I so know what I’m doing with my old bras now! Forget donating them to a homeless women’s shelter; I’m making art!
I so know what I’m doing with my old bras now! Forget donating them to a homeless women’s shelter; I’m making art!
A photo I took of a local musician was one of the chosen portraits for the last challenge on Epic Edits. Even if you didn’t see my name below the image, and even if I didn’t tell you it was a musician, I’m pretty sure you’d figure out which was mine.
The photo I chose was originally taken for another photo challenge issued by my photography group here in Vegas. Night, square format, urban, portrait. Those were the parameters. I took several photos featuring various people, but Monk was my favorite. And now he’s on Epic Edits!
Fun challenge. Love Brian and his blog.
Getting to every box I needed or wanted to get to in storage was pretty impossible, so I knew I’d have room for some luxury items. Like CDs. I grabbed a couple boxes. So glad I did. Uncovered my copy of Gino Matteo’s I’ve Been Thinkin’. Such a good CD, too.
Hope we get him out to Vegas soon. The guy rocks!
Yes, it’s unspeakable.
And I don’t know the words to change anything.
Okay, I do know two words, but they likely won’t come from whence they must.
So the only thing left is the unspeakable.
I am home.
Which is so weird, because I should be missing San Diego. And I do. Mostly the kids and my folks. But you know what? Vegas is home now. Absolutely. For real. I am home.
I loved spending time with the kids. Mojo is doing well and has some stuff to finish up so she can (fingers crossed) get into college mid-term. She’s working hard at Burger King. Got a cute photo on the old cellphone of her in uniform. It’s my wallpaper. Little Dude hasn’t grown too much since last month, thank God! His hair has, though.
Both my mom and dad are doing okay. It was good to see them, too.
Mostly, mostly…I’m just really happy to have had the time to do this and to be able to introduce both my mom and dad to MOBD so they know I’m really, truly safe and happy. Proof that I’m not living with crazy people.
I also got a few things from storage. Mostly kitchen stuff, my mandolin, and CDs. I wanted to get towels and sheets, but there wasn’t enough room in the car. Oh well, I’ll just keep washing the same stuff over and over again until it falls apart or until I can get back to SD and get more things for the house.
So yeah, I’m home again and it 1) feels good, and 2) feels even better to have some of MY STUFF here with me.
Shower and bed for this girl. I’ve earned it.
(P.S. Just as we hit the edge of Vegas, my friends’ song came on XM/Sirius radio. We just saw them on Thursday and it was the perfect ending to a good trip.)
I’m ready to go.
I’ll be in San Diego by this afternoon.
There’s a CD release party.
There are kids.
There are my parents.
And there is a little bitty ocean waiting for me.
Just had to get a Bob Seger fix this week. As MOBD and I were driving home from picking up a file cabinet the other night (another Freecycle find), Bob was blasting through the stereo and I felt so alive, so good…I had to do it.
And while I wish I could have found a decent live vid of the next song, all that anyone needs to hear is Bob’s “oooooowwww!” and that great boogie on the piano and before you know it, you’re up and dancing around. Let’s face it, we need to dance more and bitch less, so if it takes a little Bob Seger to get us there, why the hell not?
Piano, harmonica, and horns = good times. (Good blues, too.)
My bitch pants are back on!
Don’t even get me started. The list is growing. I’m getting riled up. And you know what? I’m about thisclose to callin’ folks out on their bullshit.
Srsly, wtf is up with people who HAVE to take advantage of others? WTF is up with people who don’t have time for you until you have the gear or “in” you need? WTF is up with people who will knock you on your ass so they can jump ahead of you and practically rip money from your hands just so they can say they got the job? WTF is up with people who have to run you down just to feel better about themselves?
I’m gonna go wash the slime off me. I really don’t care for users and loser and apparently today is the day when I start calling them out.
After waiting for over three hours to see the new doc, I was in. I like him. He’s a gentle man and very concerned with providing excellent care for his patients. I started off with his P.A. who is also very nice and extremely thorough. They’re a good team and I know I’m in good hands.
My visit started with a very long wait. They were behind. I’d planned for that, though. I just didn’t know how behind and found myself wishing I had brought the laptop so I could edit photos while I waited. Oh well. They had movies for patients in the waiting room. Nice touch. Not kid stuff. I Am Sam. Contact. Helps to have entertainment when you’re a captive.
There was a cute little elderly man there waiting with me. At one point he got up to use the phone the office provides the patients. “I’m still waiting. Yes. You’re right. It is a long time. Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon, sugar. I love you, babe.” I think I swooned a bit when I heard that. It was so sweet and fresh and unexpected. There was a twinkle in his eye. I do believe I fell in love with this stranger right then and there. He suddenly didn’t seem older at all.
