What I found.

Over the last weeks while researching other things I've come across some pictures that made me laugh at...

the whimsy
the ironythe sweetness
the perpexity
the hilarity

...of life and us in it. Hope you laugh today!

Ten on Tuesday.

It's been a while since I've done one of these. I sort of morphed questions from a couple different entries on the "official" list site into this one list because a lot of times the questions just didn't apply to me. Hope you enjoy this "get to know me" post - and I'd love to know the answers some of you all have to these as well!

1. What is your favorite summer television show?

Probably Psych. It never fails to make me laugh – usually hard. But after the last episode, Memphis Beat has caught my attention in a big way. Though not a comedy per se, I’m STILL laughing at parts of that one! And it has great music, too.

2. If it was raining so hard on a Saturday that you couldn’t leave your house, what would you spend the day doing?

It would never rain so hard that I couldn’t go play in it! (I’d jump in puddles, go for a run, maybe even go sliding in the mud, or simply taste it on my tongue. And yes, I've been out in a hurricane.) But my favorite thing to do after coming in from playing in it is to cozy up with a good book, a cup of cocoa or a really exquisite tea (depending on the book), and if I’m lucky a fire... and listen to the tattoo of the rain while I sink deeper into the comfy chair. (I neither have a comfy chair nor a working fireplace, so this really would be an indulgence!)

3. What was your favorite candy as a child?

I don’t remember, but I’m pretty certain it involved chocolate. Oddly, I remember my brother’s favorites, though. Oh! But my favorite thing to get with my “treat ticket” at the “snack shack” after a little league game was Chick-o-Stick. Soooooo fantastic!

4. Did you get an allowance? What was it based on? What did you do with it?

You know, I must have, but I honestly don’t remember it lasting long. I always had chores and responsibilities, though.

5. What is your favorite flower?

Peonies. Vibrant, sassy-yet-elegant, delightful, diverse... guess that sums me up as much as the flower!

6. Do you prefer time with family or time with friends?

Hmm. Most of my friends are very far away, so I covet that opportunity to spend time with them. I have a fantastic family with whom I love to hang out, but lately I’ve realized I’m not really that “in sync” with most of them both philosophically and because so many of them are married with families, so time with them is still good, but not what it was.

7. Looney Tunes, Tiny Toons, or Animaniacs?

Animaniacs – a gazillion percent. Enjoy all the original Looney Tunes, but never ever liked Tiny Toons.

8. Best daytime talk show: Oprah, Ellen, The Doctors, Tyra (ha!), Dr. Oz, or Dr. Phil?

I’ve never seen any save the first two, and of those I’d choose Ellen for sure... but honestly if I’m watching TV in the daytime for whatever reason, I’d rather watch a rerun or something I’ve tivoed or a video. Oh! Or Craig Ferguson on the computer! But Ellen is great, I must say.

9. Would you rather have the power of invisibility or the ability to fly?

Well if I were really to choose a superpower, it’d be teleportation... but of these two, I’d choose flying, hands down. The only thing being invisible is good for, it seems to me, is stealing things... or prank scaring people.

10. Name 1 thing you love about being an adult.

The experience gained. The ability to be so solid in who I am. To know what I know and what I don’t know without being embarrassed or intimidated by either. To be comfortable in my skin and content in the journey. That’s more than one. Sorry. Okay – the experience gained (and the perspective that gives).

Psyched out.

My last installment of USA Network original shows is most certainly not the least. Psych is in the midst of it’s fifth season and is going strong. It is a different breed from all the other shows I’ve talked about, more akin to Monk… but sillier. And funnier.

Shawn is a guy who was trained all his life by his cop dad to notice details, quizzed incessantly during his childhood, he was groomed to be a detective. Gus was his uptight best friend. But Shawn was too much of a screw off (likely because of his dad’s zealousness) and didn’t go the cop route. But with his skills he could solve crimes. One day he got blamed because he knew too much when he called in a tip, so thinking fast, he claimed to be psychic. Then he went and spent Gus’ money to create Psych Detective Agency.

Shawn and Gus are at the heart of the humor. There have been episodes where I couldn’t breathe for laughing so hard – where I had to go back and watch again because I missed what came next, but before I got there I was again laughing too hard and missed it again. The humor is a lot about pop culture, some about 80’s references since that was their childhood, and then just their general bizarre-best-friends humor. Admittedly there are times when I cringe for their being too ridiculous, but mostly I just laugh. Hard.

Their relationship, though, is something to behold. Dulé Hill (from West Wing) plays Gus, and he is the yang to James Roday’s slacker Shawn. It’s this ongoing battle with an intense bond going back years. The struggle and the tension meshed with the history and the camaraderie is what really makes this show work.

Corbin Bernsen (from L.A. Law) plays Shawn’s dad who often begrudgingly or unknowingly helps, when that’s the last thing he wants to do because he thinks his son is not taking anything seriously in life, etc. The detectives that regularly (have to) work alongside Shawn and Gus (as they have been contracted to work cases with the police) are hilarious, too.

There is so much about this show that is right. When the show The Mentalist stole the premise but made it more “legitimate” as a drama instead of a comedy, the characters of Psych even poked fun at it. This season they’ve even been poking fun at themselves; at how they have Shawn figure things out. I love it!

I’ve debated sharing one of my favorite scenes ever, but I don’t know how it would work without a little background of the characters and the start of that episode… you just can’t get how off-the-wall funny it is without having the scene set.So I’ll settle for this quote from a recent episode:

(Detective) Juliet: Who ever said work was supposed to be fun?

Shawn: Ron Jeremy for starters… but that’s beside the point.

It was just in the middle of nothing, and plenty of fine, upstanding folks won’t get it… but it slayed me.

If ever there was a show for ridiculous fun, it’s this one. If you’ve never tried it, give it a chance. It might be too low-brow for you, but you might just love it.

Catching the fever.

Having lived abroad, I can honestly say there is nothing like the frenzied love of the sport we call “soccer,” but for which I will side with the rest of the world and call “football” from here on out. With the World Cup beginning today, I’m like a kid in a candy store with free samples – amped up and crazy excited!

When I was young, I played the sport for some time. Somewhere in the midst of all that, and while attending a San Jose Earthquakes game in which George Best played, I met the legendary Pelé. This man was something beyond the sport. He was exceptional, exciting, astounding to watch play, yet as a person he was kind, patient, and loved fun. And to him, that’s what it was all about, this sport of football: FUN. As a result he exuded exuberant joy even just kicking about.

