Change is Brewing

True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity, before it is entitled to the appellation. ~George Washington

2011-11-11T08:38:00.000-08:00

As I was unpacking my belongings when I moved into my new home this summer, I once again had to decide what to do with the fake rose. This old thing – I’ve been dragging it around from city to city and house to house for more than 16 years. The rose has been packed and unpacked… wow – something like 18 times, I suppose. I don’t tend to stay in one home for long.

Walking around my house with the thing in hand, I tested out placement. My nightstand? Nope – not right. On top of the bookshelf? Awkward. The liquor cabinet? No – the colors clash. The fireplace mantle… That’s it. Perfect. I took an extra moment to soak in the memories of the fake rose and the friend who gave it to me.

The rose originally came with a note that read “I hope this rose lasts as long as our friendship”. The note has since been lost in piles of newspaper wrapping, probably a decade ago. But the friend has not.

Every time I glance over at this gift on the mantle, I remember to be thankful for the greatest treasure in my life – true friendship. I am incredibly fortunate to have friends with whom I can share joy and laughter as easily as tears and sorrow. The ones I can argue with as often as we agree.

These friends are my compass – they are not afraid to tell me when I’m going the wrong direction or that I should really stop trying to tell jokes (a few actually mandated this). They are not jealous, but truly delighted to see me happy. I cherish the memories we’ve made together and am excited about the memories we have yet to make.

Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfills the same function as pain in the human body. It calls attention to an unhealthy state of things. ~Winston Churchill

2011-09-28T11:30:00.000-07:00

When I started college, my head was full of “what if I suck at this as badly as I did in high school” nervousness. I hadn’t seen the inside of a school in eight years. I shiver even now, remembering the terror. Walking through the front door on my first night was terrifying.

I sat between a gorgeous man and a smartly dressed lady with a great laugh. Our professor walked us through what to expect from him, what he expected of us and gave us our first assignments. We were to write an essay about why we wanted to be in school. Just write about why we walked through that door.

During class the next week, he sent the teams to complete activities in break-out groups while he reviewed each person’s essay with them for a few minutes quietly at the front of the classroom. My hands were shaky when he called me up to chat.

What he said about my essay still repeats in my head now and then. He said, sternly, “I asked you for a comic strip and what you gave me is War & Peace.”

Oh.

Oh.

I always thought that I was a pretty good writer. But he was a professor and it was his job to tell me if I sucked at writing. So I gulped back a wail of great sadness and thanked him. And said okay – I’ll return it to you as a comic strip next week.

After class, I went to my family’s home and cried HARD. They were very supportive – of COURSE the professor is wrong. You did a great job. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I was mostly crying because I was afraid all of my fears were valid. I wasn’t ever going to make it through school. There was no way I could trick professors into thinking I had a functioning brain. In fact, I was going to fail at life.

Then, I worked on the essay and turned a tell-all into a one page explanation. Just the facts. No colorful language. No unnecessary observations. Absolutely soulless. I got an A on the revised assignment and continued to produce almost exactly what my professors wanted to see for the next six years.

I’m so happy my professor was direct with me. He made it clear what would work and what would not. I remember the criticism CLEARLY. And I remember (most of the time*) to cut out at least half of what I’ve just written. I also remember telling myself that the first time – not having my work praised, but wildly stomped upon – that was the worst it was ever going to feel.

I lost my fear of criticism when it comes to work. I had already failed. I had felt the lowest point of low. I had survived. I was free to go on trying with the possibility failure looming – it was all a bump in the road that taught me a lesson. People learn so much from the time they spend going over what they’ve done wrong and how to make it better.

As a student or as a professional (at anything) or as a parent or whatever you are, learning to take criticism well is essential to positive development. If you’re perfect and everything you do is wonderful, you’re done. What’s stopping you from checking out, laying down to sleep until your life ends?

Imagine life as a perfect person who has nothing more to learn. How boring to never wonder what you’ll be laughing at yourself for in an hour. I’ll take bunches of lessons over heaps of perfect.

*I only cut 27% of this blog. My battle with verbosity rages on.

People have less privacy and are crammed together in cities, but in the wide open spaces they secretly keep tabs on each other a lot more. ~Sara Paretsky

2011-09-01T12:53:00.000-07:00

The blonde guy who resembles the wacky roommate from the movie with Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts in London (you know the one) just arrived. We're still waiting on the thin, shaved headed athlete-looking fellow who reminds me a bit of the thin Buddha to take his place for lunch.

Every weekday, we have lunch together. We do not speak and we do not know each other's names. But we all recognize the others and likely appreciate the quiet company.

There is a beautiful, peaceful little park across the street from the office where I report to work in San Francisco. A two foot wide man-made babbling brook is visited by dragon flies and the occasional bulldog. The waterfall on the edge of the park nearly takes my mind off the sounds of passing traffic on Embarcadero.

If it's a sunny day, my usual spot on the perfectly manicured lawn allows me to block out all sight of tall buildings and streets- so long as I don't tilt my head too far in any direction but forward.

The blonde fellow works in the same building as me-on the same floor, even. We have never spoken. He likes the spot right in the middle of the park-sitting on the grass. He is almost always on time, but doesn't stay long.

The athletic Buddha man sometimes worries me with his tardiness. Where is he? I’ll look up from my view of the ferns and succulents and concrete miniature river for him a few times until he finally arrives.

His spot is on a short concrete pillar, right in the middle of the river. He turns his head to the sun on the infrequent occasions it chooses to show itself here. And he basks in it. Oh! There he is. Taking his seat. Closing his eyes to soak in the rays.

I wonder if they'll notice my departure in a few months when I've moved on to another office somewhere. I'd like to think they'll raise their eyes to look for me at least a few times just after I'm gone. Perhaps wonder briefly where I'm having lunch now.

If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him. If a man speaks or acts with a pure thought, happiness follows him, like a shadow that never leaves him. ~Buddha

2011-04-15T12:46:00.000-07:00

High fiving will never go out of style. The act of slapping your hand against someone else's in a celebratory manner is so joyful, so simple, it’s exhilarating. I will even theorize that it wards off evil spirits. Much like one of those incredibly satisfying sneezes that seem to blast through every part of your being. The emotional feeling I attach with a high five is similar.

My sister and I have a contest with high fives. You should definitely ask us to demonstrate if the opportunity arises sometime. In February of this year, I won the contest for the first time EVER. I've been practicing.

Some people don't dig high fives. They ruin the excitement of the pre-high five moment with an attitude of a person who refuses to let out a good strong sneeze. "I don't high five" is a statement I've heard from people multitudes of times. "Don't you DARE high five those hooligans" is another one. I heard that just once.

My co-worker/friend Valerie and I were walking the streets of downtown Cincinnati one Wednesday night. We were traveling for work and had a night out for dinner and drinks after a particularly taxing day spent in front of computers, becoming experts in a training program.

As we navigated our way back to our hotel, I was celebrating the awesomeness of my athletic abilities. I had just ridden a mechanical bull for FOUR MINUTES. I could do ANYTHING. Nearly everyone at the fine establishment with the mechanical bull had returned my high fives with great enthusiasm.

We were walking down the quiet street when Valerie and I spotted three or four young men who did seem a bit hooligan-ish approaching us from the opposite direction. “Don’t you dare…” on repeat from Valerie. She may even have hissed at me, but that’s just a guess – not part of actual memory.

When the young men got within arms length, I thrust my arm into the sky festively in their direction. They totally knew what I was asking for and slapped my hand right back. Valerie and I kept moving at the same pace, but the young men stopped to ask us for some money. I let them know that they should find their own money.

Valerie reprimanded my high fiving behavior, but I pointed out to her that it was likely the celebratory gesture that allowed us to continue on our way without being mugged. Only a truly evil hooligan would mug a lady he just shared that kind of experience with.

Desire is the starting point of all achievement, not a hope, not a wish, but a keen pulsating desire which transcends everything. ~Napoleon Hill

2011-03-25T14:30:00.000-07:00

One year ago today, I was frantic. I had a lot going on – it was my last day of work at my job in LA and I had to get up to Oakland that night so I could start my new contract job in San Francisco the next morning.

When I arrived, I was super nervous about living in a new place, working at a new place, navigating confusing freeways, finding the grocery store and keeping myself out of trouble in such an exciting city.

There are lots of things that have changed since this day one year ago. Like the way I drive. Oakland has a lot of pot holes in the road. People jaywalk verrrry slowwwwly even in the dark. Drivers are constantly either trying to parallel park or are trying to exit a tiny parking spot. Driving here is a bit like navigating mine fields in a war zone.

Another change is that I am genuinely joyful most of the time. I laugh more and with greater enthusiasm. I spend tons of time with a few friends that I absolutely adore. I am in love with someone who I want to spend the rest of my life with.

Some things haven’t changed at all. I still forget when I've made plans with people most of the time. I still don’t know where I am frequently, even when I’m less than a mile from home. I still spend a lot of time speaking with homeless people on the street. They have incredible stories. I’m still planning adventurous vacations to faraway lands.

Earlier this week, I started a new contract job at the same place that I worked last year. It’s kind of trippy – to be back here only a few days from my anniversary of starting work here a year ago. Life spins in cycles. Sometimes, we get dropped off exactly where we started, but in a very different place.

Today, I am celebrating my one year anniversary of living in the Bay Area. A few friends and I saw a midnight movie last night (Suckerpunch. You’ll never get those 2 hours back. Oy). Later, I’ll meet up with at least one friend and toast to this day.

I’ll add in a toast to jumping in and doing everything in your power to achieve your dreams. You really can have whatever you truly desire.

One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important. ~Bertrand Russell

2011-03-18T18:31:00.000-07:00

Everyone freaks out a little sometimes.

Right?

I know I'm not alone in feeling horror - incredible heaps of helplessness - after watching the fallout from the earthquakes and Tsunami in Japan. Those of us who are lucky enough to be safe, dry and far away from the center of the disaster can't jump in and do something immediately to help. Aside from donating money and other hands-off, yet completely wonderful and necessary things.

I have been watching Twitter like a hawk since the morning the Tsunami hit. Every 20 minutes, another news organization is reporting on a possible meltdown at the nuclear power plant, a house floating in the sea water or a man who somehow survived under piles of rubble for days.

And I can do nothing to help. I mean to get my hands dirty - to strap on my galoshes and get outside and look for survivors. Or help to prepare meals in a shelter. Nothing.

Instead, I clean my bathroom. I clean my bathroom with a ferocity worthy of a champion maid service. This. This, I can do right now. I can make this better. That sink is going to SPARKLE. But it's not helping. I'm sorry Japan is so far away - and that their cleanup and recovery is going to be such a big job.

The moments when I really get down, feeling helpless, I remind myself to cherish every second I have here on this planet. Friday afternoons spent between my living room and my now sparkling bathroom become much more meaningful.

I cuddle with my dog a bit more, say hello to friends the second they cross my mind, and continue to freak out. Just a little. I'm not ready to lose all of this. I wish no one else had to lose everything before they were ready either.

Although your customers won’t love you if you give bad service, your competitors will. ~Kate Zabriskie

2011-02-08T13:38:00.000-08:00

Geico Insurance owes me $366.00.

I haven’t crashed my car into anything (enough to do damage) in the last 11 years. However, my car has been crashed and crashed into four times in the last two years.

The first was a hit and run. I was minding my own business, at a complete stop in a left turn lane near LAX airport. Suddenly, I felt a jolt and heard some crunching. No big deal – I waved to the driver of the PT Cruiser to pull into the gas station parking lot across the street. The dude took off instead. What a jerk.

I filed a police report the next day and called my insurance - State Farm - to file a claim. State Farm sent me to a reputable auto body shop near my home and I paid the $500 deductible. They covered a rental car and my insurance rates didn’t go up. Overall, a fine experience. Nothing to get excited about, but I was glad they made it as simple as possible for me to get my car fixed.

The next incident involved my friend who was driving my car in LA traffic and, as usual, was texting. She crashed into the car in front of her. My bumper was a bit scratched up, but nothing gigantic. She and her friend washed and polished my car and brought it back to me with sincere apologies. No big deal. That’s what bumpers are for. Ha.

My car was just fine for several months after that. Until I parked in a family member’s driveway in front of the garage while I was visiting. When I woke up the next morning, there was a note on the fridge that said something like… “I’m sorry, I didn’t see your car when I was leaving and crashed into it.” Oh, man. I checked the damage and it was a smashed-in door on the passenger side. Same side as the hit and run incident near LAX. Well… that was a bummer.

Lucky for me, my family member has AAA insurance and they were lovely to deal with. The insured person called AAA, then AAA called me, sent me to a reputable auto body shop near my home, worked out my rental car and I barely lifted a finger before I got my car back in beautiful condition.

This last crashing incident was not pleasant at all. Someone with Geico Insurance crashed into my car and wrecked the driver’s side door and front fender. I thought – no big deal. I’ve been through this before. But I was wrong. I hadn’t dealt with Geico Insurance before.

They called me after the insured person contacted them and did an interview – the typical “what happened?” to make sure the stories aligned between parties. Then they told me I needed to make an appointment to go see their adjuster to get a quote for fixing my car. What a pain – can’t they just take the quote from one of their approved auto body shops? Nope. I have to go see them. On a week day. During regular business hours.

I wondered aloud on the phone if Geico realized that people have jobs have a hard time taking time off to deal with this stuff. She was unsympathetic and told me, again, when their next available appointment was. I made an appointment at their place in a scary neighborhood of Oakland and the guy who assessed the damage to my car was pleasant. That’s the only nice thing I’ll be saying about Geico Insurance. The estimator was pleasant.

He handed me the estimate for fixing the damages and asked if I knew where I wanted to take my car. I thought I’d just take it to the same place that fixed it the last time and told Mr. Estimator the name. He said okay, that’s fine. If they take the door off to fix it and see any more damage, they can contact us to have us pay the difference. Geico would be sending me a check for the amount on the estimate. Have a nice day.

I was confused. I asked why they wouldn’t just deal directly with the auto body shop for payment… that’s what State Farm and AAA did and it seemed to work just fine. He told me that’s just the way Geico does it and asked me when I’d be taking my car in to get fixed. I told him I guess I should wait until I have the check from Geico, at least. Then, I waited for check to arrive in the mail.

Several days later, I had the Geico Insurance check, deposited it in my account, and went over to the auto body shop with my crashed car. By the time I had heard from Geico, to the time when I’d been able to skip out on work to see the estimator, to the time when I received the check and deposited it at my bank, I had been driving around with a door that was broken for a few weeks. I was mildly annoyed, but still had a sense of humor about the whole thing.

The guy at the auto body shop took my Geico estimate and let me know I’d have my car back in super shape in 4 or 5 days. I went to pick up the rental car down the street and thought everything was going to be okay.

Until I received a voicemail from a Geico Insurance guy later that afternoon. He said something like… “Hi this is Ben from Geico Insurance. The body shop requested additional money for damage – brackets… etc. I wrote them a check for $505 to cover everything else. The only problem is that this is one of only two shops in the whole Oakland area that don’t agree to our labor rate. And unfortunately, when a shop doesn’t agree to our labor rate, you simply just have to pay the difference. Um, if you have any questions about that, just give me a call. My number is…”

What. What?!?!!

Geico, that isn’t cool. This guy casually mentions on a voicemail… Oh shoot. You’re going to have to pay for your car to be fixed when our client was 100% at fault.

I called Ben right back. He tried to convince me that the auto body shop is trying to hose me. I let Ben know that I’m not accustomed to dealing directly with payments to auto body shops when an insurance company is supposed to be covering the damages. And can he work out a solution, please? I asked him if I should have the auto body shop stop the work, get a tow truck, toss the car in all its parts onto the truck, and get it to an approved Geico shop. Nope, there aren’t any “approved” Geico shops. They just ask auto body shops that they deal with to agree to no more than $71/hour in this area. I guess that’s what they deem reasonable.

But Geico Insurance didn’t tell me any of this when I was taking my car in to get fixed. They didn’t tell me that the place I wanted to take my car was “One of only two shops in the whole Oakland area that don’t agree to our labor rate.” They also didn’t tell me that I’d need to pay for anything to get my car fixed.

I asked Ben to please just handle his job and figure out how to get my car fixed without me having to pay for anything. I really shouldn’t have to pay for damages when a Geico Insurance customer crashed into my car and they accepted responsibility for it.

But no – they left me with a bill for $366.00, payable in full to the auto body shop before they would release my car. I filed a claim with a place that takes care of insurance fraud, but I doubt that will go anywhere.

Somehow, Geico Insurance gets away with this stuff. They get away with taking advantage of people who their customers crash into. I wonder if they do this to their own customers as well. It’s true what people say – you really do get what you pay for.

I highly recommend AAA Insurance and State Farm Insurance to anyone who is looking to switch their policy. (my apologies to other “good” agencies out there. your people have not crashed into me yet, so I don’t know how well you operate.) In fact, if anyone out there has Geico Insurance now and is planning to crash into me anytime soon, please CALL ANOTHER INSURANCE AGENCY NOW. And switch. Pay the fifty or sixty extra dollars per term and drive around with some peace of mind.

If you are a Geico Insurance employee reading this, please make the check payable to Lailani Ali and send it to my home address. Also, you may want to look into working for one of the better insurance companies. They’ll probably treat you better too.

On the occasion of every accident that befalls you, remember to turn to yourself and inquire what power you have for turning it to use. ~Epictetus

2010-12-15T19:55:00.000-08:00

Only I could get a concussion while checking the mail.

The few people I've told about the mail incident earlier this week have reacted about the same. "I've never had a concussion.", "WHAT DID YOU DO THIS TIME???", "I have to hear this one."

Well. It isn't the first time I've had a concussion. Or the third, even.

My first concussion was the worst. I was in second or third grade, doing the super fun and daring "cherry drop" from the highest high bar on the playground. I did this stuff every day. Mom was always on my case for getting blisters on my hands from playing on the bars all the time.

Anyway. I fell directly on my skull. I saw stars and drew in my breath, held it, and let out an epic wail. I was more scared than anything - couldn't understand what had just happened or why I was still spinning.

That was my first concussion. My other ones haven't been so incredibly epic, but they have all been painful.

The mail incident was no exception. I was in a hurry to get to work, but I remembered that I was waiting for something to arrive by mail, so I tried my key in the lock. It didn't work. Rrrg. I just had that key made!

I ran (okay, walked swiftly) upstairs to grab my roommate's mail key just inside the door. My dog greeted me happily and I had to say goodbye to him yet again. Such an excitable pup.

Back downstairs, I opened the mailbox and saw a giant stash of envelopes and many totally FREE advertisements from retailers around our area. How lucky am I that they figured out I needed a new carpet cleaning company?

I had to get to work quickly and didn't want to upset my dog again, so I took everything out of the mailbox bent down to shove it into my briefcase, which I had put at my feet.

When I had fit everything in and zipped up the case, I proudly stood up, grinning to myself. Directly into the corner of my mailbox door. No longer smiling - I suppose gasping for air and squealing in pain at the same time makes smiling difficult - I had a seat on the steps nearby.

I checked for blood and found that I had at least not broken any skin. But I was dizzy and feeling a bit... not right. Definitely a concussion. From the mailbox.

Once again, my mother was proven right. I really should wear a helmet at all times.

There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul. ~Ella Wheeler Wilcox

2010-10-28T09:53:00.000-07:00

I’ve never wanted to visit New Orleans. There was nothing I wanted to see there, nothing I couldn’t catch on the news, if I ever watched the news. I stopped watching the news the night after the war on terror started. I remember sitting in a waiting room at Kaiser, watching the first bomb drop, balling. In a room full of people, wrecked and snotting everywhere.

I know my limits – what I can handle seeing and what I can’t. I didn’t think I could handle seeing the devastation of New Orleans post-Katrina. Up close and personal. It’s not that I want to be ignorant to what’s going on in the world. I’d just rather not have the visual, so I read the news. Thank goodness for Twitter or I’d feel like I live in a cave.

