disproportionately represented on the test.

And then I started making my daily commute. And I began to realize just how much I truly, deeply, passionately hate motorcycles. Or rather the dicks that ride on motorcycles. Before I launch into this tirade, let me preface this by saying that I'm not talking about those who ride leisurely on Harley Davidsons on weekends. I'm talking about crotchrockets and the like, and the a-holes who ride them on a daily basis.

For those of you who don't live in a mild or warm climate and don't have to deal with an abundance of motorcyclists, this will probably be as new to you as it was to me. Here's the deal: Motorcycles here weave in between the cars in their lanes to get by. And by weaving, I don't mean they pass and get into a lane. I mean, they literally drive in the small space between you and another car. So if I opened my door, it would most certainly mean death to them.

Not only is this illegal, but it's rampant. And annoying. You're sitting there listening to your music in rush hour traffic, going 10 miles per hour and WHOOSH! A motorcycle rushes by and does the land equivalent to buzzing the tower. It's loud. It's dangerous. And it's aggrevating as hell. If I'm stuck going 10 miles per hour, you shouldn't be able to go 60 mph illegally.

And that's why I hate motorcycles.

My Easter Surprise

Of the many smells that I've woken up to on Easter (slow-baking ham, the light hint of chocolate sitting in baskets, dyed eggs roasting in the early morning sun, an overwhelming aroma of sugar), none startled me quite like this morning's.

The epic saga began at about 4 a.m. when I was woken by a sour stomach. I tried to wait it out, but it didn't work and I had to purge. Not a great way to start the morning. It also took me about a half an episode of "Law & Order" to fall back to sleep.

I was just hitting my slumber stride when I felt a shove in my back. Like I'm apt to do at that time of morning, I ignored it. But then I got another shove in the back. I flipped over to say "WHAT?!" in my annoyed voice when Chef just pointed to a space of sheet about 8 inches from his face. The space had a glob of cat feces on it.

"Don't move. I'll get it up and get it," I said heading towards the bathroom to get some toilet paper to scoop up the glob. On my way back to the bedroom, I was startled by a steaming pile of cat poop sitting square in the middle of our stark white duvet.

"Don't move, honey," I said.

Chef saw my hands move to an area below the glob and looked down. "Aww! Really??" It was about that time when the stench began to turn my stomach for the second time in a few hours. It took a lot more toilet paper, some cursing and our cat specific stain and odor remover before the space was clean.

Of course, the smell lingered for a while. Chef smelled it too. It wasn't until he pointed it out that I realized that I had a giant cat poop smear on the side of my foot. Chef called it the ninja poop.

That was enough to necessitate a complete shower.

It's several hours and an additional shower later and I'm still wondering when I'll feel clean.

Happy Easter everyone!

Something I refuse to watch

Let's face it. My taste in TV and music (and even movies) has always been questionable at best. I know and can recognize things that are well done and good, but that doesn't mean that I won't take my time to watch something that's pure crap. It's happened many time before and will happen many times again.

But even with all that, I have to draw the line somewhere and that's with "Mobwives." Really, VH1? Aren't you supposed to be a video station? But apparently that got thrown out the window as soon as Flava Flav spread his STDs to girls whose names he didn't bother knowing so he made new ones up.

I don't really like any show that features wives of famous people. This includes all the Real Housewives series. It doesn't take a lot of talent to keep your body in shape (in some cases), and be a bitch. I could do that, but instead I choose to make my own money. I also tend not to trick men into having kids with me to get child support (I'm calling you out "Basketball Wives.")

"Mobwives" is worse because it's not only that these bitches aren't famous. But they're basking in the glorification of their husbands, fathers, uncles, or brothers who are famous for breaking law in as many different ways as you can. Which, in some cases, includes murder. But I'm supposed to feel sorry for them because a man in their life got caught and went to jail so they have to fend for themselves? really? Is this what being a strong woman is being compared to now days?

That's what makes me even more mad. That these women think of themselves (and others buy into it too) as strong women. Is it really strong to be a 40 year old in a bar doing shots and getting angry because someone showed up who you don't like? Are screaming matches that I didn't even tolerate in high school, let alone as an adult, really being strong or just being a bitch? I know there are times when strong woman and bitch get wrongfully mixed in use. This is not one of those times.

I don't fear that smart women will see the show and decide that fake boobs, a spray tan and bad attitude are suddenly a fulfilling life. I have more faith in women than that. What I don't want is those bitches profiting on this horrible show. Seriously, VH1? There's a reason that I don't watch your network. At least the girls of "Teen Mom," have that whole under 21 thing to fall back on. But what about the "Mobwives"? What do they have? Hopefully nothing except cancellation and resorting to getting real jobs to make real money.

In the mean time, I think I'll watch "30 Rock" again.