There was another man there. One the rest of us decidedly did not like. Mr. Talkstooloudonhiscellphoneguy. Like a man who has suddenly lost his hearing and therefore speaks loudly and doesn’t realize or care that he’s disruptive. You know, the sort who doesn’t see everyone around him tense up. Or flinch. Every time he opens his mouth. One woman who’d been sitting quietly in the corner near me, got up, walked over to him, and said, “Do you realize how loud you are? Perhaps you should take this call outside.” He looked confused and then quickly went outside. Very quickly. I inwardly cheered this woman. Then I turned to her and thanked her. Everyone else chimed in with their thanks. She just shrugged and said, “someone has to tell him. It’s not fair to everyone else that we should be jangled and unnerved by someone who isn’t aware of others’ discomfort.” I fell in love for the second time that day. I know who I want to be when I grow up: her!
Finally, I’m called back by a nice looking young man. I walk in and am escorted to the xray room. Sigh. Nice looking young man and I chat to pass the time as he sets up the xrays. He asks about possible pregnancy. I laugh and tell him that would be a miracle and it would make me a rich woman. Very rich. I’d own an entire hospital system. He asks if I’d hire him. I say of course I will. And he says, “good, then I can hit on you all the time, like I’m doing right now” and I giggle. I thank him for making my day. He is, after all, young and nice looking. And funny. Then I ask how long he’s been at the job. “Four years. But not for much longer. Which is why I’m being so forward.” Suddenly, I can’t think. I struggle for a moment and then ask where he’s going. “To the other office on the other side of town.” Blah blah blah, we move on. He smiles and it’s a warm, sweet smile. Damn. Too young.
I’m off to wait in the hallway. I talk to a charming older man for a few minutes before he’s called in to see the doctor. Then the cute elderly man of the “sugar, babe” conversation in the waiting room is seated next to me. We talk. He’s been there an hour longer than I have and he’s getting tired. You can see it in his eyes and all over his face. “It’s not usually like this,” he says. “Sometimes they just get too many people at once.” I’m one of the extra people they’ve squeezed into the schedule, so I’m really not complaining. I pass the bulk of the time texting. And falling in love with strangers in a doctor’s office. My cute little old man is called in and I’m alone again. Then Mr. Xray calls out from the xray room, “did you drop something in here? I think you might have.” I smile. I know where this is going. “I don’t know, what is it?” Yes, I’m going to make him work for this. He says this again. So finally I wander in and he hands me a piece of paper. I know before I open it that it has his phone number. I think I may have blushed. I add it to my phone right away, ask for a pen, write my number down, and hand the paper back to him. We make eye contact, smile, and I go sit back down in the hall.
Now it’s my turn. I’m called and shown to a room. The medical assistant is from San Diego, knows my hospital, etc. We chat. Then the P.A. comes in. We go over my history. Dr. Sesame Street Character (yes, that’s what I think whenever I hear his name) comes in. He’s wearing his Sikh turban. It’s actually lovely and frames his face beautifully. Apparently this level of pain and exhaustion and relief at being in the office (finally) have heightened my senses to point where everything is fascinating.
Dr. Sesame reviews my xrays and points out more degeneration above my cervical fusion, along with what appears to be a bone spur. The lumbar fusion looks fine but he’s concerned about some of my symptoms. “We need an MRI. And nerve conduction studies.” Oh joy. I don’t mind the MRI, but nerve conduction studies can be “uncomfortable”.
I’m given meds. I’m given another appointment. I’m told the tests will help them better determine the care I’ll need, the type and extent of the physical therapy I’m hoping I’ll get (and which was recommended by the QME months ago…almost a whole year ago, can you believe that?), and whatever else I need to function as a real human again.
And that was it. My first visit with my new doc. I think I’m going to like working with him a lot.
Oh, and yes, Mr. Xray has contacted me already. He called last night. We’ve been texting most of the day. We may be getting together tonight at a local place where my friend’s band is playing. Informal and no pressure. We’ll see what happens. The man is only 30. THIRTY! I dunno about this.
But I do know that I’m happy to be with a good doc and that’s all that matters.
Also, I want to know how Dr. Sesame gets his turban wrapped so perfectly. I’m fascinated. Delicate folds and pleats. Everything tucked just so. Nary a wrong wrap. Something along the lines as seen in this photograph. Those ridges…the lines. As I get to know the doctor better, I’ll probably ask. And I’ll probably ask if I can photograph him, too. (I’ve learned to ask more people I normally wouldn’t and it’s been paying off quite nicely, thank you.)
Would you believe I’m a garden assassin?
I spent about an hour on the front yard yesterday, taking the hedge trimmer to three large bushy bush things. Okay, MOBD attacked one and I went after the other two with a vengeance. They were so overgrown that it was perilous walking up to the front door. Cars were being terrorized in the driveway and at the curb. It was time to cut these monsters down to size. And that’s exactly what we did.
As some of you might recall from back in the good old days, I used to kind of enjoy yard work. I loved toiling over trimming and planting and digging and watering. I preferred working with plants hardy enough to withstand my black thumbs, but I made plenty of attempts to tackle whatever I could and to plant a few interesting flowers here and there. I met with moderate luck.