A few weeks ago, I landed at the New Orleans airport, feeling sick to my stomach. Not excited, not ready to party on Bourbon Street and collect beads. Certainly not looking forward to what I was about to see.

I am not often so surprised. The people of New Orleans are resilient. Happy, NICE, helpful, excited to share their stories, their rich history. A man named Dennis drove us around the French Quarter one night in a horse-drawn carriage and opened my eyes to so many beautiful things I’d missed while walking around the same area the night before. Gorgeous courtyards, hidden away! An entire river on the other side of the street! Real pirate bars with dueling pianos! Vampires in attics!

I spent the days in the lower ninth ward, where the whole town is going through major recovery. Still. All these years later. But they are recovering. There is more new construction on every block there than I have ever seen in a city before. A lot of houses are sitting, rotting away, empty. A lot of houses are brand new and gorgeous. More lots than not sit bare, where houses used to be. Such an incredible mix.

We stopped by an art shop after lunch one day, to see Dr. Bob. While we looked around at his funky signs with vintage beer bottle caps as frames, he told us all his story of Katrina. It was ugly. Difficult to hear.

The part of his story that I keep thinking back to is his description of the sound. After the hurricane, the city was silent. No leaves in the trees, blowing in the wind. No animals. No cars, no people. Nothing. Imagine that.

There was plenty of noise when I visited. Lots of music, tons of leaves on the trees, blowing in the wind. Cars whizzing by on roads full of pot holes. I’m glad I went to New Orleans. It’s a place that shows without question that determined people, no matter what challenges they face, will survive. They will find a way to laugh amidst destruction. They will help each other to rebuild their city and their lives. How refreshing.

I always wondered why somebody didn't do something about that. Then I realized I was somebody. ~Lily Tomlin

2010-10-15T16:18:00.000-07:00

Way back in my senior year of high school, I was forced to take a U.S. government class. It was only a semester, thank goodness. By the time I was a senior, I was completely finished with learning anything that required studying. The majority of my classes that year were super easy and/or filled with friends who I could goof off with. (Now I sound old and fuddy duddy. Who says goof off, anyway, besides my grandma?)

My U.S. government teacher was a super liberal. A bit of a hippie. Her hair was all frizzy and she wore long, flowing skirts. She spoke a lot about civil liberties and the great strides that people had made throughout the years to allow us all to be equal in the eyes of the law. I yawned a lot in class. Not that I had anything against civil liberties – I just wasn’t sure how any of it applied to me.

She finally grabbed my attention when she offered extra credit to students if we volunteered for any political party during the upcoming election. I thought it would be funny to get extra credit by volunteering for the Republican Party. I had no idea which party I identified with, but I knew this was the party my teacher detested.

My first day on the volunteer gig, I walked into a tattered-looking makeshift office in downtown Paradise, California. The room was filled with phones and little old ladies and men who probably had hair on their heads at one point in their lives. I was clearly a newcomer to a place where they had all been settled in for quite some time.

The woman who had talked to me on the phone earlier in the week greeted me at the door and showed me to an available seat. She handed me a script, a list of phone numbers, and told me the code to dial out (isn’t it always 9? Not so secret, is it?).

I sat there for hours, speaking in the most professional 17 year old voice I could manage while people on the other end of the line either listened intently or said nasty things about cold callers. I didn’t mind it at all. I was a part of something big. Something called extra credit. I really needed that.

In the end, I passed the government class (mom was pleased) and the Republicans took control of Congress (my teacher was not pleased). Even though I had no interest in politics and certainly didn’t want to do any homework, this volunteering gig for my government class was the eye-opener I needed.

Volunteering and seeing other people giving their time to a cause they believed in led me to the realization that there are some things worth sacrificing my sacred free time for. Calling every Republican-registered home phone number in Butte County for a couple of weeks inspired me to get involved in improving the world I live in.

I care a little bit more about politics now than I did as a high school student. I actually get a vote now, so that’s a bonus. A couple of people have knocked on my door to speak to me about local candidates and ask for my support. It’s so heartwarming to see these people out walking around, knocking on doors of houses in Oakland (BRAVE!) to selflessly support a cause they care about. I want to high five them all and shout “Well done!”, but they’re probably already a little nervous.

Danger can only be overcome by more danger. ~Greek Proverb

2010-09-29T16:01:00.000-07:00

My dog went to jail last weekend.

Alicia, Regis Danger and I were in Carmel for the weekend, enjoying the HOT weather, shopping, local eateries and lovely night life. It was my first time visiting and Regis had never been there before either. We stayed in Alicia’s family’s home on a quiet street near downtown. Walking distance to absolutely everything in the little seaside town.

Saturday afternoon, Alicia and I ventured out to have lunch at a cute little café with outdoor seating, followed by trying on some adorable dresses and things at one of the shops close by. Not wanting to cart my toy poodle around, we left him in the comfort of the house and gave him access to the fenced yard. Thinking he’d be fine on his own for a couple of hours.

Turns out, he had other plans. While sitting in the fitting room, trying to take a photo on my iPhone of a tiny little hat I’d just picked up for my nephew, I noticed 3 new voicemails from an unrecognized number. Generally, I’d wait maybe 4 or 5 days to listen, or until my voicemail told me it’s full again, but I had a few minutes to kill.

The second I heard “Carmel PD, calling about the poodle again” on voicemail, I dialed the number back. Clenching my jaw and trying not to make up horrific stories in my head about what had happened.

The lady gave me the good news – she had Regis Danger, all locked up and safe. I just needed to go to the station and pay a fine and take him out of there. At least he wasn’t smooshed on a road somewhere. Or eaten by a hawk or something.

When the officer came out to speak with me at the station, she told me he’d gotten out of the yard and was running around the street, barking at passers-by. Hmm. Bad dog. Then when she and her partner tried to catch him, he growled and barked at them. Such a vicious little guy. They tried coaxing him with treats, to no avail.

Finally, he ran back to the house where he’d escaped from and they caught him with a net. Hahaaa. I wish I had been there to see that. Apparently, once caught, he was a perfect little angel. Not a peep out of him. At least he knows when the gig is really up.

We took him home after we sprung him out of jail, grabbed a couple of books and some water, and went to the beach. I put him in the cold waves and laughed at him, running for his life. That made me feel better about the whole thing. It’s pretty funny to see a toy poodle battling the ocean. I’m a terrible disciplinarian.

A compromise is the art of dividing a cake in such a way that everyone believes he has the biggest piece. ~Ludwig Erhard

2010-08-06T11:30:00.000-07:00

There are certain things in my life that are necessary. Keeping toilet paper stocked up in the bathroom, wearing warm socks when it’s cold, flirting with cute old men, and eating cake on my birthday.

Last year, I was turning 32 on my birthday. Not really a big deal and I didn’t want a big, fancy party or anything. I was busy, not in a particularly good mood and had school that night anyway. All I wanted was to eat a piece of cake.

But, as it turned out, I forgot about needing cake until after class let out at 10pm. On my hour-long drive home, I decided a cupcake would do. The only place open that late that may possibly have cupcakes is a donut shop. They’re open 24 hours, so I pulled in to the parking lot at 11pm, tired but looking forward to my treat.

As I parked, I noticed 2 cop cars driving slowly through the parking lot, as if they were scoping the place out for a donut dash later. I laughed to myself about clichés and walked toward the door to the shop.

As I approached, I noticed a lady sitting in one of the chairs next to the door of the donut shop. But I remained focused, and tried the door. It was locked. I’m pretty sure I cocked my head to the side and looked confused – like how dogs do when they think they heard someone say “treat” or “outside”, but they aren’t quite sure.

The lady at the table said to me – Who are you?

I answered – I’m Lailani Ali.

She queried – Like you’re a big f@kng deal?

I answered – It’s by birthday today. That is a big f@kng deal.

Then, I tried the door again, peered inside through the glass. WHY are they closed? I want a cupcake! It’s my birthday and that’s kind of a big deal! Right?

The lady wasn’t done with me yet.

“I never got anything for my birthday. My sister – she got all the toys she wanted. Anything she wanted. She got dolls. I had to MAKE MY OWN rag doll.”

Oh… this is why the cops were in the parking lot and why the door to the 24 hour donut shop was locked. Bummer. No cupcake for me. I resigned myself to having an interesting exchange with a crazy person instead. Maybe a cupcake tomorrow. Sigh…

She continued – My sister got everything. I GOT NOTHING.

I replied – I was just trying to get myself a cupcake.

“YOU got a car for your birthday. I had to make my own toys.”

“Lady, I bought this car for myself. I think you’re confused.”

“YOU GOT EVERYTHING. I GOT NOTHING.”

“Well, I can see this isn’t going anywhere productive.”

I walked back toward my car as she continued to spout hatred at me for the unfairness our parents had, apparently, shown to us. I’m not that lady’s sister. She didn’t know this, though. Hopefully, that helped her to get some stuff off her chest.

I didn’t ever have that cupcake, even the next day. But I made up for it during my birthday week this year. I ate cake and ice cream for 3 days in a row.

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up. ~Anne Lamott

2010-07-31T13:27:00.000-07:00

My mother's family is full of fiercely independent, stubborn people. The majority of us will try everything we can to do something ourselves before asking for help. We put Ikea furniture together without looking at the instructions. We search on our own for the right button to push on the electronic equipment to make it work. We drive miles out of our way before looking up directions. Because we KNOW we can figure it out on our own.

And sometimes, we fall down. Sometimes, we suck it up and look at the complicated pictures on the Ikea papers that come with our new desk. We pull over and ask the guy at the gas station in the middle of nowhere how to get to the right highway.

We don't like it, but there comes a time when we just can't do it on our own. There is a stopping point to our wild freedom of independence. We can't always do what we want, how we want to do it. I can't believe I just wrote that and I'm letting it stay out there, in print. Staring at me. I want what I want, when I want it, how I want it. Makes my skin crawl to be aware that I can't always.... ugh.

I wasn't always this way. As an adolescent and teenager, I was lost. It's hard to grow up. Not something I would ever want to re-live. After school and on weekends, I would often sit in my room and just cry. It seemed that my life was a series of awfulness that would never end. Thank goodness for the solace of MTV and the strong presence of my grandma.

When I could no longer stand to be around myself, disgusted and depressed about whatever the latest dramatic event was, I'd put my sneakers on and walk over to my gram's house. She'd ask me what was going on and I'd spill it. Everything. I knew she didn't like a lot of what she heard, and she had no idea how to fix whatever was going on and I also knew she'd heard a lot worse from her own children.

She'd sit with me in her living room and share stories of her own childhood, of her motherhood, of her christian faith and all the trials that people in the bible had gone through. All of life's troubles make us stronger. We learn when we fail. We become more empathetic to others when we have been to rock bottom. Understanding awfulness helps us to relate to others and to make fewer mistakes - or at least, not to repeat our mistakes. Sometimes.

When I went to see Gram in the hospital yesterday, after her second stroke in a month, and she had a hard time remembering who I was, and then laid there, clutching the rail on her bed, whimpering in pain and closing her eyes, I wanted to leave. I wanted so badly to get up and walk away. It was too painful to see this woman who I have always known to be tough and kind and almost angelic - lay there, completely helpless.

I pinned myself to the chair at her bedside and willed myself to stay there. Not because I could do anything to help her. Not that she really cared that this woman who seemed to know her was, for some reason, staring at her and saying meaningless words, but because I realized that she probably felt the same much of the time when I showed up at her place after school, wrecked.

She wanted to help me when I was in need. She wasn't able to swoop me up and put me in a bubble and make everything better when I sat in the chair next to her and sobbed about teenager problems. But she never, ever asked me to leave. She never told me to suck it up and stop asking her to sit there with me when she'd rather be reading the paper.

The most valuable thing she did for me was to sit there in my presence. Not really understanding what I was going through, but proving that I mattered enough to her that she was willing to let me need her to be there.

After the nurses brought Gram's supper in last night and gave her medication for her pain, she was a little more responsive. Less terrified-seeming. I wondered, as I helped her get the food situated so that she could use the fork easily enough by herself, if there was any of that fire left in her. If she was really still in there at all.

When I went to cut another piece of her asparagus up and she shook her head at me - and proceeded to fork it into submission and make it work all by herself, I knew. She was determined to eat her supper herself. If it took her five times longer without help, she was going to do it.

That tough, independent woman is still there. My rock- the rock of eight grown children with their fiercely individualistic lives - may be confused and confined to a noisy and uncomfortable hospital, but she's very much the same woman she always was.

Later, her doctor stopped by and asked her about her therapy for the day. How'd it go? He got a blank look in return. She didn't reallly know what he was saying. He asked again - Did you get through any of it today? Did you do anything in therapy? She shook her head, no. He told her that her brain would come back in a couple of days. That she needed to keep trying. She nodded her head, understanding this time.

A little while after he left, between bites of pineapple where she'd scrunch up her face, surprised each time by the taste, she'd furrow her brow and press her temple. She kept pushing on it, over and over, then she'd move to the middle of her forehead, as if to say - hurry up, brain! Then, she'd take another bite and do it again. Impatient and persistent. She wants her brain back now. She's in there, desperately trying to forge her way through a fog.

It's comforting to know that, even if someday I find myself in the same place, my roots are as deep as hers. My personality may fade and my physical functions may not cooperate, but I'll always have what she gave me and the rest of our family. Determination. Stubbornness, independence that will not allow us to give up. Not even in the face of the seemingly impossible.

It won't be a miracle if she finds her way back to some kind of normalcy. It will be the same thing that introduced us all to improperly built Ikea desks, unfamiliar back roads in weird little towns off the wrong highway and absolutely unique, unexpected experiences. I am thankful for my stubbornness and for the woman who taught us all the beautiful art form of going the wrong way.

Every tree and plant in the meadow seemed to be dancing, those which average eyes would see as fixed and still. ~Jalal ad-Din Rumi

2010-06-21T22:43:00.000-07:00

It was December when my friend Melissa found out that we could go to Yosemite for a 3 day, 2 night all-inclusive New Years party at a lodge for a low, low price. It was 10 minutes later that I had booked a room for 4. Plus our 2 dogs were allowed to come.

Between the parties with live bands and all you can drink beer, the four of us headed out to tour around the national park. There is an ice skating rink, lots of snow and some pretty incredible cliffs with water streaming down. There is also a meadow.

We had heard about a football game going on with all of the partiers from our lodge in a meadow all afternoon, but we forgot the name of it. The meadow. So Austin pulled into a hotel parking lot and Melissa went inside to ask the doorman if he knew where the meadow was.

Her conversation makes me double over laughing every time I think of it.

Melissa: Do you know where the meadow is?
Doorman: Ma'am, this is a national forest. There are dozens of meadows.
Melissa: There's a football game going on at one of the meadows - maybe... where is the biggest meadow?
Doorman: Blank stare.
Melissa: Well, is there, like, a "Special" meadow?

She got nowhere with this strategy and came back to the car, a little perturbed, and told us all what happened. I think maybe Alicia tore a stomach muscle and I snorted a hole in my nose from laughing so hard. Not at Melissa - not really. But at all of us, collectively. Not even one of us thought it may be futile to ask where "the meadow" is in Yosemite.

A good friend is a connection to life - a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world. ~Lois Wyse

2010-04-21T18:16:00.000-07:00

It was late in the evening several weeks ago that I got a message on Facebook from a former classmate in my MBA program.

Richard B: Got ya a lil somethin'... hope you'll like it! Just gotta get it to ya!!!

Me: Is it bigger than a bread box?

Richard B: Well... it wouldn't fit in a bread box!

Me: Oh man, I dig surprises. When would you like to bestow this gift on me?

So began a scavenger hunt through Ventura County a few nights later. I ended up at Junkyard Cafe in Simi Valley. What a cool place!

I walked in and asked for the waitress whose name I was given during the clue-finding part of the scavenger hunt. She asked me what my favorite beer is. YES! They have Coors Light. The Silver Bullet. The best beer in the world. (Unless you're in Belgium... Lucky Belgians)

So, I began to wonder if I'd just trekked all the way up to northern Ventura County for an ice cold beer when the waitress handed over what Richard B. had left there for me earlier in the day.

And it suddenly all made sense.

I laughed out loud and smiled bigger than I had in weeks as my mind raced through how completely and totally awesome Richard B. is for doing this. Months prior - 3, to be exact, he sent me this photo with a note that said - "Bummer, they name a street after you and spell your name wrong."

I, of course, want that sign. I would hang it in my room, like I always wanted to do with name-engraved things as a kid. There just aren't any pre-made "Lailani" anythings. Anywhere. But this- it was close enough. So I replied to Richard B. "How much of a fine would you get if you were caught stealing that for me?"

He would probably know because of the job he has. He's an upstanding citizen, very respectable. Of course I didn't expect him to go climb up a street sign with a heavy duty screw driver (probably in the middle of the day. ha.) and take this thing down for me. I certainly didn't expect him to then send me on a scavenger hunt, leaving it, along with a beer at a restaurant decorated with old signs, tires, duct tape, and the like.

Thoughtful doesn't do this justice. EPIC WIN does this justice.

As I sat in the restaurant with sign in hand, sipping the Silver Bullet, I thought - How incredible. Right now, someone, somewhere in the world is thinking about me. Biggest smile ever.

It's the hardest thing in the world to go on being aware of someone else's pain. ~Pat Barker

2010-03-12T13:43:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I was driving down an alley in Venice Beach, California in the middle of the day. It's a lively area. People walking their dogs, riding their bikes, selling their wares. Lots and lots of people playing outside, even at 11am on a Thursday.

As I approached a cross street in the alley, I noticed movement at street level. I stopped my car and stared. It was an adult male, rolling back and forth in a dried-up planter. Writhing, covering his head.

A woman who was jogging with her pit bull glanced over and kept going. Three young adults kept their conversation going as they moved along, past the writhing man in the planter.

I sat in my car. Stopped. Stared. Wondering if I should offer assistance. Six months ago, I would have been up and out of my car and by his side without thinking. But I have recently given myself some guidelines to follow when interacting with possibly intoxicated strangers.

I have a tendency to hug homeless crack heads on the street and to make sure drunks laying on sidewalks outside of bars aren't going to pass out and drown in their own vomit. I have been chastised by more than one bar bouncer for speaking to homeless people and a couple of friends have advised me to be more careful. It has become apparent to me that this is not "normal" behavior. Mine, not the crack heads and drunks.

People walk on by, don't stop to help other humans. While I can understand this may be a safety issue in certain situations, it isn't always. I'm trying to understand the common thread that keeps "normal" people from treating strangers as they would a friend in need.

It hasn't happened yet.

Anyhow, the guy in the planter. He eventually stopped rolling back and forth. He sat up suddenly. Dirty and shaking his head as if he just woke up. Like he wasn't sure how he got there. There are no words to express how much I wanted to offer him a hug. Hugging always makes me feel more okay with the world. Human connection. It helps.

I didn't hug him. I drove on by. And now I wonder about the people who walked and jogged and biked and drove by this man while he was writhing in a planter on the street. Did they feel anything? Did they even notice? Is this a normal occurrence in that neighborhood? HOW COULD THEY JUST KEEP GOING?

Not that my solution would have helped much. I mean, the guy is probably wasted on drugs or liquor or a combination of both. And what good would a hug really do a person who may be thisclose to an overdose?

But still. Still, I couldn't just move along, like he wasn't even there.

The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been. ~Madeleine L’Engle

2010-02-17T16:55:00.000-08:00

I have a wrinkle that occasionally drives me to distraction. Yes, “A” wrinkle. I have others that cause me no distress. Just this one- it is deep and curvy and really quite prominent on my face.

There are days when I find myself focusing on this wrinkle and touching it and wondering if it LOOKS as gigantic as it FEELS. When I brush my hand against my face, I feel as though I have just dived head-on into the Zambezi River gorge. While I do love rafting the Zambezi, I do not love to have this gorge of a wrinkle being the first thing that someone notices when they look at me.

After going through yet another cursory Internet search of minimally invasive cosmetic procedures, I realize that I don’t want to fake looking young. I don’t really even want people to focus on my youth. I’d rather have people focus on my sparkly personality and/or my obvious genius. Shoot. I just spelled genius wrong. Thank you, spell check.