Getting our Marriage License- and my soon to be new middle name

On this Good Friday, I made it a great Friday and went with Chef to get our marriage license. After our ordeal at the DMV, I was not expecting this to be an easy process. In fact, because we were getting our license in LA, I asked my boss if I could work from home (in anticipation that it would take a long time and it sucks to drive to work to drive back and forth).

Oddly enough, it wasn't that bad of a process. We had filled out the paperwork before coming (although I literally made the middle name decision at the window) and just had to hand over our $90. The only tricky thing was that they didn't take Visa, which was our debit card backer. Chef and I thought this was a little weird, right? So, we wrote a check. No big whoop.

After a mere 10 minute wait, we were back at the window holding up our right hands and swearing that everything we'd written on the application was true. Then we scheduled our courthouse ceremony and were out the door in less than 30 minutes. Considerably less than the "at least 60 minute" wait the web site had told us to expect.

So, what did we do in the 10 minute wait? Two things:

1. Debate my middle name
2. Debate which day to get married

I chose "Clark Wrye" (no hyphen) as my "new" middle name. I just couldn't give up either name so I'll be the girl with three last names. Chef wanted me to change it to "Gray" so that I could pay homage to my dad (it's his middle name) and his Grammie (her last name) at the same time. I liked the idea, but in the end, I'm a sentimental who couldn't let go.

So, the second debate was on when we would actually get married. Well, that was a little more challenging. The Beverly Hills Registrar (yup, we're getting married in the 90210) only performs weddings every 15 minutes on Thursdays. So, it had to be a Thursday. And I wanted it to be a Thursday where I could take the Friday off too because what fun is getting married and then going back to work the next day?

We also had to take in consideration Chef's birthday. Because honestly, there has to be some space in between so we can celebrate twice. He deserves his own day and I mine. Then ours together.

So, space. That meant either we get married in 3 weeks (and I wouldn't get a Friday) or at the beginning of July. The next thing was that I'm travelling to Canada at the end of May and my passport clearly has my current name on it. I don't really want to worry about travel (even just to Canada) with all these names.

And with that in mind, we found a date at the beginning of July. Yay!

I Have to Admit

This is going to be one of my confession blog posts, but before you get all excited, you must remember that I'm not all that scandalous. But here are things I must admit:

• The commute is getting to me. At least this week. There's something about leaving the office at 5 and getting home by 5:30--not 6:30--that's appealing. Maybe I just need some good new music or books to listen to. Suggest away!
• I'm not writing as much as I should be. I used to get up early to work out and then write, but I don't have time for both now and I refuse to get up earlier than the 5 a.m. that I'm already waking up at. So unfortunately, the writing has taken the hit.
• I miss the South. It was instantly warm (although not entirely genuine) and had tons of polite people who took me under their wing. Some of those wings I wrestled out of, but it was nice to have people that care that much.
• I don't miss the frequent and often inappropriate mixing of business and religion that was common in the south. It made me uncomfortable. It also made my non-Christian friends uncomfortable.
• Me not being into weddings or wedding planning has nothing to do with Chef and everything to do with the fact that my mom's not here to do it with me. There are lots of great people who ARE here to help me and I appreciate them, but her absence is still felt. I know if we ever choose to have a child, that's going to be much worse.
• I miss being around women who know football.
• I have a shoe addiction. But that's a different post for a different day.
• I think Mark Wahlberg is a pretty good actor that has made me laugh on numerous occasions. I'm a peacock. You gotta let me fly.
• I'm about ready for a trip to Nashville then Evansville. One will be planned in next couple of months to see both.
• I can't look at Jenny McCarthy without thinking she's bat shit crazy, no matter how much money she raises for autism.
• I only eat 370 carefully measured calories every day for lunch so that I can splurge on dinner. And then I get pissed when Chef talks me out of dessert.
• I don't think I'm as good a friend as I used to be.
• I haven't tried really hard to find friends in LA.

Those are my confessions for now. Add any you want to call me out or just want to add one of your own.

I want to go to there. . .

Last night Chef and I went to see Tina Fey and Steve Martin at the Nokia Theater. I'm a huge Tina Fey fan and was so excited when Facebook actually targeted me with the right ad. Because if it wasn't for the Facebook ad that popped up on my profile a few weeks ago, I don't think I would've known about it. So, score one for you, Zuckerberg.

Anyway, I asked Chef and he was game for going. He was also smart enough when he bought the tickets to also buy a parking pass so we were zipped into a space without having to navigate around the Kings fans. He's a master like that.

Unfortunately because I live so far from work and the theater was close to our house, we didn't get downtown with a lot of time to kick around walking. There's also not a lot of quick food options at LA Live, so we ended up just going into the theater and grabbing some cocktails, and food at the bar. It was also nice because we each got a signed copy of Tina Fey's book with our ticket price, so we got those real quick and sat down.