When the World Cup was played here in California, there was a buzz everywhere. You didn’t even have to know or like the sport to get caught up in the excitement of this world event. In preparing to make the world at home, different towns and cities “adopted” the various countries participating. The players from and fans of those teams would celebrate and hang out in their country’s town. My home town of Los Gatos adopted Brazil who became the champions that year. That was some intense revelry! I’d say it was not to be forgotten, but I’m pretty sure that many did just that the next day…

However, it wasn’t until I lived in Italy that I UNDERSTOOD. This game played in about any other country in the world (excepting perhaps Asia) is not a game. Not really. The intensity, the passion is beyond what an American can comprehend. Imagine taking our love for American football, basketball, baseball, and hockey and polarizing them all into one sport. Add to this fervor a regional pride like you’ve never seen here with rivalries going back centuries starting with skirmishes long forgotten. Then times this by ten, and you might begin to get the feeling with which this sport is followed and played worldwide.

It’s a lifestyle one follows there. In Italy, where I have first hand knowledge of the fierceness of their club rivalries and the riots that occasionally ensue, they even have a name for their national team – Gli Azzurri. When Gli Azzurri are playing, it doesn’t matter if the man next to you in the pub is a fan of one’s fiercest club rival, the frenzy and vigor of their love for their national team is so extreme that they are embracing and kissing cheeks in their extravagant joy or defending one another’s opinions when the team is not performing as expected.

It’s a crazy, wonderful, strange, and magnificent thing, this rapture for the exhilarating sport of football. I hope a few of you will catch it!

USA versus England on Saturday – the expedition begins!

Great expectations.

Indulgence. Why is that such a hard concept for me when it comes to reading? Up until a few years ago I mostly read by mood. I’m in the mood for a classic, I pick one and read it. I’m in the mood for fluff, so be it. I’m in the mood for a WW2 biography, bring it on!

Then I joined, and quickly was helping lead, an online book club. Suddenly I had a list. I was passionate about this list. No, to be honest it wasn’t so much passion as compulsion. I get that way about lists. So I collected all but 4 of the 118 books on the list I didn’t yet own, plus a few on the periphery group list as well. Sadly, I found two other lists to obsess about on top of the first. It wasn’t pretty. (I blame my ex – everything was his fault during that time!) After a while it kind of felt like a chore to read the books the group chose. I didn’t like that it felt that way, because often they were books I was really looking forward to and occasionally, it was even a title I had selected.

The other compulsion that occasionally overcomes me when selecting my next book is this feeling that I “ought to” read something. I think this comes a bit from being a literature major, as well as being someone who wants to continue to expand my brain and be “well-read.” It also comes from my upbringing in that you do the difficult and unenjoyable first, then if there is time you can do something pleasurable. (This didn’t serve me well in college because I loved my major so I’d always leave that work for last and things I would have aced I struggled with!) The trouble with the “ought to” mentality is that when I’m not into a book, I flounder.

I guess what I’m saying is that I need to read for joy. This means being excited, anticipating, and being in the mood to read it. Also, I need to quit selecting something because it’s on a list and I want to keep crossing books off. I need to read what interests me in the moment, and along the way, those books will get read because it will be the right timing and my mood will take me there.

So, the question becomes, what books in my to-read pile am I most looking forward to reading? What have I delayed reading for those “ought to’s” and list books? These are what I came up with:

• The Gun Seller by Hugh Laurie
• The Scapegoat by Daphne du Maurier
• Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome
• Ballad of the Whiskey Robber by Julian Rubinstein
• American Gods and the other unread books by Neil Gaiman
• The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim
• The Inkheart Trilogy by Cornelia Funke
• All Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett titles I haven’t yet read
• The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas
• North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell
• The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins
• Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
• I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith
• Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino
• Shades of Grey by Jasper Fforde
• The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Series by Douglas Adams

It’s a pretty eclectic list. Actually, there are quite a few more, but these seem to float to the surface most often when I’m looking at my library and wishing. Oh, and these are just from the books I already own (except for the complete canons of Gaiman, Chandler, & Hammett – still a few to fill in on each). Also, this list doesn't include recommended books I'm excited for either.

So, while I’m sure I’ll continue to intersperse some of the more educational and spiritual reads, I’m excited to start diving in to my joy and reading these. The trouble is choosing just one with which to begin!

Time to indulge…

Dancing queen.

Oh. My. Gosh. I just attended a Mamma Mia! movie sing-along. It was THE party to be at, in my opinion. Sincerely, I haven’t had that much fun in ages! I MUST tell you about it! :)

Even though it was just around the corner (so to speak) from my house, I found out about the event last night via my favorite Meetup group. I jumped at it, of course… I mean, a chance to belt out those fun songs with a ton of other people? Tsh, ye-a-ah! Sadly, I didn’t have time to think about dressing for the event, though, which was disappointing because you KNOW I can vamp it up with the best of them!

But the event started when I walked into The Retro Dome. This facility was an old theatre (in the shape of a dome) that a couple purchased to do fun events like this. They have this great vision, and as I found out, a lot of spunk! The lobby has bright, colorful, funky seating to lounge in while waiting for friends, they have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for sale at concessions, and the girls bathroom is hot pink, has cool girlie vintage movie posters up, and a hip cartoon lady looking very "Breakfast at Tiffany’s" painted on the wall. I was smiling in the bathroom!

Then as I entered the theatre itself, I was handed a bag of “swag” by ABBA-style clad peeps. Big hair, glitzy, wild outfits, platform heels. Yeah. It rocked. I found my group, and snagged a seat in the crowded row and enjoyed getting to know some of them. But none of us had any idea just how interactive it all was to be.

First, there was meant to be a “singing” contest, but they didn’t get many entries. However, the “Grandma Mia’s” did a number that brought down the house. All bespangled and laméd and sequined out, they got on stage and did all sorts of ABBA moves as they lip-synced. It was such a kick! (One of them was 92 – and the life of the party! Think Betty White with moves.)

Then they had a Mamma Mia! trivia contest, taking volunteers. Two ladies were chosen, and not to be left out, I raised my hand as well as the lady’s hand next to me. We were chosen and not only that, we won! So now my new friend Bobbie and I get to go see Broadway San Jose perform the stage play of Mamma Mia! Woohoo!