A middle aged man once told me that our culture (American, I believe) has some screws loose. We look at old buildings- centuries old. We stand in awe of their beauty. We take photos of them and share them with friends and attach notes to the effect of: Look at how gorgeous this 350 year old building is! But we don’t have the same appreciation for the face of an old woman.

We should be more focused on the structural beauty of a person, just as we focus on the structural beauty of a thing. For today, then, I am going to listen to my elders and leave the Zambezi River gorge to bask in its glory and live as a reminder that I smile often.

So long as the memory of certain beloved friends lives in my heart, I shall say that life is good. ~Helen Keller

2010-02-01T15:20:00.000-08:00

Last week while driving to work, I thought of something that my best friend Jenny would have found funny. I heard her laugh in my head, bright and clear. I smiled and laughed with her.

Of course, she wasn't in the car with me- it's just my memory paired with my imagination coming in loud and clear. Jenny has long since passed into the great unknown world after life. My imagination hasn't really fizzled out like my second grade teacher always hoped for. I still daydream when left without a distraction for more than 30 seconds at a time.

My daydream, after I heard Jenny's laughter at my thought, turned grey. Darkish - but with an almost fairytale feeling to it. There I was, looking at all of my friends and family at my memorial service.

Of course, there were tears. Masses of them. It's my daydream and I want to be missed, so there were even wild sobs from the corner grocer and from my dog groomer. Poor Regis- left without his doting guardian, she would think. And sob some more. A solemn neighbor would hand her a tissue and she'd snot into it.

But I don't actually think a memorial service for me would be quite so dreary. Even though I'd want people to grieve their hardest if I was ripped from this world unwillingly, they'd probably have a hard time doing so without a memory of my laugh tossed in here and there. I laugh a lot. Loudly, and with (occasional) snorting. Toss my head back and roar when the need arises.

How could anyone sit through an entire memorial service in my honor without at least a little giggle? Not because they aren't sad that I'm gone, but because they would remember something about me- some experience we'd had - like one of the million times I ran into a wall while engrossed in a serious conversation. Walls are hard and it hurts terribly to walk right into them at full speed, but I laugh at myself every time.

Whatever happens, if I must leave this world before you, I hope that you remember me for my laugh. And for the way I made you laugh.

Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself. ~George Bernard Shaw

2009-12-24T14:20:00.001-08:00

Where did the time go? It feels like days have gone by since this time last year when I was splashing around beaches in South Florida with my sister. Not months, certainly not an entire YEAR. It's true what people say- time flies when you're having fun. Also, when you're growing older. Hopefully, I have grown to be more wise along with my aging over this past year.

I thought this would be a great time to reflect on some significant, life-changing events of 2009. I've been putting it off since the year is not actually over. Just about anything could happen in the few days remaining. Which is a good start to this reflection - any thing can happen. I plan and strategize and envision what my life will be over the coming hours, weeks, months, ahead, but stuff happens the way it wants, not the way I want. Well, sometimes it does.

This year, I:

Became a 2nd-time Aunt to a gorgeous little boy. Max. He is adorable and tiny and I cannot wait to hear his little laugh. Soon. Max moved to Texas from San Diego recently. I wish I could see him more.

Finished my MBA. What a relief to be done with that. So many late nights, spent at a keyboard, staring at a screen that wouldn't just learn to fill in data with what the syllabus asked for. I had to research and write, write, write. SOoooo much writing. Which is probably why I blogged less than half as often this year as I did last. But now it's done. Yay!

Placed in 2 darts competitions. My gold medal and my 2nd place MVP medals were celebrated more joyously than my degree. Which leads me to wonder if I'm all about short term goals. Hmm.

Spent about 1/4 of my weekends in Northern California. I decided late in 2008 that I wanted to live in San Francisco. I'm a native Northern Californian, so you may think that this would be an easy change- plus, it's just a hop skip and jump from where I live now. But it's tremendously intimidating to think about leaving my little safety net in Southern California. Don't worry, Bay Area. I'm feeling much more brave toward the new year. You'll have me full time soon.

Travelled to faraway lands. What would you do if you got an all-expenses paid 6 month vacation? I went to South Africa and Costa Rica. I finally rediscovered the joy that had left me sometime last year. It came back ferociously, with so much energy that I am still riding the wave. Thank you, former employer, for granting me this wish. I will be forever grateful.

I've thought a lot about making resolutions for the new year. I didn't have any this year and it turned out pretty well. But I think I may need at least a few guiding lights to follow to get me safely through the unknown. I'll have to think about that more.

For now, I'm off to enjoy a family-filled holiday and put my dog in his new red satin dress. He is going to be very upset with me.

If there are no stupid questions, then what kind of questions do stupid people ask? Do they get smart just in time to ask questions? ~Scott Adams

2009-12-03T14:50:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I was standing outside my hair dresser's salon, saying goodbye and flipping my freshly-dyed locks around in the wind, when her next client came over to say hello. What was said next is the primary topic of this story (well, that and my shiny blonde hair).

The client says to my hair dresser Ali: Alex wanted me to tell you he left his cell phone in your car.

Ali says: Who is Alex?

The client says: Your roommate. You just dropped him off on your way to work.

Ali says: Ohhhh!!! Oh yeah!

I say: Ali, it sounds like you have a case of the D-U-M syndrome.

Ali says: What's that?

Oh, Ali. How we laughed. Not just because she didn't get what D-U-M syndrome was in reference to right away, but also because she has a history of not being able to interpret obvious three letter acronyms/words. It was just last year when the topic of W-M-D left us in stitches after she'd finished changing my haircolor from ruddy brown to some semblance of blonde.

I can hardly wait until my next appointment- I may try to use lots more fancy words while I'm there to catch her reaction. Maybe I'll start with saying B-Y-E on my departure and see if she asks what I mean by that.

Give me a fish and I eat for a day. Teach me to fish and I eat for a lifetime. ~Chinese Proverb

2009-10-30T09:39:00.000-07:00

I met Naomi and her mom Samantha at a McDonalds in Ventura County after work one day just over 2 years ago. We were all a little nervous- just starting out with a program that was new to all of us. I introduced myself to them both- I was Naomi's tutor, assigned as a volunteer by School on Wheels.

It was a rough start. Naomi had started kindergarten that month and had very little interest in structure or in sitting still for more than 28 seconds at a time. I had never taught a child before. But we worked through it- I crawled on the floor with her to play memory games with numbers. We hopped from one color to the next on a rug. I put hundreds of post-its with letters up on the library wall and we made words together. She learned to read. She learned to tell time. She learned to concentrate for up to 45 seconds. She still has not learned WALK don't RUN in the library.

I have learned a lot working with Naomi. I have learned that it does not matter WHAT I teach her. Just that I show her that I believe in her and that someone outside of her family will dedicate their time to ensuring her success.

I have learned that people who live in poverty need someone to believe in them. They need hope. They absolutely positively need to see that they are not forgotten. That the dreams they secretly plan for, then squash when reality kicks in- Those dreams can be real.

In learning this, I realized that I need to do more. To offer my support and encouragement and dedication to more people who need to feel hope in order to prosper.

When my friend Melissa brought up her idea for a charitable organization that does just this- creates learning opportunities for entire communities in need- I was on board immediately. Couldn't stop thinking of the possibilities. That was earlier this year.

Today, we have a plan of action. We have a website. We have team members and conference calls. We're going to make a difference. A big one.

Lighting Up The Sky will take on its first project next year. We're going to build a school garden and teach kids along the way about architecture, design, agriculture, food policy, nutrition, project management. We're going to give these kids a business to run and teach them about sustainability. They're going to own something. To see that their hard work and dedication led to something healthy and created a connection with their community.

I can't imagine what I'll learn along the way. I never expected to be involved in a non profit at this level. For years, I was happy doing my part with a few hours per month of volunteering. There is something so compelling, though, about being a part of someone else's success. About seeing a person who had little hope suddenly with a sparkle in their eye- when that glimmer of hope becomes real, it's almost tangible.

In a few weeks, we should be fully up and running with more information about our first project and more "About Us" and things on our website to click on. For now, stay tuned... and visit: www.lightingupthesky.org

I've learned that people will forget what you said,people will forget what you did,but people will never forget how you made them feel. ~Maya Angelou

2009-10-06T22:06:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday in church, I sat next to an elderly gentleman.

When it came time to sing a song from the book, I opened it to the appropriate page and leaned over to share with him, as he didn't seem to have a song book. He leaned in real close and spoke softly, but firmly in my ear: I don't sing, and you should be happy about that.

I responded- I'll sing quietly. Consider it a favor.

When the service was at its end, we all joined hands, as is the church tradition, and sang one last tune together. When he grabbed my hand, I felt instantly safe. It took me back to all of the times I grabbed onto my grandfathers' hands and held tight. I knew I was safe with them.

I don't go to church every Sunday. Sometimes, I go to church when I'm worried about something. When I need guidance or a sense of community. A sign from above that says: THIS WAY TO SAVE YOUR ASS.

This Sunday, I was there because I was afraid. Scared out of my mind.

My sister and her family are leaving California at the end of the month. They're off to Texas- my brother in law will be working there for the next three years. Charlene and I have always been very close. We're 13 months (and a day) apart and she has been within driving distance from me for my entire adult life.

Charlene is the closest person on the planet to me. I have relied on her and fought with her and laughed with her during every major joyful time and definitely cried with her during every great sorrow.

I can tell when she is upset. When she is sick and doesn't want to ask for help. She's tough. She plays a good game of telling me she's fine and not to worry- even to the point of getting upset with me about my prodding at times.

But then- then I show up at her house. What's she going to say at that point- I see that she's not okay and she'll feel even worse if she tries to send me away after I just drove for three hours to pry into her personal affairs.

Charlene is just as perceptive with me. She knows I put on my bravest face when I am the most terrified.

Charlene- remember that time on the bus, when we got lost and didn't know how to get to grandma & grandpa's house? You cried and I told the bus driver that the street was salt and pepper. It was Salk, but we got there. You always tell the story that I was giggly and happy the whole time while you cried. Guess what? I was fine only because I knew I had you there, with me, holding my hand. I knew I was safe.

I know that my sister will be fine in Texas. That she'll make new friends and that her loving, adoring, big strong manly husband won't let anything bad happen to her. And I know that her two wonderful children will keep her busy.

But I hope that she remembers to call me all the time to check on me. Yes, she can see that I project a confident, successful, happy image to the world. She sees right through it. She knows what I'm afraid of and how often I cry over silly things that most people wouldn't give a second's thought to.

And sometimes, Charlene, know that I will show up at your doorstep with a big cowgirl grin on my face when I can tell you're keeping something from me. If you are hurting, sad, angry, feeling helpless, I know you won't tell me. But I'll be able to tell. Even several states away. You might as well keep the sofa bed made up for me.

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes. ~Marcel Proust

2009-09-29T10:25:00.000-07:00

Volcan Arenal is a massive fiery mountain in Costa Rica. The reason I know it's massive is because you can drive around the base of it for hours and get nowhere near to the other side.

My friend Jacinta and I were staying in La Fortuna, lounging in the hot springs at Baldi Resort for an entire day. We had big plans of driving out to the volcano that heats the spring water later that night. Several other travelers at the bar wanted in on our plans.

After basking in the glorious pools all day, we were ready for a little adventure. Just as it got dark, we grabbed a map from the resort's receptionist, piled into 2 cars and were off to find hot lava in the night.

As it turns out, we got lost. Shocking for those who have known me for more than five minutes, I realize. I could make all kinds of excuses- about how there aren't any street signs in Costa Rica and how it was dark and how the map LIED and how people in Costa Rica are so nice that they'll guess and give you the wrong directions rather than sending you away empty-handed. I'm especially long-winded when making excuses for myself.

All of those reasons don't change the fact that our two-car caravan drove for an hour and a half over dark and dangerous semi-roads to get precisely nowhere. We couldn't find the other side of the volcano.

But all was not lost. We knew that we could go up to the mountain-top observatory and see the lava from there if the clouds cooperated and went high up into the sky. And so we re-traced our steps back toward the town of La Fortuna and the mountain top observatory.

The travelers in the other car became weary when we pulled off onto yet another rocky, one-lane, dark and deserted mountain road. They wanted nothing more than to go back to their comfortable hotels and skip the view of lava.

We convinced them to just go the 3 more miles it would take to finally have a chance at the view we'd been looking for over the past hour and a half. So they followed. Up the road, over a creek, and to a gate. A locked one. With security. Dang. It was too late at night for visitors and no amount of begging was going to get us in.

All we wanted was a view of hot, red, burning matter, rolling down a mountain side and burning everything in its path. Is that really too much to ask for on a Tuesday night? Guess so. The other travelers said good night to us shortly after being turned down to view the lava.

But Jacinta and I noticed something while driving back out to the main road from the observatory gate. A mini-volcano.

No, this one didn't have lava and it didn't make any gurgling noises and it certainly didn't heat up any natural springs nearby. Someone built their own volcano out there on the roadside. Maybe someone like us, disappointed in not being able to see the real thing.

So we got to see a volcano after all.

Being on par in terms of price and quality only gets you into the game. Service wins the game. ~Tony Alessandra

2009-09-08T11:03:00.000-07:00

During a recent trip to South Africa, I ran into a common issue during an airport transfer.I was flying on Northwest Airlines (soon to be merged with Delta) from LAX to Minnesota to Amsterdam and finally to Johannesburg. There was a two hour connection time in Minnesota- just enough time to savor my last domestic beer before switching to the local stuff of Africa for a week and a half.

But after we boarded the plane in Minnesota and taxied down the runway, the plane stopped. It was broken- some mechanical difficulty that might be fixable while we waited on the runway. Hmmmm... I've heard so many horror stories about people trapped together on planes for hours while these things took place. I was beyond worried. However, after just a little while, the pilot let us know that he'd be taking us back to the gate so we could wait it out there.

Well done, Northwest. Even if we had to wait for several hours, we could do it while stretching our legs and buying useless gadgets at the shops near the gate.

It turned out to be a four hour wait- they brought another entire plane in for us and loaded up all of our luggage (presumably) before we took off for Amsterdam. The problem I faced when we finally landed is that my connection to Johannesburg took off ten minutes prior to our arrival.

Dang. But KLM/Northwest got me on a flight to Frankfurt and I eventually made it to Joburg. Just twelve hours after my expected arrival time. No worries- I'd just grab my bags and head off for a fun-filled day with my friend in town.

No dice. During all of the transfers, the airline lost my luggage. Or rather, left in in Amsterdam. I was assured it would be delivered to my local address by that night and that they would reimburse me up to $75 dollars per day for replacement items.

Having nothing with me but my purse, a nightgown, toothpaste, and a toothbrush, I thought I'd need some essentials until at least the next day. I didn't end up getting my luggage until five days later in Cape Town. By then, I had done a bit of shopping every day during my trip. Luckily, I was in cities the entire time and boy, do South Africans have beautiful retail stores. I had no idea.

Before I left the country, I had to buy a piece of luggage to carry everything I'd purchased back home with me. Unfortunately, I left behind a pretty jacket that I had purchased for their wintery weather.After all that hassle of missed connections, napping in airports, and needing a shower so badly that it ached, I returned home and had a letter waiting in the mail from the Northwest customer service group. They apologized for the inconvenience I experienced during my trip and granted me 5,000 frequent flyer miles. I never once complained to the airline after my trip and yet, they sent me a letter that let me know they paid attention to their customers.

Now that is good customer service. If only they could send me that jacket I left behind in Cape Town... Are you listening, Northwest?

A new baby is like the beginning of all things-wonder, hope, a dream of possibilities. ~Eda LeShan

2009-08-19T11:30:00.000-07:00

My nephew Maxwell Laeric Swearingen was born on August 5, 2009.
I got a call from my mom at 4:30 in the morning to let me know that everyone was heading to the Naval hospital in San Diego for my sister Charlene's birthing process. Weary-eyed and excited, I packed up a few things, grabbed my pup, and headed out for the 3 1/2 hour drive to Oceanside. I had great work to do this day.

Charlene has a precious toddler by the name of Madelyn who would surely be bored to tears and fits if she had to remain in the hospital waiting room all day with her grandma. Not that my mom is boring- it's just that waiting rooms are not generally full of toys and cartoons and dogs and pizza.

When I arrived at my sister's house, Mom transferred babysitting duty to me for the remainder of the day.

Luckily, I know what this child's favorite things are: Barney, juice, running, laughing, jumping, and legos. I was more than prepared to handle my task.
Several hours and a nap later, my nephew joined everyone else in the hospital room. My sister reportedly did very well throughout the painful process and her husband Tory didn't cry. He promises- it was just all the dust in the room. Says they should clean more often. It's a hospital, after all! Outrage, I tell you.

Mom came back up north once again to collect Madelyn and I and introduce us to our new family member. He is so small, so perfect. So... ah. And he pooped for the first time a few minutes after we got there. We are an inspiring bunch.
After an hour or so at the hospital, Mom, Madelyn, and I went back to Charlene and Tory's house and stayed the night. The next day, the whole bunch came home and got settled.

I am so excited to see what kind of boy Maxwell turns into. Will he be WILD and energetic like Madelyn, or will he be calm, cool, and collected? Only time will tell. Until then, I look forward to hearing his little cries and eventually his little giggle. I love baby giggles.

If you're bored with life - you don't get up every morning with a burning desire to do things - you don't have enough goals. ~Lou Holtz

2009-08-04T17:12:00.000-07:00

I've officially been unemployed for over a month now.

It feels DELIGHTFUL to sleep in until 10am and to take off on a road trip at a moment's notice. I have the time and energy to devote to a project that I truly believe in. Spending my days where I choose and how I choose is incredible.

That said, eventually, I will have to work again. Money is completely necessary, though not a huge driver for whatever I end up doing next.

Oh- the lack of job. Right. I haven't really discussed it in a public forum yet. The company that I worked for went through yet another reduction in force. I was working in a department that bounced around from one kind of organization to another and nothing was really working with the current set-up. They had to re-organize the whole department anyhow and being in communications, I wasn't as critical a team member as, say, the guy who was building system architecture and other fancy stuff.

So I got laid off and was super excited about it. The very second I got the news, I began running through everything that I have been meaning to do, but didn't have the time for. Then, I went to Santa Cruz, South Africa, San Diego, back to the Bay Area, and now I'm off to Costa Rica.

I'll spend just five days on the beach with my Australian friend Jacinta, soaking up sunshine and chatting up the locals in my favorite place on Earth (I haven't been everywhere yet. Just my favorite so far). I'll return in time for my little sister's wedding and then I'm off for a camping trip in the desert for a week, then off to Provo for my grandma's birthday party.

Then... home... please....

I've heard a lot of people talk about how boring being unemployed can be. I beg to disagree.

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances. If there is any reaction, both are transformed. ~Carl Gustav Jung

2009-07-29T14:02:00.000-07:00

A long, long time ago in a faraway land (the San Fernando Valley), I was working in the office at a live audio company.

I had been living in Southern California for a couple of years, but hadn't made any lasting connections with girl friends. My focus on relationships was almost completely with my (now former) husband and my friends from childhood.

Growing up in a small town with the same people in the same places doing the same things year after year led me to think that making friends was simple. We just knew everyone and all of their business. It would have been difficult not to form friendships in a situation like that.

But the big city- well, it's different. I had no idea how to make new friends, really. I didn't even know that I missed it until my husband pointed out that I didn't have any friends. Well, that got me to thinking. I needed a plan.

Luckily, there was one other lady at my workplace under the age of 60. Carrie and I teamed up and decided that we'd be each other's best friend. Pretty simple solution to taking the first step, really. But there was just one problem. We didn't know ANY ladies in the area to grow our friendship network with.

This is where creativity and downright persistence came in. Carrie and I decided that we'd be friends with all of the girlfriends and wives of the guys we worked with. So we wrote a note for each of them to take home to their ladies one day. The notes were personalized and asked each of them to meet us for lunch at a local restaurant the following weekend.