But this yard? Oh my. Overgrown, indeed. It was nice to get out there and do what needed to be done. MOBD picked up and bundled all the cuttings when I was done and made everything nice and tidy out there. Then he and our neighbor moved our big sofas into the house. They look fantastic. Yes, my super special bargains are now in the living room where they belong. They looked so inviting, MOBD decided to check out one and is currently snoring away.
I’m really enjoying the new place. All that’s missing (besides my belongings in San Diego) is a bed. I’m still working on that. I’m sure I’ll find one soon enough. (Fingers crossed, friends! Fingers crossed!)
And now that I’ve managed to kill off the majority of the vegetation in the front yard, release some pent up anger in the process, and get the living room looking pretty spiffy, I think I should go finish up some editing. I have lots to get to the printer by noon and I have two deliveries to make tomorrow. I think I’ll sleep well once I’m done.
My only disappointment yesterday? I missed all the good rain. There was a lot at the old house. LIke five minutes before I got there, it was pouring. Three or four raindrops were all I was given. Ppphhhttt. I want rain!
Oh…pssst…I wish you were all here for the band playing tonight. They’re good. My friend is the drummer and he’s so freakin’ funny! I can’t wait to see him again. I think I’m taking cupcakes along with photos I want signed. I’m starting to get a reputation as the cupcake girl.
Facebook is a strange land. It’s a mystical place where time makes no sense, where generations commingle, where children become friends with their parents’ friends.
When I was little, we moved from Ohio to California. Not long after that, a man my dad grew up with also moved his family to California. Our parents were friends and since they had kids, we’d all end up playing together. Their girls were more my younger sister’s age, but no matter, it was all about finding stuff to do while our parents hung out doing whatever it was parents did — drink, talk, play cards, I dunno.
One of the things I remember most about their house was the closet in the girls’ room. Well, in one of the rooms anyway. Their dad had built them a castle playhouse in the closet and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Sure, I was just a year or two too old to be playing in the “castle”, but I didn’t have anything else to do and I certainly didn’t have anything like that at home. So I played along with my sister and the two girls. Didn’t hurt that I was four years older and suddenly the “responsible one”. Ugh. I just wanted to be a kid and have some fun.
Cut to last summer. With my 25th high school reunion, I was suddenly tripping over friends from school on Facebook and since the other high school wasn’t too far away, all of us knew each other. And that’s how I stumbled upon one of the girls from this family, which led to me running into her mom on Facebook.
The surreal part now is that I’ve been emailing with this woman for months off and on and catching up. She treats me as a peer, not as the daughter of a friend from her past. It’s really kind of weird. She talks kids and grandbabies, I talk kids. She talks cruises and I talk airplanes. I’m actually enjoying our exchanges a great deal.
Yesterday we talked B.B. King and the changes he’s seen in the world during his lifetime. Then we spoke of the changes she has seen. Also shared were some of her experiences as she’s traveled around there world, including having her room fill with butterflies while in the rainforest during a storm. They sought refuge and she had the big window open. They considered it an invitation. This was all brought about as we shared stories about amazing moments without photographic documentation. I shared my vanishing herd of horses in New Mexico story, I got many more fantastic tales that have left me enchanted.
It’s weird to see what doors technology opens for us, isn’t it? I never thought, not in a million years, that I’d be chatting away with my parents’ friends online. It just doesn’t compute. But I’m not arguing with the universe this week. Nope. Not me.
My first concert was Pablo Cruise. Del Mar Fair. With my big sister. I remember thinking she was the best big sister ever! She told our parents she’d keep an eye on me. She didn’t have to do that, but she did and we got to go hang out together. It was one of those great sisterly moments that come around once in a blue moon. I’ll remember it forever.
These days you pretty much have to go stand in line at the bank to hear Pablo Cruise again. No more! I’m here to save the day.
Do you even want to know who the second concert was? (Bonus points for anyone who knows the answer)
Oh yeah. Ohhh…yeah.
What a night!
I still can’t believe it. I finally saw B.B. King. I loved his stories. I loved hearing him sing and play. Mostly, I loved meeting him.
YES! I met him and spoke with him for a few minutes. It was…amazing. A-maz-ing. Humble. Warm. Kind. Lovely all the way around. I want to weep over the depth of what this experience meant to me.
The one photo I have of my friend Curtis and B.B. in conversation is the worst of the bunch technically, but the moment itself was priceless. It became a bit of a mutual admiration moment. I started to tear up as Curtis told B.B. how he’d genuinely changed his life and musical aspirations. His sincerity struck B.B. so much that this…this thing…it was like a spark…it happened. Suddenly it wasn’t fan talking to idol, it became something more. The connection was pure and beautiful. I wanted to cry just seeing it happen. And that photo didn’t even turn out very well. That’s life, though. I got to see it and that’s what matters.
The best photo of B.B. wasn’t taken by me, but it doesn’t matter. I got to meet The King of the Blues! And I got to witness something special.
Endless thanks to my friends for including me in this incredible evening. You’re the best!