Just before the main event, we were taught the dance moves from the film for “Dancing Queen.” Then the show began… and we were all belting it out as the lyrics were highlighted on the screen. When the songs would start the funky colored lights would come up a bit and they’d pull people from the crowd to dance in the aisles or hand the microphones to different people. The funniest was two guys, one with a red crinoline slip on and one with a huge feather boa, busting a move to "Dancing Queen." It doesn’t get much better than that!

In the swag bags, we all got a bit of play money, and when the song “Money, Money, Money” came on, we waved it around and threw it in the air. A few got flowers, and those people were our dancing entertainment for “Chiquitita.” Then on “Does Your Mother Know,” they handed out juice with umbrellas in dixie cups!

But in “Take a Chance on Me,” when I’m about to burst out of my seat for wanting to dance (again), I was handed the microphone. After a moment, I thought “screw this,” and went to the aisle and danced and sang the big finale! (The other person that had a mic jumped out in the aisle as soon as I did!) While streamers were blasted over the seats and the dressed up peeps ran down the aisles spraying the crowd with spray bottles of water when Aphrodite’s fountain burst, I was singing and dancing away. That’s me. The Dancing Queen.

“I’m a lone wolf… ar-rooooo!”

The Doctor is in.

Several weeks back the latest series of Doctor Who with the Eleventh Doctor, Matt Smith, began. My doctor is, and always will be, the Tenth Doctor, David Tennant. I sang Tennant’s praises early on in my blog. He is, quite frankly, my dream guy – crazy-smart, tall & thin, sassy, great sense of style, loves adventure, travels through space and time… and yes, I know he’s an alien. And fictional. I can’t set myself up for disappointment much more completely than that… but I digress.

I was inclined at the outset to dislike Matt Smith as The Doctor. I mean, how can I appreciate anyone who follows up my favorite? Beyond that, he’s just so young, and that’s bothersome because it’s hard to then see him as the 900-and-something-year-old that he is. He doesn’t have any experience in his eyes. To me that is an important quality to have in The Doctor.

However, while so far I feel a bit like Doctor the 11th is a watered down version of #10, I am enjoying the show. His companion Amelia “Amy” Pond, for one, is clever and funny. And Scottish. I adore how they met. The scene early on where she feeds him – one of the funniest things I’ve watched in years. And as a whole, the show is still as fun as ever.

The sass is, I think, what I miss the most. The Tenth Doctor was full of piss and vinegar, and several of his companions were as well – especially Donna Noble. The verbal banter was mouthwateringly good. Also, I think so far I haven’t felt The Doctor’s intensity and strength; that fierceness that, coupled with his sense of adventure, drives him. His vulnerability has been present, but so far not his venom.

Perhaps that’s who this Doctor is, though. I’m okay with that, but it will take some getting used to. Perhaps when I can finally quit comparing, I will be able to more fully enjoy this new Doctor. One thing’s certain, though… I’m still watching!

(Love the new logo!)

What was discovered there.

This weekend I did another event with the same meetup group. This time it was a docent lead tour of the town I grew up next to, followed by a hike in the hills behind it and a picnic supper under the Redwood trees.

The tour about town was fun and informative, but a little odd since I’ve basically lived there since age seven. Still, it was a kick. The docent was new (I have a sneaking suspicion this was her first time) but she was quite good. The most fun thing I learned was that Lillian Fontaine brought up her daughters Olivia deHavilland and Joan Fontaine here! As an classic film lover, this was astoundingly cool to discover.

But I must say I came alive on the hike. This area of California… well, we are incredibly blessed. It’s unbelievable how stunningly beautiful it is. With the forests that have survived their giant ancestors being cut out 100 years ago, it still thrives. From the most elegant, almost lacy, little plants along the path like the Maiden Hair, to the great Redwoods, it’s lush and vibrant, and quite frankly life-giving.

I nearly didn’t go on the hike, fearing I mightn’t keep up and hold up the group. But the group was four of us, all completely enamored of the nature surrounding us. I gamboled all over the mountains, becoming the kid I am. The others laughed at me as I chattered like a five year old, completely in my element and happier than I’ve been in quite a while. They expressed their shock at discovering I wasn’t 15 years younger than I am (probably would have thought younger had this been their first experience of me). But most of all they found it too funny that I thought I’d not be keeping up with them. I mean, I probably walked twice as much as them in my excitement and contented joy.

But the very best part was when the sent me ahead to see if the path continued on or not, and I discovered something… interesting. There was a bit of a clearing, and in the center of it was an eight foot stick standing upright in the ground with a colorful ribbon tied to the top of it. Beyond it was a small circle of trees, as happens with Redwoods, that had long branches placed in such a way that all sides of the circle had about a four foot high wall, save where the entrance was coming from the clearing. On the two larger trees that formed the door there were imitation flower leis about seven feet up.

As I approached it, I took in the four foot high stump with three candles, broken pieces of celestial stone work, and another flower on it. To the right of the entrance I noticed a broken stone disk of the sun, but it was what was posted below the lei on the right hand tree forming the entrance that caught my attention. The others hadn’t caught up, so I had time to read the wooden plaque. It read:

LOVE

There is no difficulty that enough love will not conquer;
no disease that enough love will not heal;
no door that enough love will not open;
no gulf that enough love will not bridge;
no wall that enough love will not throw down;
no sin that enough love will not redeem…

It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble;
how hopeless the outlook;
how muddled the tangle;
how great the mistake.
A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.
If only you could love enough you would be the happiest and most powerful being in the world . . .
Emmet Fox

Wow. As the others approached, I surveyed where we were exactly. It turns out that it was at a meeting of five paths, none of these paths were man made, but extended out from this clearing. It was fascinating. And beautiful.

This was, in our communal opinion, a place to receive a (pagan*) blessing for love – whether with your partner or in hope for the future of an individual. It wasn’t until we’d explored several of these paths and returned that I finally decided that I wanted some of that, so I entered. I took it all in, looking up at the sky through the tall branches that met in the center of the circle far, far above me, to the hand-dyed celestial tarp that was lightly buried beneath the debris of the forest, to the lovely scarf wound around a fallen branch that slanted from the back in (and was perfectly placed to hang a lantern from) and the necklace also attached with a charm reading “I ♥ Ashton.” I felt as if love was brought there, sought there, and found there.

I felt more than thought my prayer, and with the joy of an explorer who has made a delicious discovery, I scampered on to again overtake my group so that I can come back with more to show them.

*When I say pagan I refer to the original meaning of “belonging to the country,” or those who believe in honoring and respecting nature, not the blanket term adopted much later by those of the Christian faith to mean “ungodly.”

The gathering.