Several of them actually showed up! We ate, we drank fancy vodka drinks, and we got their phone numbers. Ahhhh... a second step. Done.

With contact information in hand and the first meeting under our belts, we forged our way into their lives and their homes. One of the ladies even allowed us to come over for dinner on a regular basis. Abi's vegetarian Matzo ball soup is to DIE for.

From this tiny network of ladies, we grew more comfortable with making new friends and have both almost completely forgotten what it was like to be timid about meeting people. It's incredible to think back to those days when all we had was the two of us, scheming together to bring more fun into our lives.

The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak. ~Hans Hofmann

2009-07-21T15:06:00.001-07:00

There are times in my life when I feel like my goals are so vivid, so attainable, so... so far away.

I have too much to do. Too many choices. Incredible opportunities and yet, I find it difficult to find a starting point. Today, I find myself picking up a seemingly endless length of rope. Searching for the end of it. Just one end so that I can methodically pull myself through to the other end of it.

Then... wait! I found it. The starting point- and I grasped it and made a knot at the end so that I wouldn't lose it again. It's a challenge to get to the next step. To keep pulling through so momentum will whoosh me through the rest of it.

After doddling around for a bit, I remembered that sometimes, the best advice is to take your own. Something I said to a friend just yesterday that I care very much about:

At some point, you must MUST plant your feet firmly into the ground. For a week. For three weeks. Dig yourself a 2 foot deep hole in the sand. Stand in it and bury yourself to the ankles. Stand/sit there like that for an hour. No phone, no pup, no book, no friends, no drinks, no notebook with pen- ready to make lists, nothing but you feeling what it is to be "grounded". You will survive. I promise. And then you leave the beach and figure out what it is that you REALLY need to concentrate on, Ms. Eye of the Storm.
And then just do it. Like Nike, only with less sweat shoppy kind of labor, but with the same amount of spring in your step.

And so I go. Send rescue teams out if I'm not heard from by nightfall.

There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living. ~Nelson Mandela

2009-07-10T13:52:00.000-07:00

Do you ever ask yourself "what if"?

What if I had taken that chance? What if I had faced my fears? What if I hadn't let that opportunity pass me by?

Well, what are you waiting for?

Go- see what if. Chase your dreams. Take matters into your own hands instead of leaving things to figure themselves out. Or it may end up being too late.

What if today is your last day? What if this is your last month? What if you only have this moment. Right here. To make a decision- to take action. GO!!!

If you're still here, reading this, thinking... but- I can't possible do THAT. THAT which I think about every time I allow myself to relax. THAT thing that keeps me up at night. The very IDEA of it is crazy. Impossible even.

But really, think about it. What are your excuses and your hesitations built on? Is it reality or is it expectations? If you find that the "what if" isn't everything you hoped for, at least you will know. You will be able to focus on a new dream. Something even better.

Find joy in places you least expected it.

Fate loves the fearless. ~James Russell Lowell

2009-06-21T23:40:00.000-07:00

Late Saturday night, after an all day birthday party for my friend Melissa, a few of us took a stroll down to the beach in Capitola.

We walked in the cold sand and climbed onto a lifeguard tower and chatted for a long time. Talking about the party, birthdays, relationships, hopes and dreams. Melissa walked us over to the edge of the water and coaxed us into reaching our arms all the way out to the sides to take in the ocean air and to feel the wind while yelling out wishes into the sky. I forget what I wished for, but I'm pretty sure it will come true. It was a fun, magical moment.

The three of us ladies walked back toward the street and had stopped on the sidewalk to clear the sand off our feet when a man came and sat down on the low wall near to us. He had just come from the bar on the same block - he said hello and we sent him a warm greeting right back.

Then, Melissa says- I've met you. A couple of years ago, we were at a bar and you bought me 5 glasses of wine! I remember because your girlfriend was Melissa too. In small towns like Capitola, you're bound to run into the same people many times over.

It was getting late and it was cold. The man had told us that he lived right across the street, so I told them all that if we were going to keep chatting, we'd have to invade his apartment. We got inside and Melissa located his iPod and speaker system. We had a great conversation in his cozy apartment and it got even later in the night.

We said our goodbyes and walked home, feeling happy and refreshed and glad that we aren't afraid to talk to strangers.

Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness. ~Seneca

2009-06-08T09:32:00.001-07:00

The nicest people in the United States live in Georgia.

I was visiting my good friend Benay a couple years ago at his home in Atlanta. I've always wanted to see the great state of Georgia from a local's point of view and he did not disappoint as my tour guide.

Everywhere we went, people were so gracious and so kind. They held doors open for me and genuinely cared that I was comfortable and happy. It was a huge cultural difference from my home state and those I've visited.

My second day on the trip, Benay drove us down to Savannah. Just after we checked into a hotel, I ran into one of the maids on the elevator. She surprised the heck out of me when she said she'd catch the next one so I didn't have to smell her cleaning products on the cart. It was just me in the elevator, so it's not like it was too crowded or anything. I insisted that she get on and that I wouldn't mind. She thanked me and wheeeled her cart in while assuring me that if I need anything while I'm staying, just call the front desk and anyone will be happy to help.

I was feeling overloaded with the love and kindness offered to complete strangers by the locals. Overloaded in a good way though. It was incredible.

We decided to catch a boat for a ride up and down the river that runs through Savannah. Just when we got in line to board the boat, the sky opened up and began to pour. I guess it's a pretty common occurrence in the area because most people had umbrellas at the ready and just popped them open.

We weren't so prepared. Neither of us were too concerned about getting soaked. We could just go back to the hotel and change after the boat ride if we needed to.

But the gentleman standing in line ahead of us with his wife saw us without an umbrella and aimed to remedy the situation. He handed Benay his umbrella with a word to him that we should share it and hugged in close to his wife so they could share hers. The man gave up his umbrella because he saw that we were without one.

Can you imagine how much this world would benefit if people were just a little bit more kind to each other?

We cannot hold a torch to light another's path without brightening our own. ~Ben Sweetland

2009-06-02T16:14:00.000-07:00

I was out celebrating in downtown Ventura last month. I had just taken the gold medal in a darts competition and wanted to share my joy with the world. Or at least with the few people who were lucky enough to cross my path that night. I headed to a fancy Italian place that always has a live band in the evenings.

The band was playing some excellent classic rock and there was a cushiony seat right up front, next to a gentle-looking baby boomer who had a full beer. It looked like he'd had a few already. I beamed as I crawled between the table and the seat to plop down next to him and take in the scene.

Between sets, we chatted. He owns a machined parts shop locally and does every single piece by hand. This economy is killing him- he's all by himself in the shop now because he can't even afford a staff. People just don't want to spend the extra money for manual lathe anymore.

My friend who had made his way to the other side of our comfy seat by now heard us chatting and piped in- he's looking for someone to complete a custom prototype for him. He's going to get three of them made, show the design to investors, and have thousands of parts made as soon as he's got funding.

My seat-neighbor looked despondent. He doesn't have the machines to produce what my friend is looking for. But he may know somebody. I ask him what his email address is so that these two can get in touch and make a connection. People who know people do this all the time... but not this guy.

He launches into a tirade about "Why do I need email? If you want to get ahold of me, call the shop phone or drop by. Write me a letter. Drop a note in the mail. Why does everyone want to just talk on email these days?"

Oh... I say "You really need to think about all of the tools available to you and your business. You say that your business is failing. It could be that other shops are offering online quotes. They have some kind of internet presence. You need one to operate competitively."

He continues, as if he hadn't heard a word of what I'd said "I just don't understand it. What's wrong with just picking up the phone?"

I'm not going to get through to him. Not tonight- especially not through the beers that had talked to him before me. But I'm feeling so bright and shiny and gold medally, I still want to help him to help my friend with the prototype.

I ask "Do you have a business card with your phone number on it? Maybe if my friend called you tomorrow, you could give him a good local reference of someone who can make the parts."

He's visibly anxious now "I've never had business cards. Everyone around here who needs what I have just knows how to get ahold of me. I'm in the yellow pages. My shop is up there on XX street. Just drop by or look me up in the book."

We talk some more and it seems EVERYone has been pestering him about getting online, getting a cell phone, getting cards printed up. Getting connected. I wanted so badly to talk to him more about it, but the band started clearing out and I realized it was a week night. I still had to work in the morning.

My seat-neighbor and I said goodnight. I wished him well with his business and reminded him that if he wanted to see a change for the better with his business, HE would have to be the one to make it happen. The bad economy can only be blamed so much.

I wish I could email him a reminder to get connected or be forgotten.

Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. ~Rachel Carson

2009-05-26T20:29:00.000-07:00

I grew up in gorgeous foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains in Northern California. Nature and I have always had a close relationship. I ruined many of my clothes while playing in the same red clay dirt that the Maidu native Californians used so long ago to build their homes.

Paradise is a small, sleepy town that is spread out enough that your neighbors are generally a little more than a rock's throw away. Lakes and rivers and seasonal creeks are abundant. Activities for kids and teenagers are not so abundant.

We had to be creative about our weekends and after-school fun time hours. One of my favorite things to do was to drive out to the middle of nowhere just to stare up at the stars and talk with friends about our hopes and dreams.

One of these nights, my friend Matt and I drove up to Paradise Lake and, over a 20 minute period, the entire area was completely fogged in. Fog in the mountains is thick- you can't see more than a couple of feet in front of you sometimes. This was one of those times.

Luckily, Matt and I weren't in a hurry, so we just sat there and listened to the silence. There is something about fog over water that I never knew until that night. Sounds carry. Out of nowhere, we heard people talking like they were sitting right next to us, but we hadn't heard another car pull up.

Rather than being frightened, we were intrigued.
Matt yelled- "Hey! Who is that?"
Mystery man voice yelled back- "Whoa! I thought we were here alone!"
Matt responded- "Us too! It's so foggy, we can't see you."
The man spoke more softly this time- "Well, where the heck are you?"
Matt told him- "We're right on the shoreline by the parking lot."
We hear- "What the. What? We're on the OTHER side of the lake!"

Matt and I stared at each other and wondered what the heck was going on. This isn't a huge lake, but we certainly shouldn't be able to hear people on the opposite shore like they were 30 feet away. But it was the fog.

We went back several nights later and tested it without any fog at all. He dropped me at the parking lot and drove his 4x4 all the way around to the other side. I could barely see the beam from his flashlight when he walked to the shore. We waved with our lights. He yelled- practically inaudible. I yelled back. He could barely hear me.

Just a few nights ago, I was standing on my roof deck at the ocean and heard a party going on. I looked around to see which of my neighbors was whooping it up on a weeknight, but couldn't place it- all of their lights were low and no one was spilling out onto porches to catch some fresh air.

Then I looked out to the ocean and saw a large yacht passing with all of the lights blazing- way out near the oil rigs pretty far off shore. I breathed in the foggy night air and realized it was the party on the boat that I was hearing. It took me back to that night in Paradise, like it was yesterday.

If you have gas, fart and you'll feel better. ~Jane Ahlswede (my mother)

2009-05-19T21:31:00.001-07:00

I was at Abi's and Jack's house on Sunday night, playing with their two brand new babies and their four year old son, Ethan. As I was feeding little itty bitty Miranda, I was instructed to burp her after every ounce of milk from the bottle.

Abi is very particular about a lot of things. She and Jack are very attentive, involved parents and exhibit extreme measures of grown up-ness and responsibility. Just as Ethan was spilling his milk at the dinner table and exclaming "WAS THAT AN ACCIDENT?", Miranda was ready for a burping.

Abi ran for a dishtowel while explaining to Ethan that while it was indeed an accident, he needed to be more in control of his body. At the same time, I raised the little tiny baby up and she farted nice and strong. The baby- not Abi.

I did what any good natured lady would do and complimented Miranda: "Good fart, baby girl! Ooo eee!"

I looked up and Jack shook his head and whispered: "Toot. We call them toots."

Abi yelled from the kitchen: "You mean Toots!"

I yelled back: "I am rolling my eyes at you, Abi!"

She returned with the dish cloth and began to clean up the spilled milk: "You don't have a preschooler at home who repeats everything you say."

Ethan piped in: "May I please be excused? I think I have to fart."

I turned away and laughed into the baby's belly because I was afraid I'd get in trouble with Jack and Abi if they saw me delighting in hearing the preschooler say "fart."

Abi told Ethan to stay put while she finished cleaning up and reminded him: "That is a grownup word. We say Toot."

Very soon after, Ethan and I were excused to go get him settled into bed. He chose a dinosaur sticker book and an educational book about rattlesnakes. He was not impressed with my rattlesnake voices, as they were either too girly or too scary. At least I didn't insist on giving him the lowdown on funny things to say to see his parents turn funny colors from trying not to laugh.

I never blame myself when I'm not hitting. I just blame the bat, and if it keeps up, I change bats. ~Yogi Berra

2009-05-07T15:12:00.000-07:00

Last night at the end of class, I heard another student discussing her team's grade for the last assignment that they turned in.

"We followed what was in the syllabus, but your feedback included other things- like we were supposed to consider things that weren't written in for the assignment."

I wanted to throw my shoe in her general direction. Are you kidding me, lady? You want to talk the professor into changing your grade because he wants you to be more creative? It's a marketing class, sweetheart- not a math test. It's ok for the professor to throw his own thoughts into the class and into the grades and feedback for your paper.

If you want a better grade, then do better work.

These professors hardly ever see true "A" work. To get an A, you're going above and beyond what was asked of you. You're bringing innovative ideas to boring old topics. You lend your own expertise and experience to a scholarly essay with loads of references to back your thoughts up.

It upsets me to think that my classmates are so quick to ask the professor for a special pass when they could be spending that time and energy on the next assignment, taking past feedback and incorporating it into future deliverables.

But it does not upset me enough to ACTUALLY throw the shoe in my classmate's general direction.

People often say that motivation doesn't last. Well, neither does bathing - that's why we recommend it daily. ~Zig Ziglar

2009-05-05T13:49:00.001-07:00

Motivation is such a fickle thing. One moment I have it, the next... what was that I was doing?

I've been working with a new department within my company for nearly a year now and we still haven't really found our niche. Funding for projects is tight right now because of the economy and because the company is amping up to release a new product next year.

Because of that, our work has been stalled to a slow pace. I like deadlines and a flurry of activity. I thrive on conference rooms full of professionals, finding solutions to important issues. People running to the next meeting in the hallways- racing to meet last minute deliverables.

But lately? Yawn...

I still have work to do and I'm still contributing to the success of both my department and the company. I'm just doing it without a whole lot of late nights and laptop-carrying weekends.

So I find myself in an unusual predicament- lacking stress is causing me to become unmotivated. I wonder if this is the standard reaction to a slow-paced work environment.

Work is either fun or drudgery. It depends on your attitude. I like fun. ~Colleen C. Barrett

2009-04-27T08:51:00.000-07:00

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually glad to be back in the basement.

For the past 5 weeks or so, I've been working remotely from my living room. I have an injury that doesn't allow me to be as mobile as I would normally be, so getting to and from my basement cubicle was not the best idea for awhile.

Today, I'm back at work for the first time and I actually missed the office. I'm seeing familiar faces and hearing noises other than my dog barking at the neighbors and the garbage truck taking care of business.

I missed my bamboo plant and my white board and my Dwight Schrute bobblehead.

What a nice change. I'll be here once or twice a week for the next month or so and then (hopefully), I can come back full time.

I wonder if this "glad to be back" thing will wear off after a couple of hours.

A man isn't poor if he can still laugh. ~Raymond Hitchcock

2009-04-15T21:22:00.001-07:00

When I was a young kid, my mom drove a beat up orange Pinto.
The passenger side door stopped working one day and if someone wanted to sit in the front passenger side, they had to go through the window. Climbing over the drivers side seat was too difficult.

Mom had the door fixed eventually, but didn't tell her friend Cathy who, for months, continued using the window to get in and out of the car. That is, until she saw someone else using the passenger side door like normal one day. Mom couldn't keep a straight face and Cathy knew she had been tricked for quite some time.

Cathy tried pretty hard to be upset about it, but it just wasn't possible. She ended up laughing at herself just as hard as the rest of us.

Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off your goal. ~Henry Ford

2009-04-15T20:28:00.000-07:00

My marketing professor told the class a story last night that I laughed and cringed about at the same time.

He was telling us about his days as the marketing manager for one of the biggest car manufacturers in the US. The CEO was in town for a party that he was hosting for all of the district managers and his wife came along. The CEO was still out at the party and his wife went back to their hotel.

She had a huge craving for some vanilla Haagen Dazs ice cream and the hotel only had Dreyers. She tried to get the hotel staff to go find her some Haagen Dazs, but they wouldn't. She knew the marketing manager was always up late, especially on a night when the company was hosting a party, so she called him in for emergency assistance. She NEEDED this ice cream.

He told the class that, back in those days, the company was hiring the best and brightest and valued loyalty and determination above all else. He had to find the ice cream to impress the boss' wife. The problem was that, in those days, Haagen Dazs was only sold at Haagen Dazs stores. It wasn't available in grocery stores and convenience stores like it is now.

The marketing manager called his co-worker, woke him up, and took him along on the search for Haagen Dazs Vanilla.

They got to the nearest Haagen Dazs store and of course it was closed. It was pretty late at night. The co-worker worried that the marketing manager would break in to steal a cup of ice cream, but no- he had another idea. They pulled around to the back of the store where the trash would be.

The marketing manager hoisted his co-worker into the dumpster and urged him to find a small container of vanilla. It took him a while and cost him some pride, but he found it. The two men rejoiced and "cleaned it out real good", then went to a convenience store to find some common-brand vanilla ice cream.

They got a little worried at first because all of the vanillas they were finding were just a little too yellow to be Haagen Dazs. It had to be pristine white. They found it! They took the ice cream out of the other brand's container and packed it into the "very clean" Haagen Dazs container that they found in the trash.

The CEO was back at the hotel by the time they got there and was very impressed that they had actually found what his wife was looking for. He knew that the store would be closed this late at night. He asked the marketing manager if he had broken into the store for the little cup of ice cream.

Of course not! He would never do such a thing. The CEO's wife was very grateful and enjoyed every last bite of her "Haagen Dazs" and the marketing manager boosted his reputation as a guy who gets the job done.

Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life. ~Sophia Loren

2009-04-14T01:20:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, I took a trip to Costa Rica.

My friend Todd and I have similar attitudes toward travelling. We can skip all of the museums and the fancy hotels- give us a bed to sleep on and a shower to use and we're set. We go on all kinds of adventures.

One of these was a horseback ride through the rainforest, up a mountain, and through pastures to the edge of a cliff so that we could see a nearby volcano erupting.

I had never ridden a horse before. I developed a fear of horse-type animals when my grandparents' pony threw my cousin Angela and I off its back and into the poop and mud when we were little. But I wanted to see this volcano and I was tired of walking in my insensible sandals by then.

The guide gave me the slowest and oldest horse while Todd got one a tad further from the grave. We got to the top of the jungly mountain and through the pastures to the edge, where we would have been able to see the volcano, had it not been too overcast.

Our guide hopped off of his horse and motioned for me to do the same. As soon as I was off the horse, I grabbed ono the saddle and watched Todd hop off of his horse. I asked Todd if he thought we'd need to tie our horses up. Our guide didn't make any move to help, so I assumed it would be ok if we left them loose.

Todd wanted to double-check with the guide. He looked at me and asked if I remembered how to say "ropes" or "leashes" in Spanish because the guide didn't speak any English. I told Todd everything I know about Spanish (did not include "leash") and he threw this one out:

Will the horses be bueno sin ropas?

As soon as I heard him say that, I cracked up. I may not know the word for "ropes" in spanish, but I know that "sin" means "without" and "ropas" means clothes.

It was hilarious to both me and our guide that Todd literally just asked if the horses would be okay without clothes. Yes, Todd. They'll be just fine that way.