I'll admit that I've soured to Steve Martin in the last several years. I've heard too many stories of him being an asshole from too many sources for at least 10 percent of it to be true. Also, I'm not a huge fan of his writing. I read Shopgirl and while it wasn't terrible, it also probably wouldn't have gotten much attention if it hadn't been written by Steve Martin.

So I didn't know who would be interviewing who between the two because the tickets and show title didn't really clear that up. Luckily, it turned out to be Steve Martin interviewing Tina Fey. And it was pretty funny. I was mostly glad to see (as I suspected, but there's always the chance for disappointment) that Fey is as funny and smart in person as she writes and portrays. In fact, she was so quick-witted that she actually left Martin in the dust a few times.

All in all, it was a great event for me. I loved it. Chef was a little bored, but I can understand. They weren't doing stand-up; they were talking about Fey's book. It was a pretty funny conversation, but you could tell it wasn't entirely spontaneous. Which, frankly, as someone paying for a ticket, I almost appreciated the effort more.

However, knowing that I admire Tina Fey and yet she's only 8 years older than me has me thinking. And those thoughts could take me two ways:

1. Depressed because I haven't done nearly enough in my own writing to have made any kind of traction and because I never did the true artistic suffering stage in my youth, or
2. Motivated to finish my book, write every day and see what kind of magic LA has in store. I've heard that dreams come true here. I'm not sure how that gets verified, but I'm willing to test it out.

So, inspiration moves on and I am so excited to live in LA because I get to go to events like this that don't happen anywhere else. Plus Judd Apatow, Catherine O'Hara and Adam Scott were in the crowd. That added a little star shine.

I'm sitting here wondering: Who wants to go with me to the next talk they're hosting? It's not gonna have 5000 people and it features one of my favorite writers, Ann Patchett. Anyone?

What's in a Name, anyway?

Chef and I are going to get our marriage license on Friday. We have 90 days from that point to get hitched or we have to go through the process again and pay the $90 yet again. I am currently at lunch and decided to hop on the LA County Registrar's site to see about filling out the online application for the license.

I got stumped on the first section. Not the questions about Chef, but about me. I'm changing my last name to match his. Not that hard of a decision and one I'm happy to do. Not that I don't love my identity and my last name (it's served me well for 32 years so far), but I'm tired of my poor four letters being mangled in the pronunciation. Now my new four letter last name will be mangled in an entirely different way.

That wasn't the stumper. Here's the stumper: what to make my new middle name?

I'm seriously at a loss. My current middle name is my mother's maiden name and my last name is clearly my father's name. it's like playing Sophie's Choice in reverse. Logically, I know that if I do the traditional thing and make my former last name my new middle name, it doesn't hurt my mom or her family. But still.

It doesn't feel right to keep my current middle name and toss aside my last name. Nor does it feel like "me" to go behind door number three and hyphenate them both to make a combined middle name. That just seems like more trouble than it's worth. I'm not a hyphenate-kind of girl.

So instead of filling out the form, I closed the window and started this blog post. It's not a bad thing to love so many families so much that you want to make sure you're always instantly linked as being a part of them. But hey, I've got three days to make a decision and a lifetime to second-guess it, so why am I stressing now?

You Say You Want a Revolution

Okay, maybe I don't need a revolution. Maybe it's an attitude adjustment. Or "I say I need a inspiration". What can you give me?

I need to regain my focus, motivation, whatever it is that makes me care about my eating and exercise. My weight loss has been stagnant in the last two months and it's 100 percent my fault. I used travel as an excuse to eat whatever I wanted. I mean, how often could I have a Philly cheesesteak in Philadelphia? I had to take advantage, right?

And to make things worse, I have still been getting up at 5 a.m. every morning to get on the elliptical and make things happen. Why is that worse? Because I've been getting up so early and wasting my efforts. That just makes me mad. I'm an idiot.

On the other hand, the working out probably prevented me from gaining more weight than I probably should have. But it's awash and basically spent 8 weeks losing 2 pounds. Not cool.

So I'm going to be bold and say that I want to get back to the weight I was at at my lowest and I want to do it before the end of July. That's about a pound a week, which isn't all that ambitious. But at least it's a goal.

The cravings must be a household thing because Genghis is now begging for white chocolate macadamia nut cookies when Chef eats them. Carb cravings are a family trait for sure!

What's red, pink and cream all over?

Answer: Me.

I got my hair dyed on Friday after work. Dyed and trimmed. Took about an hour, which isn't bad. My one request to the stylist was to make the red pop a little more. Granted it had been 6 weeks since the initial dye, but the fade was not enough to account for the fact that I wasn't quite red. I had a red tint, but the color didn't pop like I had wanted.