Today I attended the Tartan Day Scottish Fair about 45 minutes from my home. I was meant to go with a Meetup group, but they canceled for fear of rain. A little rain never scared me away, and indeed it never did rain anyway. I was too excited for this event not to go.

I’ve never attended one of these things, though I’d wanted to for some time. This was a small gathering, but I must say, SO MUCH FUN. I had no idea about all the things that go on. What I did expect was shopping booths, the clan booths, and Scottish music, but I did not expect all the different reenactments and interactive displays. Nor did I expect how outstanding and diverse the music would be. I learned a lot and laughed and danced and met lovely people and spent WAY too much money. I don’t regret a bit of it, though.

On the historical side of the event, there was a family that set up camp and dressed up as if they were Scots from first century BC. Just down the way was a Viking tent with all sorts of interesting weaponry and protection. This group not only put on a display, but explained what kind of person would be wearing each costume and why. There were those dressed as if they were from more of the upper echelons of historical Scottish society, including royalty. (“Excuse me, your Majesty.”) And of course, there were all different aspects of what everyday life would have been for the Scots of the day. The traditional kilts, the sword fighting with actual steel blades, and the feasts were all spectacular.

I confess, I met a gentleman that turned my eye. I actually blushed in his presence. I don’t do blushing. The funny thing is, he was big and burly with long hair, a great scruffy beard, and a belly, but his genuine character and kind nature shone the moment I met him and all that other stuff I mentioned that I’d normally avoid was suddenly quite attractive. QUITE. And yes, the kilt and kit made him that much hotter!

There was a birds of prey display that was outstanding. They had hawks and falcons, but they also had a huge eagle that was stupendous and gorgeous. They would walk around with them in and amongst the rest of us. It was amazing to be so close to an animal that regularly hunts for live food.

As for shopping, I was doing just fine - a CD here, a necklace there – until I found a kilt. It’s just a simple black cotton one, but it looks so good on me. I was avoiding, avoiding, but I couldn’t resist. Basically, I’ll wear it as skirt and love it. I'm sure I will feel ridiculous doing so when I actually move to Scotland, but I will enjoy it nonetheless. I’d love to have one exactly like this:

because this is actually my clan tartan, but as this is a designer gown (Alexander McQueen) that’s not very likely. It’s crazy how expensive it is to even get the fabric in your clan tartan in order to have a kilt, or anything else, made. So for now it’s crazy tights and a “fun” skirt (a.k.a. the new kilt).

Anyway, if you ever have the chance and like to learn as well as hang out with really down-to-earth folks, I highly recommend attending a Scottish Fair. For me, the music alone makes this kind of event worth it. The rest made it... a perfect day.

*If you didn't get the pun in the title, you REALLY need to watch more movies. "There can be only one."

Finding their place.

I have been listening to the Harry Potter audiobooks as read by Stephen Fry. But in doing so, I find that when I’m not working on some project, I’m staring at my closet full of books. Of course my mind muses on even better and cleaner organizing within, but it also has caused me to want to pair down even more.

This time it’s not so much to get rid of more, as these are the books I’ve yet to read. Rather, I'd like to remove the ones that just aren’t screaming out to my psyche to be read at the moment. I mean, there are so many I really want to read – likely over a hundred I’m pining to dive into and devour – that storing the others elsewhere for a while might be a wise idea. The idea being to clean out the clutter and feel less overwhelmed with the amount of upcoming reads.

I use the term clutter loosely, because if anything in my life is organized, it’s my books. There’s just too many of them in a small space, but they are ordered – OH, are they ordered! When I feel that my life is getting out of control, I go and reorganize my books. I must feel in that moment that at least in that action, with my books, I have control. It’s a bit like John Cusack’s character with his albums in High Fidelity, only my ordering curricula are quite different.

I mentioned that these are just the books I’ve yet to read, my already read books being in storage. See, because I was in a crisis mode for several years, I went about collecting all the books from the Official Rory Gilmore Book List. That alone is about 120 books. But along the way, there were books that I heard about, read about, or randomly picked up that I discovered I wanted. So getting those, receiving other books as gifts, and then starting yet another book list, BBC’s The Big Read Top 100, I have several hundred books in my closet that are to be read.

Yes, I said in my closet. My clothes have been relegated to a tiny armoire so that my books have space to breathe. The doors are off, and the closet is completely shelved. Yet still, somehow, I have them stacked on top of the neatly shelved books. Neat piles on neat rows. What am I to do?

What’s most frustrating is that lusting I mentioned earlier – that desire to simply devour a title I see right there on my shelf. I think this is why I’ve undertaken so many at once – I just want to read them all NOW so I end up entrenched is eight titles at the same time. I want to pick it up, read it right there in a short time, and then grab the next one. I know it’s illogical, and frankly impossible, but it’s the longing to know and understand each one that grips me.

Every day I consider how I’m going to get these volumes, even the ones I most want to consume, with me when I move to Europe. I finally got the opportunity for the first time this weekend to try a Kindle by Amazon. It was indeed convenient, and compact when you think that you can have a library right there… but the problem is that I already have these hundreds of books I want to read. Why would I re-buy them for that gadget? It just doesn’t work for me. So I keep pondering.

I think it comes down to the fact that it was really unwise for me to do all that collecting in those years of trauma recovery. But it can’t be changed, so I need… a bag that’s bigger on the inside and really strong muscles. Since I haven’t yet read the books on physics to figure out how to do the first bit of that (nor have I met The Doctor, as I’ve long hoped for, who could do that for me), I welcome any and all suggestions…

Loveliness gained.

Do you ever have days where, even though you didn’t get a thing done you really needed to; meant to, they were simply scrumptious? Today is that for me.

I had had a nice cappuccino, and was doing a little of this and a little of that before I got down to the “meat” of the day. In the midst of this, the Harry Potter books read by Stephen Fry had finally downloaded.

First of all, yes I’m a Harry Potter geek. Here's the proof...

If you’ve been reading, you also know I’ve a thing for Stephen Fry. He’s just… kind, adorable, debonair, and seems Good. He’s not my usual type (and thank goodness, as he’s gay), but his honest, vibrant, and even gentle ways are so seductive. Anyway, as a result of this fixation, I’m finding out about all sorts of projects he’s involved in, like reading the Harry Potter books.

So this morning when the bubble popped up saying the download was complete, I thought, oh why not listen for a few minutes while I deal with these odds and ends. I thought ten minutes, tops, before I need to get on with it. Um. About three hours later, I'm still sitting there, wrapped. And grinning. The entire three hours – six chapters, mind – grinning! It was a bit of heaven. Utterly divine.

