My Week at a Glance!

Hello Lads and Lassies...it has been a loooong time indeed! But if you take a look at what I've been up to, you'll see why I have not had time to write, it really was not even up to me:

First, I fell 94 feet. Yea, BIG fall, but don't be too concerned, it was on Jurassic Park-the Ride at Universal Studios. I was there with my nephew and step-dad, Howie. Now, I had been hassling Howard alll week that he better go on this ride with me, otherwise this trip would all be for nothing. And he wouldn't hear of it. I was telling the man who's about to walk from one side of England to another in two weeks that he has no sense of adventure--some would say it was on the brink of obnoxious. Not I! "What are you chicken?!"...in so many words or less, and then he agreed to go! The ride is extremely tame, basically like Disneyland's Jungle Cruise, but you're periodically getting squirted with water. But at the end when the boat started to ascend at nearly a 90 degree angle, I started to panic, my heart racing a mile a minute, and think to myself "What the hell was I thinking? Since when can I handle rides like this?!" Meanwhile Mr. 70 Yr Old Doesn't Like Roller Coasters treats the whole thing like cool beans, while I scream my head off like someone had a knife to my throat. He was just worried his sunglasses were gonna come off.

Second, in an unfortunate event not to far from "Et tu, brute," I went out Saturday night with Carrie and Liana in an effort to get my mind off things. We went to a billiards place called Q's, but in my naivete, I thought it was spelled the way it should be- CUES...clearly I'm just not hip to the savvy ways of nightclub/bar spellings. One of the things I must admit that I hate about going out is it requires me to show my ID. When I was 15 I must say,not so attractive--seriously though, how many of us were? I was the awkward, gangly, frizzy haired, unplucked eyebrows, bigger nosed girl. So every time I hand over my ID to some cute bouncer, they look me up and down, and and raise their own eyebrow, and wonder if possibly that girl lived within me. "SAME girl buddy, let's keep it movin!" Now it's one thing to get yourself to the bar, it's a whole other ballgame meeting the guys at the bar. Carrie and I went for a lap around the joint, flippin' our hair, flashin' our smiles--maybe next time we'll have to woo the fellows with our skills at the Q tables.

Third, if you must know, I managed to sustain two injuries. I hurt my armpit while dancing to Nelly Furtado. I know, you must be thinking, "What in the world does this girl do when she dances?" Well I hadn't exercised in awhile, so my dancing was quite aerobic. More in the Jane Fonda workout genre. There was kicking, jumping, punching in the air--therein lies the injury. For at least a day it hurt to pick up my computer, certainly to type this sentence....owww. Injury numero due was sustained after a day at the beach. Need I say more? No, my horrible fear of being eaten by a shark was not confirmed. Rather, it would seem after 22 years, I still don't comprehend that my fair skin doesn't bode well under the sun's brilliant rays, certainly not for four hours. Suffice to say, my stomach and back turned the shade of a cooked lobster-colorful, no?

So you see my dear readers it was not up to me to leave you for this long. It was out of my hands and in the hands of...well.. in the hands of a force bigger than me. I will do my very best not to leave you again like this, but you never know what rollercoaster, or catchy Nelly Furtado song lies ahead. Forgive me. And on that note, I bid you, adieu.

Italia Vince la Quarta Coppa del Mondo!!!

Congratulazioni Italia!!! First I would like to preface that I don't consider myself athletic. Really, at all. Dabbled in cross country in high school- but by no means was I the star athlete. Now, I haven't been following this whole World Cup shebang, but I caught a glimpse of the France-Portugal game and I was hooked. Thoroughly impressed by the athletic prowress of these men who can run for 90 mins across a ridiculously sized field, kicking this ball (sometimes even with their head, and then just shaking it off!). If I ever went head to head with any one of these men, it really would be a sight to see. They'd walk away with their heads bowed down in shame, no doubt--as I said I'm a quality athlete. But seriously, this game is really quite thrilling to watch when there's so much at stake. To say that I was excited to watch this final game is an understatement I can't even begin to express. Having spent 5 months studying in Rome last year, you can guess who I was rooting for. I went to the game with two of my closest friends, Carrie and Liana, and brought them as much Italian regalia as I could, so when we went to a sports bar this morning we could go fully prepared!

As I threw on my favorite "Ciao, Roma" shirt, I had a good feeling in my veins. Liana was wearing my Jonathan's Angels Roma muscle tank, a complimentary gift from one of those unforgettable nights, which has the words "Dormo con chi mi pare" written on the back. Italian words which read as music to many a men who can understand these I'm sure. We were ready to go. And so was ITALIA! But Yankee Doodles had standing room only...the f*ckers. So we ended up watching the game at sophisticated Broadway Deli. Not the ideal place to watch a game where you want a rowdy crowd, but by the second half the place was packed, and we had found a man to sell us Italian flags, so we were happy as clams. But really that game was wild, it got intense!! What was Zidane thinking with that headbutt?!! Like seriously, has he lost it? And that greaaaaaat save by the Italian goalie!!! But how it got down to those penalty kicks!!! And that Frenchman who just totally missed one! AMAAAZING!!

BUT REALLLLY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING that came out of this was the intoxicating celebration afterwards. Oh yes, it is the only way the Italians do it; and though not one of the three (Carrie, Liana, or I) have Italian blood in us, we paraded like we did! We proceeded to drive through most of West Los Angeles (ie through Montana, San Vincente, Wilshire through Beverely Hills) with our flags hanging out the sunroof waving wildly. Honking the horn, and screaming our heads off like a bunch of hooligans --well it was only fitting seeing as the reaction we got from all the good looking Italian men, guys, whatever who also supported the team, could you really blame us? For the 45 minutes that we were driving around the city we had people from every race, gender, and age cheering, honking, giving the peace sign, or a fist in thrilled defiance--it was truly a sight to see, and quite exhilarating. If only every day was World Cup Day...and if only every day our team won. :)

When I Grow Up...

So Happy Belated Independence Day...even though little about this country feels independent or like freedom ringing, but I shall not preach about that. I welcome you to let your voice be heard, but in fact I'm gonna veer this into a different direction. Parenting.

Yesterday I was walking on the beach with three of my closest friends in "celebration" of the 4th, from Venice Beach to Marina del Rey (not a shabby walk, let me tell you!); having a deep philosophical walk about where we are in our lives, when we were so rudely interrupted when an obnoxious child threw wet sand at us. No, we weren't seriously harmed in this incident; no one even got sand in their eye. But where was this child's parents to give him a little scolding? I'm not saying a spanking, but seriously, get a hold on your child. I can appreciate an adorable child. Please, make no mistake about it. I was oooing and aahhing at all the children who weren't throwing sand at me, because their parents know how to discipline them and keep a watchful eye on them. It is this kind of parenting I appreciate and intend to take on, one day far in the future. Sure, easier said then done. But no baby of mine is gonna be throwing wet sand at strangers. You can be damn sure of that. That's just not acceptable. It's all about discipline. All his beach toys would be ripped out of his hands! Teach him a lesson. Too harsh? I'm a tough cookie, I learned from the best...but I'd probably get him a frozen lemonade on our way home.





VS





which child would
you prefer to parent? If it's a tough decision, don't bear kids.