In the perspective of every person lies a lens through which we may better understand ourselves. ~Ellen J.Langer

2009-04-06T01:27:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about perspective lately. How one person can believe a completely different thing is going on than another person. How people can have conversations and walk away, remembering two incredibly different stories. How people confuse things, simply by assuming that everyone shares their perspective.

Take, for instance, my little game of baseball with a kid I had just met in Africa.

I saw that he was alone, bored and waiting for his dad to finish up work. I had maybe 20 minutes before I had to go walk to catch a plane. The kid was tossing a baseball in the air and trying to hit it with a length of plastic pipe that had been laying around.

I asked if he needed a pitcher. He accepted and I threw the ball. He hit it. He ran for it, tossed it back to me, and repeated. I told him it had been a long time since I had played baseball and he said he never had played that game.

I told him, well you are now and he said no-we're playing cricket.

Oh. Okay. Kind of the same concept, but a totally different game.

In the end, it didn't matter which game we were playing- no one was keeping score. But it cemented my view on perspective. You never really know what another person is thinking until they tell you.

Resurrection of an old post

2009-03-28T10:20:00.000-07:00

I recently closed my Myspace account and copied a few of my favorite blog posts to this site. I'm feeling reminiscent about my trip to Africa at the end of 2007 and wanted to re-read this. So here- you can read it too. The warthog story is my absolute favorite of all my travels.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Pictures from Africa (and London) trip
Check this out if you have too much time on your hands. My first overseas trip. Yay! There were many hippos and beer chandeliers. Pictures are in no particular order because I can't figure out how to do that crap.

http://s35.photobucket.com/albums/d179/lailani88/Africa%20and%20a%20little%20London/?albumview=slideshow

passcode: aloha

last night in Africa
I have so many stories to tell from this trip. I thought I'd be bursting with news for everyone, but I'm in the mood to savor the details for awhile.

Tonight, I had either the first or second most wonderfully tasty dessert of my life. It was a strawberry flambe. The waiter set it on fire right at our table. It was perfect.

Yesterday, I went white water rafting in the zambezi river. I climbed in and out of a canyon. I stepped over the Zambian border into Zimbabwe. I was led down a path in a beautiful park by baboons.

This morning, I started my day with a trip to the edge of the most amazing waterfalls I've ever seen and dined outdoors with a set of wonderful new friends and one very old (!!!) friend.

Tonight, I hope to sleep well and dream of my memories from Africa.

Tomorrow, London.

I was trapped by warthogs in the shower.
While the title of this blog really should say it all, I understand you may wonder what the heck happened.

Here it is, in a nutshell:

We were staying at Gunn's Camp in the Okavango Delta for a couple of days. When we arrived, the nice camp manager warned us about the babboons, the hippos, the elephants, and especially about the warthogs in the toilets.

They all just had babies and like a comfortable place to sleep at night, so they break into the outdoor bathrooms and make themselves at home in the toilet room.

I was taking a shower my first evening there after a very long trek through the delta and as soon as I got my clothes on, I heard some rustling at the "gate" to the bathroom. I yelled- hello! I'm in here! And got no response.

So I peeked around the corner and saw 2 families of warthogs entering the toilet. There were 2 huge females and maybe 7 or 8 little ones trailing after. During our warning speech, the manager stressed that mamma warthogs can be very agressive protecting their young.

I did what any scared camper would do and hopped up on the stool in the shower, and had a conversation with the animals. It may help to picture this if you know there was no roof on the bathroom...

So the conversation didn't help a bit. The animals didn't understand that they had to leave. I tried yelling, banging on the walls, whistling. Nothing. The hogs just stared at me and snorted. Not like when I have a cold and happen to snort when I laugh- these are big scary hog snorts.

Finally, a fellow camper- John- comes walking down the trail toward me. He asks me what the heck I'm doing and who am I talking to and I explain the situation.

First thing he does? Takes a picture. Thanks John.

Second thing is he peeks around the corner to the toilet and grabs a palm frond to poke a mamma with. She comes running out with maybe 3 of the babies. He thinks his job is done, but there's one more mamma and several babies still to go.

We're making such a racket trying to get them all out so that I can leave the darn shower that more campers start to come and join in. They're mostly taking pictures and laughing at me- stuck in the shower.

They'll get theirs. Oh yes, they will. Maybe.

Anywho... John and company finally trap the hogs in the toilet with the metal "gate" so that I can at least get out and the manager shows up with little sparkler things to throw in the toilet to scare the rest of them out.

I was glad to be out of there and into my tent after that.

More to come... 3 days to go on safari.

Safari
I arrived in Namibia, Africa yesterday after a VERY long journey from LA to London to Johannesburg and finally to Windhoek. A driver was supposed to pick Todd (travelling companion, former boss, not dating or sleeping together, in case you wondered) and I up and take us to the Windhoek lodge.

No driver. No guy with a little sign. My phone doesn't work at all like it was supposed to. The payphones here are too confusing- they just ring & ring when you pick up the handset & you can't use credit cards as calling cards.

Screwed, right? So we beg the airport information desk people to let us use their phone to call our hotel. A tour guide from another group answers and tells us we're out of luck. We've got to take a cab into town, which is about 20 miles away.

Also, we're not booked at the hotel on our itinerary. Gotta go to the overflow hotel that a few of the tour groupies were staying at.

Fine. We take the cab, arrive at the hotel, fifty bucks in cab fare later, I finally get to wash the 30+ hours of sweat and airport grime off my tired self.

Bonus- as I'm washing my feet in the shower, I notice something amiss. They're about twice (exaggeration) the size they should be. My feet & legs are souper swoolen up to my calves from the travel. So I put my feet up and settled into a good book for about 45 seconds before I passed out.

Dinner was at 7:30. We piled into the tour bus and met the rest of the groupies and headed out to a ummm... an interesting restaurant. There were maybe 20 of us in the group and we didn't get our drinks until after we'd been there for an hour. For reals. And the food was... interesting as well. People were eating zebra and game goulash and all kinds of things.

I had cannoloni and should have known better than to order Italian food in an African restaurant. Oops. Whatev- they had Stella Artois aplenty, so I was well taken care of.

Today, we're touring the little city of Windhoek and then we're off for a tour of the bush- the bush people can apparently smell us from a mile away. I hope I don't stink too bad.

I'll blog again when I can. Which may be awhile- not too many Internet cafes in the swamps of Southern Africa.

speaking of elephants...
Several months ago, I broke myself- my hip, to be exact.

I had planned to travel to Europe for a 2 week whirlwind of fun and adventure during the summer, but had to cancel because of my gimpy state.

I was super bummed about this and cried a lot. For reals- I cry. I have feelings in this little heart of mine.

But then... a silver lining came and knocked my sad cloud out of the sky.

Africa!

Yes, Africa was my silver lining.

Because I didn't get my amazing Eurotrip this year, I moved another planned trip- the Africa one up a year to this December.

That's next month for those of you not plugged into your calendars.

In less than a month, I'll be on another continent roughing it with wild animals- the kind with big teeth and feet as big as my tummy after eating birthday cake.

I'm super excited and hope that one of those scary mosquito diseases doesn't kill me in my sleep. At least not before I finish the safari.

Bon Voyage!!!

Silence will save me from being wrong (and foolish), but it will also deprive me of the possibility of being right. ~Igor Stravinsky

2009-03-25T09:46:00.000-07:00

We all say and do some pretty ridiculous things sometimes.

Right?

Oh well, so I probably do more silly things than most folks.

I was out at dinner with a few friends, including my roommates. The conversation turns to bears and we were talking about why they get up on their hind legs and look fierce.

Nick thought it was to look bigger and scare people and other animals away, but no- no, I said that wasn't right at all. It's because they can't see very well. They have to get up on their hind legs for a better view.

I demonstrated how a bear would squint and wave its paws around its head (for balance?) while up on its hind legs. To see better. They're practically blind, I said.

Everyone at the table stared at me for a minute, then burst out laughing. They thought I was wrong! That bears can see just fine! So I was going to prove them wrong. I whipped out the handy iPhone and went to work.

Oops. Bears can see just fine. They really do get on their hind legs just to look fierce. Dang it.

SEVERAL NIGHTS LATER

I came home pretty late one night and was reading until about 4 in the morning. When I finally went to my room to go to bed, I saw this in front of my bedroom, on the floor.

It's a blind bear! See his cane?

But I didn't get it. It had been awhile since the blind bear incident at dinner and I saw this weird statue thing with what I thought was blood at the end of a white stick (his cane). Automatically, I thought someone was trying to pull a voodoo move on me and I snapped the photo above for "evidence". By leaving the voodoo bear in the kitchen that night, I thought I'd be safe.

It wasn't until my roommates saw the bear on the counter the next morning and asked why I put the "blind bear" there that I got it.

The joke was on me... Again.

Man must be disappointed with the lesser things of life before he can comprehend the full value of the greater. ~Edward G. Bulwer Lytton

2009-03-18T21:16:00.000-07:00

I was in 3rd grade when my sister and I joined the Girl Scout troop in our small town.

I was a Brownie and she was a Junior Girl Scout. We were so happy to be a part of a group of girls our age. We made crafts and learned songs and learned about lots of things that I'm sure we have both forgotten most of since.

When it came time to sell calendars, we hit the pavement. We sold our little happy hearts out. If we sold the MOST out of all the girls, we would get a prize! We didn't win, but that was okay. We raised enough money for the troop to keep our little center fully supplied and got a couple of iron-on badges for our vests.

I couldn't wait to get a little older and move into the actual Girl Scouts.

Then, cookie sales time came around. We hit all the same houses that bought calendars from us a few months before. And our mom even bought a few boxes too. I fell in love with Thin Mints. I think someone in my family liked the peanut butter ones. They were all pretty delicious.

Again, we were so excited to be able to contribute to the troop and make sure we all have activities to do when we went to the meetings once a week.

One day, right after we finished our cookie sales and all of the money had been collected, we got some bad news. The troop leader had stolen all of our money. It was gone. We had nothing.

This woman, who we all trusted to uphold the promise we took for the organization, cheated us. We couldn't afford the crafts or space for meetings or any supplies at all. Our troop went completely bankrupt and I couldn't be a Girl Scout.

This has upset me so much for so long that I haven't tasted the sweet delicious goodness of a thin mint since I was 8 years old. That's 23 or so years, for those of you who are as math-challenged as me.

And then Dave stopped by my desk a couple of months ago with his order form. His daughter just joined the Girl Scouts and he wants her to win the prize for the most sales. I thought of that little girl I used to be who wanted so much to be a part of that organization. I decided to forgive the organization, but not that troop leader.

My Thin Mints taste even better now than they did when I discovered them so long ago.

Run, Smurfs! We have to Smurf to higher grounds! ~Papa Smurf

2009-03-12T15:46:00.001-07:00

My sister and I used to sneak to watch the Smurfs cartoon on TV during weekend mornings.

We had to sneak because Smurfs freak my mom out. She thinks they're evil little creatures.

I was just thinking how odd that is- how she can think Smurfs are unfit for her children. But then, I have been known to wake the entire household up, freaking out about an "alien invasion" when a thunder storm blows up a power transformer nearby.

So we're all probably freaked out about things that are completely irrational.

What are you afraid of?

The art of medicine consists in amusing the patient while nature cures the disease. ~Voltaire

2009-03-09T09:04:00.000-07:00

I've always been prone to clumsiness and getting into things I shouldn't, mostly by accident. It was very lucky for me that I spent a lot of time with my grandpa, who just happened to be a heart surgeon.

He was always so professional when handling my frequent injuries. I remember one time in particular- I had been playing in the flower bed in front of his home and got stung by a bee on my stomach. Of course, I ran crying to grandpa because I knew he could fix me up.

As soon as he heard my wails, he stopped what he was doing and addressed the situation. He got the details from me and went to work- he laid me out on the kitchen counter and, in all seriousness, called my sister in to assist with surgery.

I'm surprised he didn't suit up and sterilize everything in sight. Instead, he made me laugh through my tears while sending my sister to get tweezers for the stinger from our grandma upstairs. He checked in with me to see if I felt faint, if I thought we needed an ambulance, the usual rundown with my every injury.

It's incredible that I could be giggling while he pulled a tiny bee stinger from my tummy and bandaged me up. The best part about it is that he always did his work for me without charging. I really miss having a doctor like him on call.

Prayer is not an old woman's idle amusement. Properly understood and applied, it is the most potent instrument of action. ~Mahatma Gandhi

2009-02-27T19:32:00.000-08:00

I have many cousins. On one side of my family, I think there are about 30 of us and on the other, about 15 or so.

Growing up, I was pretty close to several of my cousins. One of them is Chris. He's about 6 months older than me, and is one of the most caring, compassionate, funny, genuine guys I've ever known.My first memory of Chris is of him pulling me around in red wagon that was attached to a tricycle in our grandparents' back yard. We never fought or argued over anything- he was a gentleman even at 4 years old.

Even as an adult, Chris has remained one of my favorite people on the planet. It's possible that he's the sweetest guy I've ever known.

Chris is in trouble.

About 11 years ago, he went on a mission and had to return home early, as he was pretty sick. He had contracted some kind of mystery illness that countless doctors and tests haven't been able to properly diagnose and treat. For over a decade, he's been fighting for his life.

Just last week, a concerned doctor had him check into the emergency room at Cedars Sinai in Los Angeles. He was transferred to the ICU for treatment and made it out of there to a regular room after a couple of days. He's tough and he has good reason to hold onto hope that he will get through this, but he needs all the help he can get.

Right now, he doesn't seem to be getting any worse, but there haven't been any drastic improvements. If you are able and willing to, will you please take a minute to send some positive energy and/or prayer his way?

Chris needs just a little miracle to turn this thing around enough to go out and live big again.

A man without ethics is a wild beast loosed upon this world. ~Albert Camus

2009-02-26T11:05:00.000-08:00

When I was 22 years old, I worked for a business to business telemarketing company.

We sold packaging supplies- tape and stretch film mostly. I was hired on in the new sales division. It was a room full of phones and printed lists of phone numbers with company names. I was asked to follow a script to get the buyer on the phone, then transfer the call to a "closer" for the sale.

After a couple of weeks at this, I was leading the new sales transfers by a big margin. But I got bored of the process of giving up the sale to someone else and I started going off of the script and closing the sales myself.

The manager of the department reprimanded me and asked me to follow the process. It was a part time gig for me and it didn't pay very well, so I wasn't too worried about getting canned if I didn't follow orders. I quickly became the leading sales closer for the new sales department.

After working in the room of phones for 3 months, the manager of the whole place called me in to his office. I thought I was going home with my last check that day.

But no- he wanted to know if I would be willing to transfer to the reorder sales department and work with return clients to get the sales. After 3 more months, he promised the commissions would be amazing. Until then, I'd get to keep my hourly pay.

I accepted with a smile and looked forward to the transition. My first day at it, I realized that it was going to be difficult to build a client base. The girl who had the position before me left and all of her clients were split up among the remaining sales people in the department.

I had to start with some pretty shaky leads. But after a couple of weeks, I was selling pallets of tape and stretch film like crazy. It was a great feeling to be so good at something.

Then I had the meeting with the manager of reorder sales. He let me in on their little secret. The whole business makes profit on a lowdown dirty scam.

And here I was- a top performer-screwing over companies for a few extra bucks. Ouch.

But the manager sweet-talked me, convinced me that they'd never miss it. That we don't pull the scheme every time and that it wasn't a big deal. But that if I wanted to stay, I'd have to start selling "their" way.

I went back to my phone and closed deals all day, the next day, the day after... for another month. I worked out a deal with the manager so that I didn't have to use my real name with the customers. The whole thing was too shady to attach to my own identity. I adopted an alias and continued to build my client list.

Then, I talked to a customer that I had originally sold to on the other side of the fence- when I was in new sales in the phone room. He was a warehouse manager at a small company in the south. He told me that the company usually bought their supplies from a local guy but that I was just so nice that he'd go with me again. And oh- was the price the same as the last time? The company needed to save money because they weren't doing so well just now.

I had to decide whether to scam this guy or not. Whether to sell him something that he wanted and essentially charge him twice the price he paid originally. And he'd probably never realize it. But his company would lose money and he trusted me to be honest with him and I wasn't even using my real name.

I couldn't do it. I sold him the product at the right price for what he ordered. And I walked into the manager's office and told him I had to go. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't have looked myself in the mirror if I had stayed even one more day.

Looking back now, I'm shocked I agreed to the scheme at all and for so long. I wouldn't do it again, no matter how much commission was involved. I've actually never been interested in working in sales again.

Laughing deeply is living deeply. ~Milan Kundera

2009-02-19T23:09:00.000-08:00

I often wonder what's next. What happens when I die? Is there some kind of qualification criteria that will determine my eternity? Will my soul be left to wander familiar places and connect with familiar faces?

But I don't want to know badly enough to wish that I knew all of this right now. I can wait, oh great Universe or God(s), if you're listening.

Honestly though, what if it's a great big nothing at the end? And why does that scare me so much?

I like my existence. I enjoy my days and my nights with my soul, if I have one. If I don't have one, then what does that mean?

Whatever it means and whatever is next, it doesn't stop me from wanting to live for now. To take my lessons from previous experiences and do the best I can to love, laugh, and live with dignity... most of the time.

On second thought, if dignity is standing in my way of a good time, then it's the first thing I'll leave behind. So love and laughter. The only two constants that I can hold onto my whole life through.

As for what's next? I just hope those constants remain.

Life belongs to the living, and he who lives must be prepared for changes. ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

2009-02-13T11:42:00.000-08:00

It was Father's day and I told my Italian stand-in dad that I would take him out for a nice lunch in honor of the day.

My boyfriend and I went to Chatsworth to collect dad and the little brother, and off we went in Dad's SUV. We treated him to a lovely lunch at a gorgeous restaurant, complete with a few margaritas.

When we went to leave, my boyfriend and I both offered to drive. But dad said he was just fine- he would be driving home. I reminded him of the liquor he drank and the dangers of getting on the road just now, especially with my little brother in the car.

He got angry and told me if I wouldn't ride in the car- if I insisted on driving- he'd leave us there at the restaurant.

When I saw him peeling out of the parking lot, leaving my boyfriend and I without a ride back to Chatsworth to get my car, I was stunned. But I was prepared to do what I had to in order to get home.

So we walked to the closest freeway onramp and stuck out our thumbs, hitch hiking was not new to either of us. After a few minutes, a man in a little white Honda stopped to pick us up. He didn't speak English, but he understood "De Soto offramp" and he dropped us there. We thanked him, walked the couple of miles back to the parents' house, and drove home without going in to say hello.

It was quite awhile in between visits after that Father's day, and we eventually buried the hatchet and moved on. But that was the last time I celebrated Father's day.

Only the unknown frightens men. But once a man has faced the unknown, that terror becomes the known. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery

2009-02-09T11:43:00.000-08:00

When I was about 11 years old, my family went to Lake Powell for a week of camping and watery fun. There were maybe 15 of us total, kids and adults. We had a house boat, 2 ski boats, and was there a jet ski? Maybe. It was a long time ago.

I was not interested in sleeping on any of the boats- there was a gorgeous shore line with soft-ish ground and it was warm enough even in the middle of the night for just a sleeping bag under the stars.

My sister Charlene and my step-cousin Camilla were sleeping on either side of me. It was very early in the morning- just when the first light was brightening the sky- when I heard heavy breathing right next to my head.

At first, I thought Charlene or Camilla had eaten something awful the night before because the breath was rancid. I cracked my eyes open to investigate.

That's when I noticed an animal's snout right over my eyeball. It was a coyote. Breathing. On. My. Head.

I let out a high pitched squeal in a tone that only adolescent girls are capable of and I jabbed my elbows and knees into the ladies sleeping on either side of me to wake them up. I couldn't quite get out of my sleeping bag to run, so the best I could do was wriggle and make noise enough to scare the coyote away.

The other two girls woke up just in time to see the coyote running away, back over the hill that he had to climb to get to us.