I mean, he IS British, so he can do the various accents. But beyond enjoying the stories I love read so well, knowing it was him gave my imagination leave to me picturing his expressions as he sat there reading.

I’m not someone who can usually do audiobooks because I’m an intensely visual person. For instance, I always have to take copious notes for a lecture to stick. You tell me directions I won’t have a clue what to do and will most certainly get lost, however, you write them down and I read it once through, I’ll nearly always remember. It’s just the way I’m wired.

But with these books it’s different. I’ve read them multiple times – more than any other books in my life, truth be told. Therefore I know the stories, have seen the words, so they stick. But I’ve a feeling that if it were always Stephen Fry reading, I’d get it even if it were a first go around!

At the end of the sixth chapter I thought I’d at least go out and do my walk through the park for exercise. I’d been out there maybe ten minutes when it started raining. Seriously, it was fantastic. I LOVE this. I had started my walk still grinning from listening to the book, completely filled with delight, and now the rain just enhanced it. I know for most that’d be so off-putting, but I adore rain, so it was perfect.

I was inspired, delighted, and gaining energy. And now I’m home and I can’t wait to take a nice hot shower, get all cozy, and window fully open so I can continue to listen to the rain, indulge some more in Stephen and Harry! Hooray!

Nothing accomplished, loveliness gained.

It's the little things.

A couple of interesting experiences from the last few days…

Scene One:

I was in my local Mexican hole-in-the-wall. It’s the kind where it’s clean and colorful inside, with a television always on a Spanish speaking station – that day’s show was “El Gordo y La Flaca” (the fat and the skinny). The food is truly authentic to the point that during the time I was in the restaurant for a quick lunch, easily twenty Hispanic people either dined in or took out. I was, in fact, the only white person there. That is until The Grannies.

Just as I was finishing up my amazing fish taco and horchata, three older ladies entered. One of them charged in yelling “HOLA” (she pronounced it hoe-lah). The other two scurried up behind as she said in one of the worst gringo accents ever, "¿Cómo estás?" The cook/owner kindly responded in simple Spanish, but it seemed those three words were about the extent of her Spanish vocabulary.

I went about the business of devouring more of the taco when bits of the continuing conversation wafted my way. She was explaining to her two companions what a burrito is and what a taco is. Now here in California, well, you’re just sort of born with that knowledge. Like knowing your cheeses if you’re from Wisconsin. It’s just the way of [your] world.

Still, I ate on. But I was again sucked in when one of the followers said in a British accent, “Guacamole,” (pronounced something akin to that amusement center game “Whack-a-Mole”), “that’s made with avocados, yes?” When the answer came in the affirmative, she said, “I’ll have this.” She then points to an item on the menu which is on the wall outside of the kitchen. So the person taking the order had no idea what she was referring to and just looked utterly dumbfounded when none of the three offered a further explanation as to what “this” was.

Well, that was pretty much it for me, I mean I’m sure they said and did loads of other funny things before they took their seats, but frankly I got the giggles. The three Mexicans at the next table looked at me… sitting alone… laughing... but I was giggling too hard to explain, so I vaguely gestured toward the ladies and just kept looking the fool. It was worth it. I was sorry I was done and had to be off.

Scene Two:

I was walking in the park again today. Third day in a row, fourth this week, so I’m feeling really good about it. Sunday is obviously more crowded than the other days (even Saturdays, actually). I’ve recently learned this breathing technique to do, and it’s especially good when walking. Without getting into it, I’ll just say it involves intaking all your air through your nose. Being spring, over the last few days this has been delightful. It’s a large park with a lake, and I walk the whole of it, so there are loads of lovely, fresh smells with everything blooming.

I was about two thirds of the way through the walk when, in the traffic of people on the trails, walking toward me were a man and a lady. Now, I must confess I don’t have any idea what the guy looked like because my eyes went straight to the lady’s fake boobs. They couldn’t help it, my eyes. Now, this lady was dressed like someone from Beverly Hills would dress if they were pretending to workout – all high end clothing, none of which would actually hold up to any real excerpted activity, and no actual bra underneath her purple designer spandex-with-spaghetti-strap top (yet oversized-boobs-on-tine-body are fixed in place). Her hair is big, and she’s even holding a designer water. Yet, somehow if it weren’t for the boobs, she’d not look so obviously over-done. Of course, with the exception of the boobs, having only had a glance, none of this processed until I'd passed them.

But the passing was the thing, because when I did I happened to be doing one of those big intake breaths… you know, through the nose. I sputtered and coughed, my eyes started watering. I was choking on the cloud of perfume in which she was encased. This also made me laugh – and I thought for sure I’d be found out as to why, so without really being able to breathe I rushed forward. Once breathing again commenced, I was chuckling for a while, because seriously it was an intensely pungent fragrance. I got to my turn-around point on the dam, back in the groove of the rhythm of exercise. As a turned a corner down the way a bit, there they were again. Luckily this time I could see them coming from a ways off, so I could make sure to be breathing OUT when I passed. But I still laughed.

Scene Three:

I was helping someone out with their start-up business, and ended up driving an hour away to babysit both Friday and Saturday. They were for about four hours each. It was fun (the work, not the commute); the girl is really cute. This business provides you with a basket of fun, mostly learning-related, toys and games. Yesterday, amongst other things, we built a wooden model of the skeleton of a brachiosaurus, played the memory game, and I painted her face. She loved it all, but especially the face painting.

With about ten minutes before I was scheduled to leave, she really wanted to do something from my basket of goodies again, but I explained that I was going to have to leave soon. She started crying and said she wanted her mom. Her mom, who had returned and was working in the next room, automatically asked what was wrong. Once she realized, she started laughing and left me to it. (I’m pretty sure her daughter was hoping mom would side with her and tell me to stay.) I came up with a solution that made my charge happy, but it’s pretty hilarious when someone outright cries AND wants their mom when you tell them you’re going to be leaving soon – especially when you’re at work.

Starting out fresh.

One of my all-time favorite breakfasts is crepes. To be more specific, lemon crepes – simple, light, fresh, delicious. Give me crepes and a cappuccino in the morning, and I’ll experience nirvana, especially if it’s served out-of-doors.

So today I made them myself! This was first time since the debacle while I was babysitting a family of eight kids for sixteen hours straight who decided to make crepes, and at fifteen years old I didn’t seem to have the power to stop them. Well, not ALL of them. But that’s another story.