I would've thought it was just me, but when I went back to my stylist, she said she had written "more copper" on the card with my hair color on it. So, it's nice to know my stylist and I were on the same page. She's a keeper.

Anyway, with freshly red locks on my head, I discovered that I can only really wash my hair a few times a week instead of every day. Blonde hair doesn't really fade. It just loses luster. Brunette and red fade and red fades the most and quickest. So, my stylist recommended that I not only use my color safe shampoo and conditioner, but also limit my washes. So I invested in some good dry shampoo and I hope it does the trick to make my color last.

But I digress. So the hair is definitely red. The cream is my skin color. My pale skin. Except my pale skin is not so pretty. It's actually not bad on my face (except for the tendency to freckle), but my legs are pretty pale and not in a good way.

Which leads to the pink. Knowing that my paleness needs some help and knowing that it's Sunday and pretty, Chef and I decided to hit the pool in our complex. We tag teamed the cleaning of the apartment this morning and then decided our reward would be an hour or so laying by the pool.

It was glorious. Nice, bright sun. 78 degrees. The only thing that was out of place was that we had to have two chairs (the only two lounge chairs left) that were partially shaded at times. That made it a little chilly for a few minutes, but overall, a nice 90 minutes in the sun listening to music and reading. These are the times that I start to think that I live in a resort and not necessarily an apartment complex.

The pink comes about 20 minutes after we get back to the apartment. My shoulders and face are warm to the touch and slightly sunburned. I hate to say burned because I've been sunburned. This is more like a sunkiss that lasted too long. A sun hickey, perhaps?

They're starting to come out. . .

I realized this weekend as I was in New Orleans that my "ashley-isms" are really starting to come out in work settings. There's a typical grace period that happens when you're acclimating and with that comes the restraint of colloquialisms that have a background or only you think are funny. I can't even really claim most of these as "Ashley-isms" because I've blatantly stole the best of the best for my own use. I only originated a few, but all are starting to break the surface of every day talk.

I had a co-worker at a conference this weekend say "I'm not sure if it's the Southern coming out or if it's just your personality. Either way, you're cracking me up." I had another co-worker stop me three sentences after I had spit out a saying to say "Back up, did you really just say 'hitch in the giddy-up'?"

Yes. Yes, I did. Here are some others that have started coming to the surface lately:

• "Noodle", as in "Let me noodle on that and get back to you"- stolen from a previous supervisor Suzanne
• "Jazzed" as in "I get really jazzed about collaboration"-- I had hear it in use before but it wasn't until a previous supervisor, Erica, that I had hear it used in a context for work.
• "Hitch in my giddy-up"- meaning "Obstacle" not sure where I heard it but I did and I kept it.
• "Double awesome" because sometimes one awesome just isn't enough
• "Word", as in "I concur" --clearly not mine or anyone that I know, but I believe I pioneered its use in corporate situations and well past it's expiration date.
• "Howdy"- another overtly southern/ cowboy term that I think is more inviting than a traditional "hello"

I can't think of any other ones right now, but if you remember me saying something weird or have a saying I should start using, feel free to leave me a comment.

Racking Up Some Frequent Flyer Miles

So there are a few things that have been rolling lately. Mostly out of town. In my new position I have the opportunity to see some of the US that I haven't seen before. Mostly some east coast cities. But tomorrow I get to head to an old home, of sorts. Or better yet, I get to see a person who is like a home to me.

I'm heading to New Orleans tomorrow for a conference and get to see my friend Wendee. I'm excited about that. Business travel isn't the most exciting thing, despite the romanticizing of it. There's always a lot of things to do during the day and by the time you finish up answering emails that have piled up during the day, you're tired and ready to grab a bite and hit the hay.

But business travel in a city where you have friends means you get to a dinner out with someone and an excuse to delay work. Plus you get to see someone you might not be able to for a while. It's the best of both world and a better balance.

So not only do I get to add some frequent flyer miles but I get to explore work and catch up with friends.

A Bulldog and a Huskie Walked Onto a Court

Or at least they will. Tomorrow night. And if it weren't for Facebook you wouldn't know it in California.

There are many delights to living on the west coast, but one of the things I have a hard time adapting to is the utter lack of interest in most sports. There are some rabid Lakers fans, but even those people really know little outside of professional basketball. So honestly, that makes them less of a sports fan that a specialist. And you only really need a specialist when it's something like a medical problem.

So we're one day out from a national championship game and mums the word around here. And what's worse is that I have a work thing tomorrow night until about 9 p.m. So if you can't get a hold of me, know that I'm again under social media sequester.

And until then, GO BUTLER! Any team from Indiana is a team I'll support!