Dressing Funny

Formerly a highly anticipated social event, it is now a dreaded, lonely excursion away from all things good and right. It used to provide a fulfilling rush , but now it sends me spiraling into foot-dragging depression. What once qualified as joy of joys is now the hugest chore of all time. Friends, I'm talking shopping for clothes.

Oh, the horror, right? But, don't go calling the feds on me just yet; I'm still a good citizen who contributes regularly to our booming economy. Truly, I quite like all sorts of shopping...in antique stores and farmer's markets, in swap meets and used bookstores. Oh, and at Target (note: love of Target is not by choice, it's gender related, most of the time I can't understand it myself).

Admittedly -- even back in the brief period when I fostered love for malls -- when it comes to clothes shopping, I'm not very clever. In fact, I make some incredibly questionable decisions. Wonder if this is connected to a distaste for trying things on before purchase and a habit of inexplicable 50% off impulse buys? It's also quite plausible to blame the abnormal proportions of my body. Tragically, I simply was not built for this world: too big and tall in some directions, too short and skinny others. These technical problems -- combined with the annoying crowds of other people and guilt over purchase of probable sweatshop manufactured items -- have only exacerbated the clothes shopping aversion in my old age.

So, what, you say? Well, it's just that, you know, I sort of thought I would be cooler than that. I never thought I'd be the lady with a closet full of nothing to wear, who then turns around to bitch about it in her blog. This is yet another one of those sobering, life lessons in I'm only human, I'm merely a product of my society, I'm not an ethereal being of perfection sent here to rescue humanity from itself.

...or am I? The superhero suit hanging in the closet just can't be for nothing.

Rolling with the Bus

Even in Santa Barbara, riding the city bus is an adventure every single time. It can also be a real exercise in patience and letting go of the elusive control factor, because you never know what you're going to get:

It's almost always late.
Once inside, it's you can count on it being either really cold or really, really, really hot.
It's often smelly (old lady perfume, sweat stink, bad breath, you name it).
It's full of injustice (people not offering seats to elderly/handicapped, the $1.25 fare).
It can be a jerky, harrowing passenger experience, depending on the driver.

You have the chance to encounter a cornucopia of your fellow citizens:

A crazy lady.
A homeless man.
A happy, go-lucky type.
A woman in crisis, shout-sharing her misery with the entire bus.
A drug dealer dropping not so subtle hints.
Grandparents - both well off and otherwise.
Teenagers - generally shouting at each other or into their, like, cell phones.
A herd of six-year olds accompanied by a neighbor lady on their way to school.
And me - with my nose in a book and my eye on everyone else.

No matter the specifics of the day, you can count on the bus eventually showing up and getting you to your destination, more or less in tact.

thanks for your good thoughts!

Many friends have asked how my family's places have been doing during all these crazy fires. Here's a picture from Rainbow, looking west towards Fallbrook. This is the Rice (Canyon) Fire, which originated about 2 miles directly below my family's homes. The winds pretty much pushed the flames away from their home and into some areas of Fallbrook. I believe this picture is from Monday.

Right now, everything seems to be going OK. There are still a few fires burning around Rainbow, but everyone is home and safe and being cautious.

Whatever Gets You Through the Night

We're all susceptible to it. Hell, we're encouraged to do it. A little retail therapy here, some People magazine there, maybe a late-night pint of Haagen-Dazs. Indeed, we are a culture of the Guilty Pleasure.

But where do these habits come from? How did we get to this place? I'm thinking the guilty pleasure is merely a side effect of a culture with leisure time. I mean, would we have naughty little secrets to keep if we were busy digging in the fields or, say, chewing animal tendon to make the glue for our new bow and arrow? Unlikely.

They must be called guilty pleasures for a reason, though. Some might suggest that this sort of luxury is a real curse to our society. Morally speaking, we should probably feel at least a little bad about such self-gratifying activities that certainly aren't contributing to the greater good. We should probably make a few more personal sacrifices and redirect our energies in ways which would help out our brother men. It's the only proper thing to do.

But, yea...whateva! Honestly, what harm could come from watching The Biggest Loser from bed while mowing through a pile of Halloween candies? Uh, er, not that I know anyone who does that. But if I did know such a person, I'd know that she surely does not feel guilty about any of her pleasures.

10 minute rant

FIRE STORM 2007!!!

Don't you just love how we're only on day 3 or 4 into this current disaster and the news coverage is already gone over the edge with their dramatizations. Flipping on the evening news won't give you very much information about which the fires are burning in what neighborhoods or where to evacuate or how to find resources. Instead what they do is throw families in front of the remains of their home, which they've just seen for the first time 5 minutes ago, and proceed to ask them questions like, "So how does it feel to have nothing left?" These poor people - in the midst of personal devastation that they couldn't possibly have had one moment to process - get to spend the next several minutes trying to hold it together for the cameras, but inevitably succumb to tears due to the reporter's incessant questions about how they feel about all this. Well I think it's pretty obvious, their friggin' house just burned down!

It just seems too soon, too raw, too ambulance chasing. The fires aren't even out! There will be time for dramatic reenactments and lessons on fire tornadoes and Katrina disaster relief comparisons later. Right now, let's please focus on keeping people safe and perfecting our rain dances.

shoulda woulda coulda

Obviously, hind sight and all that. But, what should I have done differently...now that I have the perspective of what it meant to lose her to a long, painful cancer at the age of twenty-six.

There's only one thing I believe I would change, which I think could have opened up a lot of avenues of communication that somehow went missing. I would have had the perspective that death happens; I would have recognized and dealt with the denial factor.

This is the root of my guilt: lost opportunities to get real. All that wishing for it not to be happening the way it was happening. All the stress of confusion and resistance and disbelief. Realizing the misery of the situation - one that we could not control - and simply being with her didn't happen until the very end. I'm still greedy for more of those moments.

If this ever happens again, I know there will be more of those days. I will understand the meaning of her request of me to "go deep." I will let go of this guilt and get on with remembering the essence of her and the many lessons she taught me.

Why I Love Me Some NFL Action

When the husband and I were first dating and sharing secrets, he warned me that he was crazy about football. I found this hard to believe since he displayed no other signs of being "one of those" guys. Seeing as I was wild about him and we were months away from the next season, it was easy to brush aside his statement. Come that September, I learned just how honest he was being. This man's enthusiam for the game runs deep...we're talking a certifiable football maniac.

We're now well into our ninth NFL season together and I find myself earnestly looking forward to the Sunday ritual. I'd even go so far as to categorize myself a fan. Because the husband is willing to explain the rules to me ad nauseam, I can keep up with the big boys when it comes to understanding what I'm watching. Even though my favorite part remains critiquing the outfits, somehow, I've developed an appreciation for what these gigantic men in tights are able to do with their bodies. And I just turn my head away when someone gets hurt.

However, I must admit, the real secret to my pigskin appreciation is blatently selfish. I love football because it means I get to spend an entire day with one of the best versions of the husband, and frankly, I'm straight up addicted to it. Sunday mornings during football season are like Xmas morning for his six-year old self. He's giddy, he's in the moment, he's running around the house shouting with glee having an out of body experience. Even when his team doesn't win, he maintains this state of elation right on through to the end of the night game. Don't even get me started on Monday Night Football, or - gasp! - the Super Bowl.

Well...now you know...true confessions of a football wife.