I had intended to go to the Farmer’s Market and then treat myself to one at my favorite place along the market strip in town. However, I neglected to set my alarm and since I stayed up far too late reading (another “old lady” pleasure that I’ve done since I was tiny), I didn’t awaken in time. I could have gone to town just for the crepe, but I would have been so disappointed about the rest that I couldn’t have enjoyed it as well.

So I looked up a basic recipe online and went for it. I quickly learned the importance of a hot enough (but not too hot) pan coupled with a quick twist of the wrist. Let’s just say the first one was more like a not-quite-cooked corn tortilla. Less batter is better, my friends. However, with a squeeze from the fresh lemon plucked from our tree and a dash of sugar, the rest of them were perfection. I was so excited to not only make one of my favorite things, but to know instinctively what to do to make it turn out better next time (whip the eggs first).

I’ve always loved cooking. Finding just the right spices to make the dish blossom on the tongue, being sure all the different parts of the meal flow together, presenting it in an inviting and beautiful way all contributed to this passion. I enjoy it enough to have once had a catering and party planning business. I was too wimpy back then to handle the business side (yes, ‘tis true, an entirely different me), so I actually lost money, but every party I did was a huge success mostly because I created the recipes to fit the events.

However, when it comes to breakfasts, I owe my cooking indulgences to my ex-boyfriend. His favorite meal was breakfast, so my skills were honed. Before he came around I was a cappuccino-and-brioche-girl. Now I love it. In the last few weeks I’ve made waffles, whole grain pancakes, awesome omelets, some kick-arse challah bread french toast, and now crepes. It’s strange to realize just how easy all this stuff is to make… and how much better it is than from even the best restaurants.

So later today I decided to make an Irish soda bread. I haven’t had it in years, but love it. It’d be a fun thing to have available for the week, and it’s another easy thing to make (I know this because I used to make it in Junior High). Plus if my hockey team plays as badly this evening as they have been this last week or so, I’ll need the distraction.

It’s exciting to accomplish something new and find you’re pretty good at it. Even more so when the results bring a favorite thing to your lips. It makes me wonder what breakfast challenge I might conquer next… madelines? croissants? The latter seems the most daunting, and it might be best if I didn’t discover a proficiency for making them since they are something to which I believe I can become addicted – especially if they are of the almond or chocolate persuasion. Mmm. But taking a little time and thinking outside the usual breakfast box is exciting!

Hope your breakfasts bring you a bit of joy this week!

How I got old.

Last night I attended a party for a long-time friend who moved out of state and was back for a visit. It was a decade birthday, so quite a do. It was lively – body shots were had (not by me).

On the way to the party I was thinking about how when we’re young, we tend to watch all the movies that are considered greats, for instance. We lap up everything. We’re at a party and we’ll drink whatever is on offer – and likely lots of it. But there comes a point where one says, I really couldn’t give a rat’s arse about that film, academy award nominated or not. It’s not my thing. I’ve definitely reached that point.

So now fast forward to the actual event. Wow. Crazy happenings, lots of “WOOOs” were yelled out over the blaring party-dance music in the back yard of that high-priced suburban neighborhood. This isn’t a bad thing at all – this friend is a true party girl, and it suits her – carefree, flamboyant, youthful. She’s serving her famous “Panty Rippers,” a concoction so strong for a fruity drink as to be dangerous to drink around open flames, and she’s bouncing from group to group, challenging some to do Patron shots, jumping into the arms of her best friend’s new beau and flashing the rest of the party in the process, chatting and flitting, and honestly somehow doing it all with everyone feeling delighted and joyful – including family. That’s how she is.

Now, I have been as brazen and wild and rambunctious. In fact on occasion when we’ve been together, I’ve even outdone her. By a lot. It’s a complete blast to cut loose and just be. Bold. Brash. Ballsy. Confident and fun-loving.

In fact, there were to be further celebrations tonight with a smaller group of ladies taking on a local hot spot and I was invited. At first I thought it’d be great. But then I realized… all this – the party scene – it just isn’t me any more (not that it ever was – I just dabbled). Now, I’m not saying I won’t ever want to get wild and crazy (this was me), but honestly just now it sounds horrid – at least in that way.

As an aside, last night was also the first time I’ve worn heels since my ankle surgery back in October. Previous to going under the knife I quite literally wore crazy-high heels every day (lowest heel was 4”). EVERY DAY. I only owned one pair of flats aside from my sports shoes, and had only worn them on a handful of occasion. I thought heels were the most comfortable thing in the world. Honestly! Until last night. Holy crap! That was rough! Of course, I *did* choose my absolute highest heel – with a platform as well. At any rate, thinking of traipsing all over the area hot spot again in heels wasn’t the most appealing possibility!

So back to my mini-revelation. I was considering on the ride home how I may have inadvertently gotten OLD. I mean, as I write this, instead of being out on the town, I’m sipping a favorite red wine while listening to classical music after being rather domestic all day, doing laundry while suffering through last night’s recorded hockey game then indulging myself in the delights of both creating and eating an exquisite homemade risotto and to-die-for chocolate mousse. And I’m contented (especially my stomach). What’s worse is that I’m looking forward to going to the Farmer’s Market tomorrow and doing more of the same tomorrow evening. (Cooking, chilling.)

I want to think that I’ve just discovered how my dimensions have changed and am embracing them, but really… classical music over popular music at the club? Chill-out evening over a night out? How old is THAT?? Still, somehow it marking me as old doesn’t make me want to jump back to the other way. I’m glad I don’t feel that youthful compulsive need to drink whatever is going. I’m willing to try things, and have a diverse palate, but at the same time I know what I prefer. If it’s not the trendy thing going, and most often my drink selections aren’t fashionable, I don’t care. It’s what I like.

One more thing that is related to this insight is that recently I have been honing in on what I really want from my life, determining that the things that detract from that goal need to be set aside. Spending money to follow in my girlfriend’s wake as she parties the night away, not really getting to visit properly with her at all, isn’t helping me toward my goals. If it were about getting to connect with her, then absolutely I’d be there… but who connects on deeper levels at a club?

I confess it is disheartening to think that I’m not as fun and playful as have been my trademarks. At the same time, it’s really nice to truly know what brings me joy as well as that I can maintain my focus to achieve my goals. So in my dotage, I guess I’ll know myself well. Ugh. I guess my only hope is found somewhere in these two quotes:

We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. — Anaïs Nin

My self-confidence comes from the fact that I have discovered my own dimensions. It does not behoove me to make myself smaller than I am. — Edith Södergran

That said, I hope I can manage tonight without the Ben Gay and Metamucil. Might need the walker, though.