None of us slept on shore for the rest of the week, but I don't think we were truly afraid of it coming back. We could tell that the coyote was more afraid of us than we were of him. We just didn't want to take the chance that he'd bring some of his friends for breakfast at our campsite the following morning.

5 Questions

2009-02-05T09:51:00.000-08:00

I was tagged by the great and powerful Melissa Schilling of Hallelujah!(Praise Cheeses) . You're supposed to tag yourself in the comment section of one of these deals, but Melissa is demanding and tagged me herself. And she is a woman who gets what she wants.

Here are my five questions. . . courtesy of the Dirt Princess herself.

1. What is the strangest or most ironic moment that has occurred in your life?
• This reminds me of the moment when I met my best friend, Wendy. It was my first day working at True Value Hardware in Paradise, California. I was training to be a cashier and she was taking care of customers on the other end of the cashier row. She was talking to a sweet old man in suspenders who was picking up some odds and ends and said “isn’t it ironic?” and I yelled across the store, “don’t ya think?” She stared at me with one eyebrow raised, considering whether to squash me for butting into her convo or be impressed that I was so forward and handy with my Alanis references. She chose the latter and left her post to introduce herself to me. This was the start of the most eye-opening and emotional friendship of my life. Gah, I need to call Wendy like right now.

2. If I handed you some seed money, say 300,000 bucks, what would you do with it?
• This question is what took me so long to answer. See because my goal for a long time has been to open and run a Bed & Breakfast. But since the economy has taken a huge dive, I really don’t think that is the best idea right now. I’m still keeping it in my back pocket for when it’s more reasonable. For now, with $300k, I would take a little time- maybe a couple of months off from my real job- to write a book. Nothing fancy like a novel though. Something useful in the current state of the world. I’ve thought a lot about writing a book about how to get the job you really want. There are a lot of things that I have found to work-especially in the interview process- to get the job I want even when my resume has absolutely nothing to do with what I’m applying for. I mean I’ve had something like 30 jobs and they’ve been everything from dog grooming to sales to corporate communications. With that much money, I could definitely afford to self-publish the book and, with the profits, write another businessy book. Which would be much more profitable than a B&B at this point and I’d be contributing something positive to society. So. Do you have $300k to share with me? Cuz that would be awesome.

3. Name the most ridiculous person, place or thing on earth. Why?
• Systematic oppression. As humans, we are all equal. There is no reason that a Hutu, a Jew, a Woman, a Black American, a Mexican in Los Angeles should be treated as less of a human than you. We are all born to this Earth the same way. We come from our mother’s womb. We share the exact same experiences- our need for 24-hour care, our first steps, our first words. We all have families, we learn, we cry, we laugh, we die. There is no reason-NONE- that we should look down on each other as humans, sharing space, and believe that we are better as a group than others. Because we are, as a group, always human.

4. What does love feel like to you?
• Love feels like safety, reliability, something warm and welcoming. Something I can always be sure of. Something to cherish. Something to completely take for granted. Something to fight for. Something to remember in darker moments to pull me toward the light. Something to share. Something that will never run out of resources. Love feels delightful.

5. What is the nicest/kindest thing anyone has ever done for you?
• An entire family of wonderful Italian Catholics took me in when I was 17, without knowing me at all. They saw that I needed structure and a real family environment and support to lead me into adulthood and they shared that with me. They made me a part of their family without hesitation and welcomed me into their home with open arms. And, much later, they saved me from myself with such grace that I didn’t question their actions for a second. And then, when one of my best friends died suddenly and far away and I was broke, they bought my ticket to fly out for her funeral and to be with her family. And then, when I decided to go to college and couldn’t afford the tuition and entry fees, they paid for everything until I could. I think that without this family, I would be just about… nowhere.

Now that I've said my piece, please ask me (in my comment section) to ask you five of your very own questions. Then, you can post your answers wherever you want- on my comments or your very own blog. I promise to ask good ones.

If you are never scared, embarrassed or hurt, it means you never take chances. ~Julia Soul

2009-01-27T11:00:00.000-08:00

I'm no acrobat, but sometimes it's nice to pretend to be one.

My roommates and I were moving into our new house by the beach last weekend and I was feeling especially peppy. There's this wall cut-out in the hallway that I thought was JUST RIGHT for hopping over- Starsky & Hutch style.

I knew the movers were about to bring a big couch upstairs to put it just under the hopping wall, so I didn't have much time to make my move. I went down the hallway and climbed over the wall without much grace- it certainly wasn't as easy as it looked in the movies.

Exhibit A: Offending Wall with couch and a Pepsi

And as I hopped down to the other side, I landed badly and broke my big toe.

I knew it right away too- it's one of those moments where I wished I could have gone back just 10 seconds to make a better decision. No dice. My toe was on FIRE!

I hobbled over to the nearest chair and gritted my teeth, breathed slowly, and prepared to wait out the worst of the pain. It was pretty awful. Then, my roommate Dawn came upstairs and took a seat in the chair opposite mine.

She asked me why I looked so funny. Guess my eyes were pretty wide open. So I told her I hurt my toe and let her assume I just tripped a little bit. I needed a few minutes to let the pain pass in order to add embarrassment to the mix. Then Wayne came upstairs and stared at me, and I think he asked if I was going to cry. I didn't because I'm super tough.

He got me some ice, a pain killer, and some wine to wash it down with. Soon, the throbbing, horrible awfulness of a broken toe subsided and I went back to unpacking, though it was done more hobbly than before.

I waited to see my (gorgeous) podiatrist on Monday morning to confirm the break. When he came in after looking at my x-rays, he raised his eyebrow and asked what I'd done this time. He's seen me a few times before...

So I had to tell him of my poor acrobatic skills and awaited the scolding.He proceded to show me on a skeletal model just how my bone cracked and noted that this type of break usually only happens to kids. And, he added "But you were acting like a kid, so that makes sense." Ouch.

He asked me if I still have the special cast shoe thing that I used the last time I broke my right foot and I told him yes, I do. So he showed me how to splint my toe and gave me orders to wear the shoe for 3 weeks and come back to see him at the end of it.

Exhibit B: My dog looks disappointed in my choice of shoe. Such a fashion disaster.

So now I have to wait 3 weeks to run around the beach that I just moved to. Ha! Like I'd "run" anyway. But still, I couldn't run if I wanted to now.

Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar. ~Drew Carey

2009-01-22T16:49:00.000-08:00

When I was 22, I got a job as a recruiter and project manager at a healthcare staffing firm in downtown Los Angeles.

How they thought I was qualified is beyond me- I showed up to the interview with a resume full of cashier jobs and a couple of lower-level office positions, but I wore a tiny little skirt suit with a fitted jacket and 4-inch heels. They offered me $600/week plus $100/weekend that I was on call.

I was only making about $10/hour at my last job and that was part time. Sometimes, an ample bosom and a head full of blonde hair can really help a girl out.

During my first week on the job, another recruiter was canned and one quit about a month in. That left just me and Gabe, the office manager. Gabe never trained me to do anything- he asked me to work with the other guys in the office to figure out what to do.

Well, they had only been there a couple of months each. I needed some help. Gabe couldn't be bothered to train me. He had phone calls to make. He was on the phone with his friends literally all day, except when he left to go grab me lunch. Yeah, he got my lunch for me every day. Dude didn't want me to leave the office because then, who would do the work?

After a couple of weeks on my own, Gabe brought some new guys in to interview. He met with each of them and then asked me the next day what I thought of them. I thought he was joking- I didn't actually meet any of them! So I told him I liked the one guy's shoes, so we should pick him. And he did.

New guy and I then got to split the work up and he kept asking me what he should be doing. I had figured out how to get through some of the work, but I was still in the dark on the majority of systems and processes. It took us twice the time it should have to complete tasks because we weren't trained on anything in the office.

We worked 16 hour days and split the "on call" job 50/50. Being on call meant that every morning at about 4am, we would start getting phone calls. Hospitals needed nurses and we had them in our data base. Weekends were no exception.

After being asked to take on an enormous project along with keeping up with the regular work, I told Gabe I couldn't do it alone. He said he'd be more helpful. But then he never lifted one finger to help me even make a simple phone call. Nothing.

After a particularly stressful week, running the project and driving through ghettos in Compton to drop off supplies, I asked for the new guy to be on call for the weekend. I seriously needed a break. But no dice. Gabe wanted me to be on call.

I answered calls and worked the entire weekend. Monday morning rolled around and I couldn't bring myself to wake up at 4am, just to do it all over again. I had hit a wall with patience and $600/week wasn't going to motivate me anymore.

I drove into the office, ready to explain to Gabe that I had missed that morning's calls on purpose and that he would need to split up the work and hire more people. I didn't even get to it. Someone had called him on his private line because I wasn't answering the pager or company cell phone.

He came out of his office and stood in front of my desk, yelling. He yelled his little head off and proceeded to jump up and down. Yes- He jumped up and down while yelling at me. When he was finished saying what he had to say, he stomped back into his office and slammed the door.

I grabbed my purse, the pager, and the company cell phone and let myself into his office. I dropped the electronics on his desk and walked out, not a word. He followed me to the stairwell, yelling at me- telling me I couldn't just leave. But I did. And it was the first time I had a really good laugh in 3 months.

As soon as I pulled out of the parking lot, I stopped at the gas station and used the pay phone to call my previous boss and asked for my old job back. He told me of course I could come back and I asked for the rest of the day off.

Then, I went to my favorite bar in the San Fernando Valley (Lee's for Cocktails) and had a few drinks. Ahhhhh, that felt good.

You have a choice. Live or die. Every breath is a choice. Every minute is a choice. To be or not to be. ~Chuck Palahniuk

2009-01-21T09:03:00.000-08:00

I find dead people.

I had just turned 21 years old and was working as an assistant manager at Best Self Storage in Oroville, California. My job was to rent storage units, send bills, host auctions for unpaid bills, and perform security checks twice a day.

One morning, I was running late on the security check- it was supposed to be done by 9am, but by 9:30, I was still putzing around in the office. Leeza, the lady who lived onsite and also worked in the office came in through the back door, looking worried.

She told me there was a truck parked in front of a partially-open storage unit that had been there all night. Overnight camping at the facility was definitely not allowed, so I went out right away to speak with whoever it was.

Leeza and I walked to the aisle where the truck was parked. I saw that yes, the storage door was rolled up about halfway. I had just rented the unit to a man who gave me the creeps two days earlier. His name was Dan B.

I called out to him "Mr. B? Are you in there?"
No answer. Maybe he couldn't hear me.
I walked closer and called again "Mr. B.? Hello?"
Still no answer.
I was starting to worry that he was just waiting in there for me to get close enough so that he could snatch me. Leeza stayed back at the entrance to the aisle just in case.
I walked closer and was about to call him again when I saw that he was standing just behind the partially-open door.

Just as I was turning to run the other direction, still thinking that he was going to snatch me, my mind processed it- his feet were not touching the ground.

I stood still, paralyzed for long enough that Leeza came to join me and saw it too. She and I turned and quickly made our way back to the office to call the authorities. The fire department got the unpleasant job of taking Mr. B. down from his hanging while the police questioned Leeza and I and looked over our entry and exit records from the past few days.

No foul play. Dan had rented the storage unit, put everything he owned in it, and left no note. A few days later, his family showed up to collect his things. I released his truck to them with orders from the police and unlocked the storage unit so that they could get everything out.

From that day on, I did my security checks on roller blades. I had to make sure I could get where I was going in a hurry, just in case.

I am open to the guidance of synchronicity, and do not let expectations hinder my path. ~Dalai Lama

2009-01-15T10:23:00.000-08:00

Maria and I wanted to see the Florida Keys. We knew we had to head south from Fort Lauderdale. After a few wrong turns, we found our way to the two-lane highway connecting the many southern islands.

We hit Key Largo and started singing a song from the Beach Boys. And wondered aloud if all of the keys were this ghetto. Continued south. Maria and I had our swimsuits on and wanted to get a little tan and splash around in the warm-ish Atlantic water. Finally, we saw a sign for a public beach, so we went in.

It was lovely, but after a few tries- going into the shallow water and navigating the gross mossy stuff stuck in the sand, I decided we should find another beach further south.

We visited a beach where the water was even more shallow, with cement-like ground and hardly any place to sit on the shore. We moved on.

Finally, we found a gorgeous beach in the Keys. Bahia Honda state park. We found a beautiful section of sand to lounge around on and soon found ourselves ready to take a dip. We walked out into the water, which was still shallow but at least it went up to our knees this time.

It was frustrating that all of the beaches in the Keys were not for swimming at all. As we were standing there in the beautiful sunshine, Maria exclaimed "I just want to get my hair wet!" And suddenly, a storm cloud passed over, dumping buckets of rain onto us for three minutes flat, and it passed. Our hair was definitely wet.

We stared at each other and laughed. What a strange coincidence. Then, I yelled "I just want a million dollars!" And got nothing. I guess it only works when you're not expecting it.

P.S. When we were ready to leave Bahia Honda, we drove around the rest of the park and found that there is water deep enough to swim in. Just in case you're heading out that direction and don't want to hang out in the shallows.

The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see. ~G. K. Chesterton

2009-01-13T09:16:00.000-08:00

During my recent trip to Florida, my sister Maria and I went down to the Keys for the day.

On our long drive back to Plantation (which I have deemed Mantation), we stopped at Marker 88, which is a restaurant and literally at the 88th mile marker. In the Keys, everything is labeled by how far it is to the southern-most part of the USA.

Our server at the restaurant was flirty and, well, I must have been in a good mood from all the sand, sun, and warm ocean fun. We talked for a very little while and something came up about a car that he wanted to buy.

He called another server over to join in the conversation.

Our server- I was just telling them about the car we want to buy.
Other server- The van?
Our server- We want to get a van with no windows.
Me- Like... a rapist van. You want a rapist van?
Our server- I guess it would look like that.
Me- Why would you want a rapist van? Why would you even consider it?
Our server- I'll be right back. Don't call the police.

Maria and I chatted about the people of southern Florida while our server tended to other tables.

He came back a little while later and asked why we were visiting. It was Maria's birthday the week before, so she happily told him we were celebrating. As he departed the table, he stopped long enough to tell me: "We could go on a crime spree together".

We forgot all of the strangeness when he returned for the final time with an ice cream, complete with a candle for Maria's birthday, on the house. Now that is great hospitality!

Nicknames stick to people, and the most ridiculous are the most adhesive. ~Thomas C. Haliburton

2009-01-07T15:56:00.000-08:00

My mom calls my sister and I "babe" in casual conversation. When she wants to address us formally, our names are "Scoop" and "Charles". I won't go into the why's around the Scoop and Charles names just now.

I got a call last night from mom.

Mom- I was reminded today why I call you girls "babe".
Me- Why? What happened?
Mom- A patient came in (she works for a doctor) and I was telling her about your sister moving to Japan.
Me- Yeah?
Mom- So I told her I was taking my daughter "whatshername" with me to visit Japan!
Me- Why did you give me such a beautiful name if you're just going to forget it?
Mom- Hahahaha (maniacal laughter) See? That's why I just call you "babe".

And this is how nicknames happen.

I dont mind living in a mans world as long as I can be a woman in it. ~Marilyn Monroe

2009-01-04T22:09:00.000-08:00

I have had the pleasure of working with a lot of interesting people. I have had... I can't tell you how many jobs. Not because I don't want to- it's just that I'm not so great with numbers.

Back in the early 2000's, I was working at a live audio company in Burbank, California. There were maybe 60 employees, with only 4 of us females. It wasn't exactly what I would call a "pleasant" work environment. Looking back to those days, I'm shocked that I stayed there for almost 4 years.

The females at the company were treated like second class citizens. For instance, a shop manager saw my friend, Carrie bending over to pick something up and said (in his heavy Indiana accent) "haha Baby got Bayack!".

Carrie DOES have a rather large behind, but the shop manager has absolutely no place telling her so.

Carrie complained to the president of the company about the incident and he let it go. He made her look like a big ass (HA!) for even bringing it up. These types of things happened constantly there and probably still do.

I had a surprising run-in with the president when I went to the hospital for some x-rays of my head after an accident at work. A painting had fallen on my head and gave me a big bump and a killer headache that didn't go away after a few days.

He called me while I was at the hospital and told me on voicemail that it would be "unhealthy" for me to return to the office if I filed my visit under workers compensation. I was shocked. He would never have told one of his male employees this if they had injured themself in the shop, doing manly things.

I may not love the job that I have now, but it definitely trumps other jobs I've had.I get my very own cubicle and I work with more than 7% females. Now if I could just get moved out of the basement...

Show me a man with a tattoo and I'll show you a man with an interesting past. ~Jack London

2009-01-02T19:00:00.000-08:00

While visiting my little sister Maria in gorgeous, wonderful, incredible, amazing, delicious Fort Lauderdale over the holidays, I heard a sad tale.

Maria's boyfriend is in the coast guard. He came home from work and told us about his buddy's new tattoo.

The coast guard buddy (let's call him Bob) wanted to get a nice portrait of a pinup on his bicep, so he went to the nearest tattoo parlor. As Bob was explaining what he wanted to the artist, he was informed of the price. Ouch, he couldn't afford it.

But the artist offered him a special deal. For what Bob could afford ($150), the artist would give him a nice tattoo- as long as Bob was blind folded while being tattooed.

I'm just going to interject here and say that I would turn tail and RUN if this was ever suggested to me. Tattoo artists are notoriously mischievious and have a sick sense of humor. I've seen them on TV, so I should know.

Bob was not well-informed.

He agreed to the special deal and for $150, and he got this:

Gary Coleman, ladies and gentleman. Never trust a tattoo artist who wants to give you a "great deal".

Genius may have its limitations, but stupidity is not thus handicapped. ~Elbert Hubbard

2008-12-22T16:10:00.000-08:00

I was in a rush this morning and my contact lenses were irritating me- a reminder to change my disposables. I popped the new ones in and set off for work.

On my way out the door, I noticed that my vision was a bit blurry, but didn't think much of it, as it sometimes takes a few minutes to get used to new lenses.

After arriving at work, it was no better. I would cover one eye and the blur would go away. Looking through both though, it was very blurred. This continued until lunch. My friend Charley and I met at the cafeteria and I shared my issue with him.

He suggested that I have syphilis and will probably die from it. I gasped and asked if blurred vision is a symptom. He assured me it is and that it is fatal. I began to wonder just how this came to be.... Then he laughed his mean, British butt off and I knew he was messing with me. Syphilis is not a laughing matter, friends!

Lacking the syphilis explanation, I decided to see an optometrist right away. I finished my delicious cafeteria lunch, went to my desk to grab my purse, and was off to Lens Crafters.

After explaining my very serious issue to the ladies at the check-in counter, they squeezed me in for an appointment an hour later. Back to the office I went. I was not very productive for my hour of waiting. I was looking up causes of sudden blurred vision and was half convinced that I had multiple sclerosis when my hour was up.

Back at Lens Crafters, the doctor took me into the exam room. She had me cover up each eye separately and read the chart. I did fine, but with both eyes, I could only see the second from the top line clearly.

I was going blind. I was sure of it.

She had me sit back in the eye exam chair and shone that bright light in my blurriest eye. Had me look up & blink a few times. Then, she turned the light off and sat back in her own chair and told me the news.

"You have 2 contacts in your right eye."

Oops.

A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself. ~Josh Billings

2008-12-21T15:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday afternoon, I was touring a house for rent in the San Fernando Valley. I had my dog Regis with me because I picked him up from the groomer on my way to see the house.

He looked so fluffy and adorable with his little red Christmas bows and blow-dried fur.

When I got to the house, we went out to see the big back yard with a pool and jacuzzi. I let Regis run around and sniff out the place. We were all having a jolly time, but it was freezing (Yes, it gets cold in southern California in mid-December), so I thought we'd head in.

I called Regis over to go inside and he took the shortest route possible... he jumped right into the pool. The poor dog was probably shocked to realize that the "ground" he jumped onto was actually water. He's never been swimming before.

After a brief moment of panic, I realized that my dog is a poodle and therefore, bred to swim like a champ. I went over to the stairs on the side of the pool and called Regis. After a moment of figuring out how to swim forward, he came right over and hopped out of the pool.