Giving and getting.

A friend of mine asked if I would host a charity event to benefit The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society as she knew I could handle myself in that sort of a scenario. It was a speed-dating event held at a popular local pub.

Now, I found it a comical thing for me to be the face of. But I was more than happy to help and had a lot of fun. More importantly, so did the people that participated… and best of all, they could leave feeling great that the money they put forth goes to help this great cause. The other customers at the pub even took part by purchasing raffle tickets, and the management were very generous indeed, both on behalf of the bar and individually.

After it was over, a few of the participants hung around and it was lovely to chat with them. But after cleaning up, as I was heading out, a group of guys that had been there all night, now entertaining one woman, called me over. Having fielded questions all night about the event, I assumed that was what it was why.

Before I continue, I must interject that one of the married guys had interrupted a conversation I was having with this lovely, tiny, woman to see if she’d be willing to come meet his single friend who was interested in her. Yikes.

Now, having joined this group, the one single guy he’d been talking about begins to chat me up. I was having a nice time, but then I knew what kind of woman he liked, right? Über-thin I am not. However, confident I am. Here’s the thing, though. This same gentleman in all politeness tells me that they talked about me. Okay, I figured. But then he sort of concedes that I’m beautiful… after qualifying it with “full-figured.” Hmm.

Can I ask you, what woman would even need, much less want, that qualification? Really? I know what I look like, and I’m more than happy with myself. If you like what you see, then don’t be telling me that I’m “big” or “thick” or “full-figured” or any of that. I’m a WOMAN. I’m beautiful at any size and shape. And I know at any given moment what that size and shape is. Like or leave it, Bubba! Sure I want to be more fit (mostly so I can do my sport again and better), but this is me right now, and I really am all that just like this!

Now, as I was leaving – leaving him wanting more, of course – he asked if he could see me again. Well, sure, okay. I enjoyed talking to him and he really was a gentleman who paid me some lovely, thoughtful compliments along the way. However, on my way home I thought about the fact that he preferred the beautiful, tiny lady, and wondered why I agreed. Eh, cop or not I’d eat him alive really. But maybe I’ll gain a friend.

"Every new friend is a new adventure...
...the start of more memories."

Patrick Lindsay

The world is upside down.

Yesterday was a great day in hockey history. The last three gold medal games were replayed in the last day of the preliminary round, and it was exciting!

The first game, Russia and the Czech Republic, was intense and fast. But even more, there was loads of hitting. Yes, this is my favorite part of the game, but it was more impressive to see so plainly how a single hit can alter the course of the game, as with Alex Ovechkin’s hit on Jaromir Jagr. It was a mid-ice smackdown. And ten seconds later, Evgeni Malkin scored for Russia. Wow. The energy completely shifted, too. The intensity of the game never let up, and the Czechs were in it until a late empty-net goal by Russia that sealed it.

The second game is THE game. Come on, even non hockey fans must have heard about this stunner. The USA taking on favored, powerhouse, home team Canada. If talent had weight, the Canadian team would be an anvil. Not a single person, not media not experts, not really anyone who knows hockey slightly thought that the US men could pull out a win. No one, that is, except them.

I hoped. Hard. I know anything can happen, but I didn’t believe… until they started playing. They were a Team, with a capital “T.” They knew their roles, and they played as a unit. I love a huge amount of the outstanding players on the Canadian team, but great talent, as we well know from history, doesn’t make a great team.

The game was back-and-forth for a while, but the US seemed to dominate momentum and pace, especially later in the game. But goaltender Ryan Miller was on fire, saving 42 shots. Then when Ryan Kesler made a near-miraculous empty net goal, it was unbelievable. The US was going to win. My joy poured forth!

Kudos to NBC, by the way, for playing that entire game (excluding between periods of course) commercial free. Because there are no TV timeouts in the Olympics, the other games would go to commercial and we’d miss segments of the game. So thank you, NBC.

In these first two match ups, the silver medalists toppled their gold medal counterparts from the years before. But in the last game, Sweden versus Finland, it didn’t turn out that way. In fact, it didn’t turn out to be much of a game. Miikka Kiprusoff came to play for Finland, but he didn’t seem to have a lot of help. Sweden dictated play on every level after the first few minutes, blanking Finland. I was disappointed because I really thought this would be the game to round out one of the most amazing days in hockey in recent history. Still, Finland was good enough in preliminary to garner the forth spot, giving them a bye along with all of yesterday’s winners.

What is so astounding about all of this is that now the USA has top ranking, meaning they play the easier teams, and either Russia or Canada will be out before the medal round as they will play each other in the quarter finals provided Canada beats Germany tomorrow. Holy cow. That’s just crazy. These are the teams predicted to be the top two. What an exciting tournament! What a great sport.

I feel guilty for saying this, but between Canada and Russia, I’d rather see Russia continue. Not because I have anything against the amazing players on Canada (save one or two – LOL) nor the country (Vancouver is one of my favorite cities in the world), but because Russia is just a more exciting team to watch. The have a fire that is… fun. They are having fun, so you have fun watching them.

I’m open for any eventualities, and LOVE the unknown of it all. Nothing is a sure thing in this one-game elimination setting that we are entering. But that’s what makes it so exciting! Slovakia or Sweden? Russia or Canada – or does Germany surprise the world and be the ones to take them both down. Now THAT would be a long shot. However it goes, whatever the outcome, it’s an amazing game and I wouldn’t miss this for the world!

...U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!...

Simply luscious.

What makes a day a good day?

Today I woke up to a fresh doughnut (thanks Dad!) and coffee while enjoying the end of last night’s Olympics (Ohno! Kearney! So exciting!). I then put on a cute skirt with fancy tights and my still-pretty-new boots and headed out to the farmer’s market. Sheer joy. I can’t explain why. I think it reminds me of when I lived in Italy… except far more international with sellers originally from Tunisia and India and Portugal, to name a very few.

Maybe because I know after I’m done I’m going to my favorite French-American fusion café, located right on the strip of the market, for the lightest, most delicious crepe imaginable. Today I upped the ante by getting champagne instead of café au lait, and when the chef/owner found out I didn’t have a sweetheart, he gave me a tuxedoed chocolate strawberry – very sweet – as well as instructions on how I need to find a French man for real romance. I even got a second glass of champagne on the house! Best of all I laughed with a lovely couple from Australia during all of this.