The lady showing me the house was so kind and got a big fluffy towel for the pup. I wrapped him up and carried him around in it for the rest of the house tour.

Luckily, I always keep a nice, warm blanket in my car, so I wrapped Regis up for the ride home and he was right as rain in no time.

I don't think I'll be giving him the opportunity to jump into any more pools this winter.

An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered.~G. K. Chesterton

2008-12-16T00:11:00.000-08:00

Immediately after graduating from high school, I lived with a wonderful Italian family for a year and became very close to them. They adopted me as one of their own and I learned all sorts of things, like how to be the loudest person in ANY room and how to properly hide in a clothes dryer.

During my year with the D'Angelo family, I spent a lot of time with Maria (she is now my "sister" of sorts), who was about 13 years old at the time. We thought it would be fun one night to camp out on the front lawn.

It was nearing the end of summer and the weather was gorgeous. We had sleeping bags and wanted to use them.

So there we were- me and Billy the bear (my stuffed animal & travelling companion) and Maria with her blankie (yeah- a blankie at 13 and a stuffed animal at 18. Don't judge.). We set ourselves up at dark and stamped little American flags into the ground, right next to our heads. We were set to sleep the night away in the San Fernando Valley.

But oops. We were kind of in the 'hood.

At about midnight, we were startled awake by the sound of helicoptors. Plural. They had their spotlights on- I counted three of them and they were circling our block.

Of course, we were very calm about our situation and got up, grabbed Billy & Blankie and ran, screaming toward the front door. Crap, they locked us out. It was their habit to lock the door... They didn't remember us out on the front lawn. So we banged on the door and rang the bell repeatedly.

Finally, we were let in and watched the whole cops & robbers chase from the comfort of the living room. We didn't retrieve our flags and sleeping bags until the next morning.

It is wise to remember that you are one of those who can be fooled some of the time. ~Dr. Laurence J. Peter

2008-12-09T10:03:00.000-08:00

My grandfather was a big jokester. He always had a new funny story to tell all of his grandkids and was hardly ever serious with us. This led to a lot of laughter, along with a healthy dose of misinformation.

My sister and I spent a lot of time with our grandparents when we were younger. Grandpa would drive us all over creation and back, going to Canada, San Francisco, Utah... We spent a lot of time in the car.

For years (literally- years!), every time we were at a red light, Grandpa would pull his garage door opener off of the visor it was clipped to and he would hold it. Just before the light turned green, he'd click it. Then, he'd put it back.

I thought he was so special- he had a magic clicker for green lights! And it worked every time!

When I finally figured out that he was just counting the number of times the "walk/don't walk" signs flashed in order to time the clicking perfectly, you know what I did? I laughed. And I decided to pull the same trick with some other kid some day. Thanks, Grandpa.

Handle them carefully, for words have more power than atom bombs. ~Pearl Strachan Hurd

2008-12-05T14:11:00.000-08:00

My roommate/best friend Dawn and I were recently informed that we have to vacate our amazing house by the beach, as the owner wants to move back in. No amount of begging him to live elsewhere will work. We are saddened by this, but at least we have the prospect of a fun new place to live.

We have both been looking for rental homes from Oxnard to the San Fernando Valley and everywhere in between. We want something unique, big, and puppy-friendly.

I found a GREAT place in Thousand Oaks this week. It has a pool, a spa, and a BOMB SHELTER!

Dawn and I have this whole disaster recovery plan- just in case... of anything. We have enough water to survive for at least a few weeks and we're planning on stocking up on non-perishables and dog food. Of course, we have to include our dogs in the disaster recovery plan!

Anyhow, this place with a bomb shelter caught my eye and I had to see it right away, so I called the realtor. He said he could meet me at noon the same day. Yay!

Dawn and I drove over to the house. He wasn't there yet. We poked around, looked at the back yard, peered in all the windows. Nice place. Then, the guy showed up. He didn't have keys to the house! What's that about?

Saddened, I asked him about the bomb shelter.

Me: Where is it?
Guy without a key (GWK): It's in the garage. You go down stairs from there.
Me: How big is it?
GWK: It's about 150 to 200 square feet (Gives me odd look)
Me: Oh! So it's definitely big enough for us to kick back in for awhile.
GWK: Yeah... (I can tell he thinks this is weird, so what do you think I do?)
Me: I have a whole "plan" and this bomb shelter fits in perfectly.
GWK: There aren't many around- people were really paranoid in the 60's when this house was built.
Me: I'm bringing paranoia back.
GWK: Hahaha (Looks to see if I'm laughing too. I'm not. Awkward silence.)
Me: Okay, so when will you have the key so we can get in there?
GWK: Definitely by the end of the week. I'll call you. (Goes to leave)
Me: But you don't have my phone number. Here, I'll give you my card.
GWK: Okay, thanks. Nice to meet you. (He leaves. I think nothing of it and chat with Dawn about how awesome it would be to have a bomb shelter.)

Later that day...

I'm at Simply Strands Salon, recounting the story to Ali, the stylist/owner. I told her all about the shelter and the guy without the key. She points out that he was probably scared out of his mind of what I wanted to do with a bomb shelter.

I realized only at that point that the conversation might have been a little strange for GWK. Oops. I tell Ali that I hope that doesn't mean he's not going to call me. Then, she assures me that no- he really is Never, Ever going to call me. Not ever. Dang, I think she's right.

So then we get into talking about the bomb shelter and all my water.

Ali: What if the disaster is a flood?
Me: Dang, I didn't think of that. I guess we'll have to get weapons and keep them in the shelter to use if we have to defend ourselves out in the open. (Cuz you know people will go nuts in a huge disaster and try to steal my stuff.)
Ali: Why don't you get a bunch of Weapons of Mass Destruction and keep them in the shelter?
Me: It would kind of defeat the purpose of being in a bomb shelter if we had the WMD's in there with us.
Ali: Now I'M SCARED! You even know the names of the bombs!
Me: Ummm... Ali? WMD's are Weapons of Mass Destruction.
Ali: (She was very embarrassed and laughed at herself. I helped.)

I still haven't heard from the Guy without a key (GWK), by the way.

Parties who want milk should not seat themselves on a stool in the middle of the field in hopes that the cow will back up to them. ~Elbert Hubbard

2008-12-01T08:33:00.000-08:00

I have always wanted to milk a cow.

It just seems like something we should all do once in our lives.
However, it turns out that it's really hard to find someone in California who is willing to let a random stranger borrow his or her cow for a few minutes.

My friend Dawn is so resourceful and determined that she finally found a farmer with a sense of humor and an eye for adventure. After three years of looking, Dawn and I got to milk a cow.

Farmer Tim Pedrozo of Pedrozo Dairy in Orland, CA brought his cow named Sweet out to the milking station for us.

He showed us how to get milk to come out and we did it! It actually worked!

After the milking was done, Farmer Tim walked Sweet back to the field so she could play with her best friend Bobbie (so named because she was born without a tail).

He took us around the dairy and showed us his cheese making process. They do raw cheese- no extra processing. And they age the cheeses in a variety of flavors. One is aged in champagne- they call it bubbly cow. It tastes exactly like you're biting into a sip of champagne. Incredible. They also age one in red wine (tipsy cow) and one in Sierra Nevada beer (stout cow).

We packed some samples of every flavor up and said goodbye to Farmer Tim and his cows. It took all of the will power that Dawn and I had not to gobble up every last bit of the cheese on our car ride home.

In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends. ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

2008-11-25T11:46:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is a time to be... well, thankful.

It's an entire day dedicated to being with family, traditions, karaoke (wait, is that just my family?), and remembering.
Remembering to look at everything around us that is good. Remembering not to take advantage of what we have. Remembering to appreciate others.

This Thanksgiving, I'll remember that I am very lucky to live where I live. To have the protection of a home and a stable government and a feeling of safety. I'll remember to be thankful for a full plate of food. And I'll remember that the people of Darfur do not have any of this to be thankful for.

Right now, this very second, a genocide is raging in the Darfur region of Sudan in Africa. Estimated deaths are anywhere from 300-400 thousand. More than 2.5 million residents are displaced and starving.

It's not only the death and displacement that is so heart breaking. It is a standard practice for rape to be used as a weapon of war in that area. Countless women have been tortured horribly with multiple rapes without any defense.

The US government and the UN have both been working to stop the violence and to protect the people of Darfur, but we could be doing so much more. I can only imagine how much more Americans would be willing to do if this was happening to our neighbors to the north. If Canadians were being raped and tortured and murdered and driven out of their homes, just think of the outpouring of help our government would offer.

Because this is happening so far away from the US, in a place where there is no business to speak of (aside from the oil that is sold to China and Russia), Americans have had a hard time caring enough to do anything about the crisis.

But this is the time of year that we remember.

We have to remember that human life is valuable, no matter who the humans are, what they look like, and what god(s) they worship. Remember that if we were in their place, we would wonder why the entire world wasn't pitching in to help us.

During this Thanksgiving holiday, we need to remember that there are people in Darfur that desperately need our help. As individuals, we can:

Ask our leaders to help stop the genocide in Darfur.
Donate to Save Darfur.
Pray (or meditate- however you do it) for a solution.
Learn more and spread awareness about the genocide.

The people of Darfur will be thankful for your help.

Oh the innocent girl in her maiden teens knows perfectly well what everything means. ~D.H. Lawrence

2008-11-16T21:16:00.000-08:00

I was at my aunt's house tonight for a birthday party. My godmother/cousin Cindy and her daughter Katie are celebrating their 44th and 14th years on the planet. Cindy said that Katie has a boyfriend who is 15 and they've been dating for 8 months.

I asked Katie what she likes about her boyfriend.
"Stuff"
What is he good at?
"Playing the guitar"
Does he have any ambitions?
"I'm trying to make him have some"
Why do you like him?
"There's reasons"
Like what?
"Just... things."
Does he carry your stuff?
"He probably could, but I don't ask him to"
You shouldn't have to ask. Does he buy you things?
"No but he gives me things. Like he gave me his sweatshirt"
That's nice. Flannel, huh?

After dating someone for that long, I generally have several solid reasons why I like them (for example: He's talented, has an adorable accent, brings a fresh perspective to discussions, is strong, attentive, and concerned for my well-being. And he's an incredible kisser). Perhaps at that age, having the same taste in music and liking the same shows would do it. Maybe when ladies are that young, they just know they like someone, but can't vocalize why. Or maybe she just didn't feel like telling me.

If I ever have the pleasure of raising my own daughter, I'll probably do as my mother did when I was Katie's age and threaten murder if she comes in close contact with the male of the species.

Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony. ~Thomas Merton

2008-11-07T09:50:00.000-08:00

Am I living the Pie that I want?

It's a question that I asked myself during a class onsite at work earlier this week. The class was about personal resilience- how well do you handle change?

I think I handle it pretty well... sometimes. No matter how much I'm involved with change management at work, it's still difficult to be so nimble that I don't COMPLETELY FREAK OUT when my life gets flipped, turned upside down.

In the class, I learned that I should be more positive and network a whole lot more. I actually enjoy ambiguity (surprised?) and thrive in unsure situations. Perhaps, then, it's just when decisions are finalized that I have a hard time. Hmmm... sounds about right.

Anyhow, back to the pie. It turns out that everyone needs some kind of balance. Really??? How is that going to help me? Well, it made sense. The facilitator drew a circle on a flip chart.

She separated it into several sections (hence, the pie): Work, Personal growth, Health, Relationships, Fun, and Community. And she told us that there is no RIGHT or BEST measurement of each area within your "Pie". You just have to figure out what works best for you. Find your balance of these areas in your life and you will be living the best way for you.

It's when things get out of balance that we find ourselves unhappy. Dissatisfaction leads to anxiety and lack of productivity and other bad stuff.

So I’m looking at my pie, trying to figure out how to balance everything perfectly for me. I’m having a hard time because the two most important pieces are fun and relationships, which I do incorporate at work, but really- should I be more interested in actual work?

I’ve never been very good at compartmentalizing. I like to mush all of the pieces of my pie together. This is going to be harder than it looked on the flip chart.

Great perils have this beauty, that they bring to light the fraternity of strangers. ~Victor Hugo

2008-10-31T08:57:00.000-07:00

My friend Todd and I were out pretty late one night at a local bar in Monteverde, Costa Rica. We were dancing the night away after zip lining through the forest and getting attacked by dogs at a factory pig farm (another story for another day).

We decided it was time to pack it in and head back to our hotel, so we asked the bartender to call a cab for us.

No luck. Cabs stop running at 10pm. And our hotel was 5 miles up the mountain on a road that is better suited to four wheel drives than cabs anyhow.

Shoot.

Ah, but there was a group of rowdy Belgian men who were nearby and had heard our plight. They had a vehicle big enough for all of us and were just drunk enough to think it was a great idea to drive us home.

I explained that it could take us a half hour just to go those five miles on the awful road and it was the opposite direction of their hotel.

Okay, they were in. They were pleased as punch to see us home. Todd and I weighed our options: Attempt to walk the five miles, up a mountain in the pitch black in the middle of a big scary foreign forest... OR Get into the back of a van full of drunk Belgians who just want to keep the party going. Five miles, up a mountain in the pitch black in the middle of a big scary foreign forest.

We chose the latter. We had a great time trying to sit upright throughout the bumpy drive to the hotel. We laughed and joked and screamed in mini-terror a few times. Most of all, we shared an experience. We bonded as strangers in a strange land in a strange situation.

And everyone made it home safely. Thankfully.

You should make a woman angry if you wish her to love. ~Publilius Syrus

2008-10-28T14:16:00.000-07:00

Matt Twiggs and I had home room together beginning my Junior year in high school, which was his sophomore year. We hit it off right away and became great friends.

We had lunch together, went fishing together (he fished, I just drank the beer), trespassed onto haunted properties together, all kinds of things.

We spent a LOT of time together.

Which means that poor Matt dealt with my moodiness more than any teenage boy should ever have to. Bless his heart.

On a particularly moody day, we were driving around Paradise, on our way somewhere for some... thing. And I was bothering him with my extreme bitchiness.

He made this fact crystal clear when he angrily pulled into the Thrifty market parking lot and got out of the car while yelling at me to stay put. He stormed off into the store.

I sat quietly, waiting, fuming.

When he came back, he had a little box in his hand. He got back into the car and hurled it into my lap. It was a bottle of Pamprin (over the counter PMS meds!). He growled "take five of those and shut the hell up".

It was that moment that I knew he'd be my best friend forever.

There is no delight in owning anything unshared. ~Seneca

2008-10-27T13:41:00.000-07:00

The littlest things can make an incredible vacation even better.

I was on a public bus somewhere in Southern Costa Rica, sitting next to a Peruvian boy of about 12 years old, who was going to visit friends all by himself. He had earphones in and was holding a very old am/fm walkman out of the bus window.

In my remedial Spanish, I asked him why he was doing that. OH, to get better reception. It was so simple. There was only one station that would come in, barely.

He smiled at me so sweetly and handed me one of his earphones. We had to scooch really close to listen to the music for the rest of the bumpy ride (have you SEEN the roads in Costa Rica??? Insane to even drive on them.) and he kept the reception the whole time.

We should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or sorting the laundry. ~E.B. White

2008-10-24T20:16:00.000-07:00

Andrea was my roommate up until April of this year. She's fun and zany and very forgetful.

There is a nice, big laundry room upstairs at our house.
One day, I got home from work and Andrea was in the living room. She sees me, puts her hands on her hips, and says something about the laundry.

I was probably distracted, so I didn't catch onto what she was talking about, but she seemed annoyed.
I asked her to repeat herself.
That's when she told me she was running late because of me.

What?

Yeah- she says that she went upstairs to use the washer, turned it on and put soap in it for the clothes she wanted to wear out that night, and then saw that my stuff was already in there.

I laughed at her and asked why that was my fault.

She says "Well, there was no indication that there were clothes in the washer!"
So I say "Except for the clothes being IN the washer?"
"Yeah!" she says.

I ask her what other kind of indication she could want for clothes being in the washer.

I don't think we ever got an answer because I was laughing too hard at her. She was seriously upset about it. Too funny.

So then a few months later, the same thing happened. Like- the ENTIRE conversation happened again.

And I said- don't you remember this happening before???

Blank look- Not at all. Oh, memories...

To every word of love I heard you whisper, the raindrops seem to play a sweet refrain. ~The Beatles

2008-10-20T22:54:00.001-07:00

I LOVE.
Talking to strangers.
Dancing in my chair.
Singing along.
Watching old men twirl on the dance floor.
Dogs in bars.
Stories from Boston.
Micro fishnets.
Soap stars selling cosmetics.
Following the blue dot on GPS.
Beautiful courtyard views.
Remembering. Sharing. Listening.
And... the Beatles.

Error is just as important a condition of life as truth. ~Carl Gustav Jung

2008-10-17T17:12:00.000-07:00

Wendy and I moved to Las Vegas in 1998. A few days after settling into our new homes, she called me.

W: LaiLani, guess what!

L: I dunno. What?

W: The zip code is so easy to remember here!

L: Why?

W: It's only 5 digits!

L: Really Wendy? Our last zip code was only 5 digits. The one before that was too.

W: ...laughter.... OH YEAH!!! They're all 5 digits!

L&W: more laughter... (it never ends)....

The moment you think you understand a great work of art, it's dead for you. ~Oscar Wilde

2008-10-15T08:45:00.000-07:00

When I was in my first apartment of my own in Paradise, I decorated it much like I had decorated my bedroom in high school. There were posters on the walls, nick nacks from grade school scattered about, mismatched furniture, and a TV with an actual antenna.

One day, I was sitting in one of my dangerous chairs (so called because I fell over backwards in them on more than 5 occasions) and I saw an ant on the wall, so I smashed it.

I thought it looked so interesting that I left it there, pulled out my craft box, and made a very small frame to hang around the smashed ant.

I called him Art. And I left him there until I moved out.

When a man's knowledge is not in order, the more of it he has the greater will be his confusion. ~Herbert Spencer

2008-10-13T23:36:00.000-07:00

On a very cold and windy day in Paradise, my friend Wendy was driving us home from work. The heater was taking quite a while to heat up and her tiny car was being blown around the road.

To pass the time, I offered an idle thought- "I wonder what the wind chill factor is today."

Wendy looked at me thoughtfully, then took one of her hands off of the steering wheel, applied it to the windshield, and crinkled her nose a bit.

I asked her what she was doing.

She replied "Checking the windshield factor." Yep, she was serious.

Fool me once, shame on...shame on you. Fool me...you can't get fooled again. ~George W. Bush

2008-10-10T13:57:00.000-07:00

My friend Wendy was working at K-Mart in my home town about a decade ago. She didn't feel like going in one day, so she called her manager.

Wendy didn't tell her manager that she was sick.

She told her manager that she couldn't come in because her aunt had just died... of prostate cancer.

And the manager said she was so sorry and Wendy should take as much time as she needed.

The rule of my life is to make business a pleasure, and pleasure my business. ~Aaron Burr

2008-10-09T16:32:00.000-07:00

I've heard that you shouldn't mix business with pleasure.

I disagree.

Any chance I get to make friends at work, I take it. After all, I am here in this basement cubicle more often than I am anywhere else. I don't even get that much time at home because my schedule just doesn't allow for 8 hours of sleep every night.

Why not enjoy your environment? Why not laugh throughout the day with those who are closest in proximity to you? Why not take meetings to a new level of collaboration when you KNOW what the other person is thinking, without them saying a word?

I love my friends and I love to work with them. We help each other through so much and make this daily grind so much easier to handle.

No city invites the heart to come to life as San Francisco does. Arrival in San Francisco is an experience in living. ~William Saroyan

2008-10-06T16:49:00.000-07:00

I was in San Francisco this weekend for LoveFest 2008, a music festival and huge party in the streets of downtown. My friend Melissa and I met in San Jose and drove into the city in her adorable little car. I knew we were going to have fun, I just didn't imagine HOW MUCH of it we'd have.

We stayed with a couch surfing host in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood and honestly, we couldn't have gone more right with our choice of host. He warmed us up with a firey cocktail (or two) and an amazing slideshow from his recent travels, then we ran (yes, I ran. shocking.) down a hill to catch a train to downtown.

I've only ridden the super touristy cable car in the city before. I LOVE public transportation, so this was a big treat. I stifled my happiness so as not to freak the locals out. My funky sunglasses were doing a good enough job of that without me squealing about how happy I am to be on a crowded train.

We got to the festival just in time to catch the last of the parade. Costumes everywhere. Naked people scattered here and there. Music blasting. People laughing.

We danced, we gawked, we chatted with the masses. Then, Melissa and I found the return train back to the Haight and wandered into a Thai restaurant for dinner. We were so energized that we couldn't eat much, but I discovered that I love Pad Thai. Good to know.

When we got back to our host's house, we found a lovely little party going on. Wine, cheese sandwiches, amazing conversations. San Francisco is home to some of the most interesting people I have ever met.

Our host led us on a walk up a mountain (they call mountains "hills" in the city. Puh-leez. Those are NOT hills.) and through a pitch-black park, to a cliff where we could see the entire city and all of its lights. It was breathtaking. And very cold.

A little while after we walked back down the mountain, it was announced that everyone was going to a club for the night. We grabbed a cab on a street corner and scooted out to a dance floor.

Some hours later, Melissa and I found our way back to our host's house and got a few hours of sleep before leaving the city early in the morning.

I want to hit "repeat" on this day and do it over again as many times as I possibly can. It's an experience I'll never forget and one that I was very lucky to have.

LoveFest 2009, anyone?

The rate at which a person can mature is directly proportional to the embarrassment he can tolerate. ~Douglas Engelbart

2008-09-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, I attended training in Scottsdale, Arizona. I met several people who made a positive, lasting impression on me.

Dale was one of them.

He's a trainer and often hosts classes via video conference. Dale was chatting with a few of us over lunch on the last day of training and told us all the funniest training story I've ever heard.

Dale is teaching a class on packaging to representatives at another facility. He has three cameras in his room that project on the screen in the other facility, but only positioned two of them for use in the class. There is also a camera in the other facility so that he can see his students.

Dale thinks he's pretty funny with his training style- light and witty, with some impressions thrown in for good measure. He's been talking about packages for about ten minutes and all of his students look amused. He thinks he's got a great audience today.

Then, he sees one of the older ladies in class lean toward the microphone in the other facility, so he gives her a chance to speak.

"Dale, while you've been talking about packages, the only one we've been able to see is yours."

Which was a nice way of telling Dale that the third camera that he had not positioned for the class was turned on and aimed directly at his below-the-waist area.

How embarrassing.

Your mistake does not define who you are. You are your possibilities. ~Oprah Winfrey

2008-09-18T17:17:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, I belonged to a womens group. We met once a week for about two years and talked about everything under the sun. We celebrated all of our birthdays with cake and the requisite happy birthday song.

My birthday rolled around and one of the ladies brought a sugar-free pie for me. I asked her why she chose sugar-free and she said "because you're vegetarian."

And as soon as she said it out loud, she turned beet red and laughed at herself. The rest of us ladies joined in and tried the pie.

Children are like wet cement. Whatever falls on them makes an impression. ~ Dr. Haim Ginott

2008-09-11T15:27:00.000-07:00

I've been tutoring a student through a volunteer program for just over a year now. When I met my student, she was 5 years old and pretended to be very shy. That didn't last long- the 5 year oldness or the shyness.

I heard her recite the alphabet and watched her write numbers and heard her count all the way to 100 with only a little difficulty on our first day of tutoring.

Now, only a year later, she reads comic strips to me (better than books for the attention span!) and yells out answers to addition and subtraction flashcards with great speed and volume.

The first time I witnessed her reading words like "brought" and "taught" without stumbling, I nearly squealed in delight. But it's hard enough to keep her on task as it is- so I kept it to myself.

I can't wait to see what kind of progress this next year brings.

Just think how happy you would be if you lost everything you have right now, and then got it back again. ~Frances Rodman

2008-09-07T21:41:00.000-07:00

Picture it: 1980.
K-Mart retail store in Paradise, California

I was distracted by something shiny and beautiful in the picture frame aisle of the store. As my mom and older sister moved on through K-Mart, I was separated from them.

I finally noticed that I was alone and could not find my mom. So I did what any reasonable three year old would do: I cried. And I did it loud.

A nice lady came and rescued me and brought me to the guest services counter. She asked me my name. I shared it with her. She says, "Lani, what's your mom's name? I can call her on the store speaker." Through my tears and runny nose, I say, "Her name is Mommy. She'll know who I am if you tell her what outfit I have on."

She happily announced on the loud speakers in the store: "Lani's mommy, your daughter is at the front of the store. She is wearing a blue tank top with a yellow moon on it."

And I stopped crying. I had faith that my mom would find me now.

Logic: The art of thinking and reasoning in strict accordance with the limitations and incapacities of the human misunderstanding. ~Ambrose Bierce

2008-09-05T13:24:00.000-07:00

One day back when I was maybe 4 or 5 years old, I was at my grandparents' house, under the care of my Aunt Janie.

I wanted to go outside and play and asked Janie if I could. She told me yes, but I needed to put a jacket on because it was chilly outside.

I was astounded. Chili outside? I ran out the front door to see for myself.

Alas, it was just cold. No chili falling from the sky.

What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have never been discovered. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

2008-09-02T09:43:00.000-07:00

I spent hours upon hours of my childhood in search of just one four leaf clover.
Just one, but I never found it.

This Friday, I was at a rest stop along the highway somewhere in Northern California when I saw it- a SIX leaf clover. Six leaves!

I gasped and re-checked my math. Yep, six whole leaves. I was ecstatic. It was all attached too- not one of those tricky clovers that wrap around with another one. It was real.

So I sat, staring at the ground, considering taking it with me as proof.

My road trip companion made his way over to me, looking at me as though I had six heads of my own. I pointed to the clover and expected an excited response.

All he said was something about chemicals and deformity.

Whatever, dude. It's still pretty freaking cool. I decided to leave the little miracle in the ground for someone else to find.

If there is no Hell, a good many preachers are obtaining money under false pretences. ~William A. Sunday

2008-08-28T09:43:00.000-07:00

My sister recently reminded me about a story from our childhood that I find both shocking and hilarious. I should probably be ashamed and embarrassed. But, well, I'm not.

When we were pretty young, we got a great idea to collect money from our neighbors so that we could go buy stuff (corn nuts, soda, etc.) from the corner liquor store.

I'm not sure who thought of it (HER! I swear it was her idea!!), but we got ourselves an empty jar and put a sign on it: Jerry's kids.

I don't think we even knew what that meant, except that there were jars on the counters at grocery stores with a picture of Jerry and some kids and people put money into them. No questions asked, right?

So we go out in our little neighborhood with our Jerry's kids jar in hand and ask for donations. After all, we're kids. How do they know we're not Jerry's kids?

Nobody gave us any money. We quit after 3 or 4 houses and went home, penniless. But at least we had our health.

Accept the challenges so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory.~General George S. Patton

2008-08-26T13:34:00.000-07:00

I have lived in a little out of the way beach community for just over a year now. I feel kind of like an outsider as the locals are pretty tight.

They don't treat me badly, but I half expect to get crappy treatment from the few restaurants, market, and bar since I'm a new face.

Today, I think I finally broke through a barrier: the bus stop attendant waved back at me.

During the school year, the bus stops a block from my house are packed with kids for about a half hour each morning. That half hour is when I go for a walk with my dog.

There's an old dude with a golf cart who guards the kids (from themselves I assume) until they're taken away to school. Every morning for the last school year, I waved at him as I passed by.

I was just trying to be neighborly and to recognize his volunteer effort to keep all the neighborhood kids safe.

He has always looked right at me as I waved, but has never returned the gesture.

This morning, he was passing me in his golf cart on the way home from the bus stop on the first day of school. And HE WAVED BACK.

I sort of feel like an insider now. Like a local.
But not completely. Not until I can learn how to surf and hold my own on a skateboard will I truly be an insider.

First things first- gotta put my feet in the water. Next, the world is mine.

The educated Southerner has no use for an 'R', except at the beginning of a word. ~Mark Twain

2008-08-21T17:59:00.000-07:00

Reasons I should visit Memphis

1. Elvis lived there! Apparently, there's this great place called Graceland that you can pay to visit.

2. The people of Memphis have the best southern accent.

3. I've never been to Tennessee.

4. Autozone is headquartered there. Did you know that one of their corporate values is to support a culture of thrift? AND they have a wacky kitchen attendant who yells at the employees?

5. Continuance of F-Un with Hawk and Sweet Tea, rapper girls extraordinaire.

6. Did I miss anything?

You can't be brave if you've only had wonderful things happen to you. ~Mary Tyler Moore

2008-08-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

My sister and I were about 9 and 10 years old, walking home from a store nearby.
We lived in a small town. It was a safe place for kids to be out, wandering around without parents nearby.

Or so we thought.

Here we are, minding our own business, on the sidewalk.

Suddenly- seemingly out of nowhere- this car comes barreling straight for us.
A mean eyed older man drove his old brown Buick onto the sidewalk.

He saw us- this wasn't an accident. He was staring at us with hatred and laying on the accelerator something serious.

I froze. I was caught by his eyes and was terrified. Couldn't move.

A split second before I became a squished LaiLani, my sister shoved me off the sidewalk, into the empty lot next to us, and tumbled on top of me.

Thanks for saving my life, Charlene. Now you're responsible for it, right? Ha.

A sequel is an admission that you've been reduced to imitating yourself. ~Don Marquis

2008-08-08T17:35:00.000-07:00

My production company, Gestalt Pictures, is about to do its first film sequel.

We did a promotional video for a company two or so years ago and the place has changed so much that they want us to come back and do it again.

I'm so excited about it for several reasons.

Our team gets to work together again. We really have an amazing dynamic.
We actually make money on promotional videos! Whoa. So we'll be able to buy more equipment for the company and do more of the stuff we don't get paid for!!!
The guy who owns the joint is a really cool character.
The guy who contracts us is funny.
I'd love to see what they've done with the place.

The last time we shot a video for this client, we found a parking lot carnival on the way back to our hotel and rode some rides. I screamed: "we're going to fall off" on the swing ride. It was great for morale.

And then I fell asleep at the dinner table over my chips & salsa.

And then I got terribly ill from a case of the sun stroke.

It's deadly hot and sunny out where we shoot for this client.
Good times, can't wait for more.

Let's go!

If you never did you should. These things are fun and fun is good. ~Dr. Seuss

2008-08-05T11:28:00.000-07:00

I live for adventure.

I am happiest when I have no idea what might smack me in the head around the next corner.

There's something so thrilling and wonderful about rafting down a raging river, flying through a jungle on a zip line, jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.

Maybe I just thrive on adrenaline.

Whatever the cause of my love for adventure, I know that I want more. I want to do things I've never done, go places I've never been, meet people I've never met.

And I want to do it all NOW. But that wouldn't be very much fun. Planning the next big experience or remembering the last adventure is almost as much fun as actually being there, in the moment.

Next up? Sock sliding on a glacier in Antarctica. Getting there is going to be an adventure in itself.

Edit: Sock sliding is something you've all done. You put socks on, find a slick floor, get a running start, and slide. Then laugh. Then do it again. The only difference this time is that the floor will be an icy glacier.

Control your own destiny or someone else will. ~Jack Welch

2008-08-01T11:23:00.000-07:00

Nothing has ever happened to me.

Whatever I have experienced, it is because I made it happen.

I work very hard to get what I want and I often get exactly that. Sometimes, I don't. You won't hear me complaining that I didn't get what I was after because something "happened" to me.

If you give up ownership of your life to others- you agree to whatever you are offered or you follow whatever path the person in front of you is taking- you're STILL in charge of your own life.

You just choose to let others make your decisions for you.

Those who are contented are rich. ~Lao-tzu

2008-07-30T14:07:00.000-07:00

Being rich is all about perspective.

I was seen as a rich person as I was travelling through Africa and through Costa Rica. The native people live in mud huts or shacks made with scrap wood and metal supplies. And they see me coming through their villages to observe. I take pictures of them and buy their hand-made necklaces and hop on a plane to the next location of my tour.

From the villagers' perspective, I have all the money in the world. I am rich.

In my own viewpoint, I am poor. I pay my bills on time, but can't save any money. I have student loans that are certain to smother me to death any minute. My car actually belongs to a big bank and I live in someone else's home.

What does that leave me with?
It leaves me with my knowledge, with my friends and family, potential to do some good in the world, and some material things like clothing and furniture.

After seeing real poverty and real starvation, I should be ecstatic when I wake up every morning with a roof over my head and with food in my kitchen. I should do cartwheels on the way to work, thankful that I have a source of income. I should send flowers to my doctors every day for helping me to get healthy.

There are a lot of people in this world that cannot count on these comforts. Every single day is a struggle- literally for life and death. Their lives are just as valuable as mine, yet they suffer so much more.

And I complain about waiting an extra 10 minutes for my pedicure. This is ridiculous and selfish and I hope that some day, all that I know will sink in and I will make a real change in the way I live my life.

I have to remember that I am rich, even though American Express would beg to differ.

Our thoughts create our reality -- where we put our focus is the direction we tend to go. ~Peter McWilliams

2008-07-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

I tend to be very scattered in my thought processes, my organization, and with tasks. I'll start something and see something shiny out of the corner of my eye and the moment is ruined. I move on.

This is neither a healthy nor a productive way to get through my days. I find that there are things that I miss- details that I should have caught, but was too caught up in something else already to notice.

The professor for the MBA class I'm in right now suggested that all of her students use a graph to chart all of our tasks every day. This comes from the 7 habits of highly successful people, which I've been trained on but forgot most of...

She told us to put our highest priorities on a white board and STAY FOCUSED on those two or three top things. And *poof* like magic, problem solved. Kind of- I mean, there was more to the lesson, but that's the primary point.

So I ordered a white board for my little cubicle. I hope it fits. And that it's not too shiny or it will distract, rather than help me.

Before you speak, ask yourself if what you are going to say is true, is kind, is necessary, is helpful. ~Bernard Meltzer

2008-07-21T14:40:00.000-07:00

A lot of people really freak out on elevators.

You can tell the ones that are scared when they walk in. They're googly-eyed, panting, and sometimes outright wince when the elevator car moves.

I've decided to help these people when they join an elevator that I'm on.
As soon as I see the signs of elevator nervousness, I'll smile and say to them:

"Don't worry. I hear elevator rides are just as safe as sky diving."

Behold, he travaileth with iniquity and hath conceived mischief and brought forth falsehood ~Psalm 7:16

2008-07-15T13:10:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, I was working for a company as a secretary. One of my job functions was to manage all of the company's telephones.

We had maybe 50 cell phones and I had the distinct pleasure of handing these out to employees when the managers deemed it necessary for a staff member to have one.

Our phones all had the little push to talk thing like walkie talkies and this technology was new for some people, so I showed everyone how to use their new device and explained important details like how many minutes they could use per month and such.

One of these staff members was Chris East. He's a short British dude who my friend Carrie and I lovingly compared to a leprechaun. He wasn't too fond of that since he's not Irish and all.

So- Chris is getting a new phone with the walkie talkie thing and he very obviously doesn't know the first thing about how to use it.

Of course, I want to be as much help to him as possible, so I tell him that every time he is done transmitting his message, he HAS to say "Roger, Over."

And, of course, he believes me. Because- well, why shouldn't he? So he goes around for years (YEARS!!) being the only one in the entire company to end every walkie-talkie transmission with "Roger, Over." in his adorable little leprechaun voice.

Our friend Jack told him one time that he didn't have to say it, but he insisted that I told him otherwise and continued.

I wonder if he still does it.

You can live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be a hundred. ~Woody Allen

2008-07-13T21:35:00.000-07:00

My 31st birthday is tomorrow. I've been out celebrating my waning youth for the past couple of weeks. Tomorrow, I will eat cake. Lots and lots of cake. And I will go back to work after this wonderful vacation.

I went out to Provo to spend some time with my grandmother for a few days. It just so happened that a ton of my family was in town for the weekend of Independence day. What good timing!

My aunts Sheryl and Glenna Rae were up all night sewing and quilting and chatting my first night there. They are two completely amazing women and I would love to be more like them. Maybe someday, I'll figure out how they operate at such incredible capacities and still manage to be bright and cheerful 24 hours a day. I swear they must giggle in their sleep.

We dragged a super depressed and grouchy grandma out of the house for a fireworks display that went really late into the night on the 4th. It was nice to see her leave the house willingly.

Only 3 days after my grandpa died, she fell and broke her shoulder. So she's in a ton of pain and is adjusting to life without her husband of 58 years. I'd be grouchy if I were her too.

Just before her little tumble, Grandma and some family and Jimmy (there's your shout-out, Jimmy) took a picnic lunch up to Grandpa's grave so he could be included in some fun. Grandma thought she'd better test out her spot right next to her husband, so she grabbed a lilly and laid down next to him, and even reached out to grab his hand.

After laying there for awhile, some people were walking past the grave site and saw her laying motionless with flowers on her chest. They freaked a little before they realized she was alive.

I about went to my own grave from laughing when my aunt showed me that picture. I have a very silly family.

After Provo, I went up to Olympia to hang out with my other grandma for a couple of days. I FINALLY got to visit the space needle in Seattle as part of a whirlwind tour of the city. My aunt Mary took me everywhere in the city. I was wiped out and took a nice, long nap when we got back to her house.

My aunt Karen and uncle Larry were in town at the same time and we all went to a tall ship festival where there were pirates! Pirates are fun.

I was very eager to get home to my precious puppy, but sad that I had to leave my family. Especially since my grandmas are way old and won't be around for too much longer.

The devil has put a penalty on all things we enjoy in life. Either we suffer in health or we suffer in soul or we get fat. ~Albert Einstein

2008-06-25T09:15:00.000-07:00

I was at a wedding reception this weekend where prime rib was served for dinner.

At my table were my date (my first love who broke my heart into a million pieces about 11 years and seven days ago- not that I'm keeping track.), my mom & step dad, the best man's parents, and a friend of the groom and his wife.

Dave- the friend of the groom- is a hefty fellow. He loves In N Out burger and Burger King and ice cream and all the rest of the deliciousness that food makers have bestowed upon us.

So dave is cutting his prime rib up and a big piece of fat slides off his plate onto the table. I look over at him just as he's putting in back on his plate, away from the remainder of the meat.

He sees me looking at him and says, very seriously, "I'm not a fat person."

I say... "Well, then I'm not either."

And his wife busts out laughing, I laugh, and Dave realizes how what he said came out and also laughs. This continues for about 10 minutes straight.

We decided that if Chris Farley were alive, he'd be the perfect person to deliver motivational speeches, proclaiming "I am not a fat person... and neither are you!" And we formed a society right then and there: Not a Fat Person International (NAFPI). I'm now a proud lifetime member.

The smell of burning rubber is always great in the air. ~Rusty Smith

2008-06-23T09:31:00.000-07:00

I was on a walk with my mother and my dog three nights ago when we started to smell burning rubber.

My mom says - It smells like burning rubber.
I say - That's me. (because that's just funny, right???)
She says - What? Really? (Oh my goodness, she believes me... this is great.)
I say - Yeah, mom. That's what I smell like when I get sweaty.
She says - Like burning rubber? (really. she REALLY believes me right now.)
I say - Seriously. And it's really strong in my armpits.
She says - gross!
I say - I know. It's way stronger in my armpit (lifting up arm), check it out!
(she comes a little closer to me as we stop on the sidewalk and it looks like she's about to smell my armpit, but she turns away and covers her face with her hands)
She says - I can't do it! It's too gross!

I laugh. Hard. And she realizes she's been duped. So she laughs with me.

Who smells like burning rubber when they sweat? I mean... really.