I also walked into the local used bookstore on the off chance that a specific copy of a book I wanted might be there, fully expecting to have to go elsewhere as they didn’t have it only days ago. But there it was! Just EXACTLY what I wanted – and for so little!

I eventually wandered home to snack on a fresh hummus and warm pita, finishing with a perfect cup of tea. Then after a quick change, I was off to the park for a long, brisk walk around the lake – a big deal with the ankle still recovering. It was lovely, if packed with couples taking a Valentines stroll. It felt like spring with trees flowering here and there. I finished lounging on my blanket on the hillside overlooking the lake, reading until dusk.

Now, after a warm shower (under a wonderful new shower head) and a fresh and light dinner, I’m enjoying the Olympics before watching a movie!

So, little joys, fun interactions with people on an international level, delightful surprises, tasty treats, refreshing exercise made up this good day. But even more, purposing that it would be good made it so. I chose to believe it would be, and my outlook made all the difference. Now if I could just remember to do that more often…

Anyway, after sharing about “one of those days” recently, it seemed right to share this simple yet wonderful day as well. I hope in the days to come you find delights around every corner.

What this girl wants.

Hockey. The greatest sport in the world. Now don’t attempt to argue – on this little patch of cyberspace at least you won’t win.

I’m bringing it up today, however, because it’s Olympics time! Woohoo! I always get excited for The Games. I enjoy the entire spectacle, from start to finish; opening ceremonies to closing festivities. From the obscure sports to the little known countries competing to the personal stories of the athletes to learning about the host city and country, I immerse myself in the whole of it.

However, this time with it being in Canada, and being the Winter version, I’m over-the-moon! Hockey played in it’s birthplace on a world scale – flipping awesome!

The thing that makes it all the more exciting and urgent is that this isn’t like the NHL playoffs. Come the finals of this tournament, it’s one game elimination. No best of seven. Just one shot. Your team doesn’t gel one night and your country’s metal chances could be over. So much more thrilling and nail biting this way!

With that in mind, a team like Canada with all that talent and more pressure than most could fathom (particularly after the last Winter Games results of seventh place), might just have an off night. In this one-game final rounds elimination world, even a most unlikely team might emerge… not to mention the other powerhouse of Russia.

I will, of course, cheer for my country. I will also cheer for the players from my NHL team (the San Jose Sharks) on their respective country’s teams. And I will just cheer because it’s that rare thing of world hockey. There is no (real, regular) world cup for hockey, so this is what I’ve got. And I’ll most certainly take it!

I know most girls (who actually like the Olympics) are excited for figure skating or perhaps, if they are more edgy, then some of the more extreme-style sports. But this girl, she just wants to see her some hockey!

Best pick-up line EVER.

(Well, by a geek to a geek at least.)

It was last year, and I was in a frustrated and miserable state as my car, which I’d just the day before dropped a bunch of money into to replace the radiator while on a trip, had not even 11 miles later fizzled into eternal death. By that time, however, I had crossed the San Francisco bay (from Marin to Oakland) and there was not a soul I knew in the vicinity.

So I waited for a tow truck (that was going to suck even more money out of me) to make its way up from home in the south bay to where my car had breathed it’s last. I was stuck in a sort of in-between place, so had to walk some distance to find a spot in which to finally eat. It was a restaurant next to a boat dock.

I go in, and head upstairs to the less… romantic area. I ascend the stairs into a raucous, merry world filled with local fishermen and posh yacht owners swilling together. There were peanut shells on the floor, and dice rolling around on the bar.

I reached the top and INSTANTLY became the center of attention. Oh, and you can believe me, I (also instantly) decided I was going to have some serious fun with this!

I was invited to sit many places, but chose the table at the head of the stairs, just next to the bar, that was filled with a motley group. Sort of a large “welcoming table” as you got to watch the ebb and flow of customers… and discuss said customers at length in front of them if you wished (apparently this was the local custom).

Now, in that mix, some of the guys were complete idiots (to be expected) attempting to pick me up by insulting me and calling me a liar. As a side note, the irony was it was the one thing I wasn’t… “misleading” about! You see, I’d also decided to just be evasive about everything, so that when they questioned me about what I did for a living, they decided it was whatever they suggested because I didn’t stop them from thinking that. So I had a myriad of occupations (and a plethora of names), depending on who you talked to!

There were other guys that offered, and did, buy my drinks and my meal. There were some that were so drunk they could only say sexual things to me as their friends laughed nervously, while I, smartalec that I am, had scathingly awesome comebacks that the drunk guy couldn’t follow, but which his buddies so admired that they rather were in awe of me. There were others that were overly polite trying to make up for the rest of them. In all, I was on top of my game, witty as all get-out, and having the time of my life!

But then there was the guy next to me. Sigh. It’s true, my geek-love set in. He had the hot geek-style glasses, was thin and tall as I often lust after, and was, I discovered, quite smart. He thought I was a quantum physicist.

He took his time at starting to talk to me, and when he did it was to “save me” from the idiot who wouldn't stop insulting me in a twisted attempt to win me over. So the geek turned my stool toward his and started chatting. It was natural for both of us and we matched wits well. He wasn’t trying to pick up on me in the least, but just trying to keep that rude guy from annoying me. We continued to interact sporadically with the entire table, but focused more on each other. Then as his confidence grew with my attention, he started telling me this great story.

Did I know, he wondered, that we are all made of stardust? He talked about eons ago how different stars exploded and their molecules were blown across the galaxies. He told me how we are now made up of these molecules. He also talked about how molecules have memory and how if they’ve ever been linked, they remember and are drawn to those once connected molecules. In his thoughtful, rapturous monologue, he continued his thought process with, “Wouldn’t it be interesting if some of your molecules were from the same star as some of my molecules and that’s why we were drawn together? We are from from the same star...”

Completely involved in his story, he was intending on continuing, but I sucked in my breath, my eyes wide, I said, “BEST PICK-UP LINE EVER!” He was completely thrown and couldn’t remember what he was going to say… instead, red as a beet, he finally grinned.

Yes, it turned out he was married. But this event made flirting the rest of the evening, in the midst of and while participating in the chaotic revelry of that place and the phrenetic enthusiasm of our table, until the tow showed up a blast – no worries about it being taken seriously either way. We could be saucy and sassy and know that this was it. This moment. It was, in the end, a perfect moment. All thanks to my car deciding THAT was the spot she wanted to “shuffle off this mortal coil.”