The Summer

I’ve learned a lot of things this summer… A lot of things!

2015 will hereby by known as “the summer of learnin'”.

I learned a lot about myself (for instance: that I am capable of things I didn’t know I was capable of, and I love avocados), and a lot about swimming pools.

I thought I’d share some of the latter with you.


Don’t swim in a pool if you’ve had “active diarrhea” within the past 14 days. According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, “Tiny amounts of fecal matter are rinsed off all swimmers’ bottoms as they swim through the water”. All it takes is swallowing a mouthful of the contaminated water, and then you’ll be the one sitting out of the pool for 14 days.

Don’t get in a pool with a posted pool capacity sign of “112 persons” if there are already 112 persons in the pool. If there are only 111 people, then go right ahead and get in there. If you’re not sure how many persons are in the pool, you should count the persons. If they keep moving and you’re not able to get an accurate count, ask the persons to stop moving. If the persons refuse to stop moving, ask them again nicely.

It’s not the chlorine that makes your eyes sting… it’s bodily fluids… all kinds (urine, sweat, poop): “Chlorine binds with all the things it’s trying to kill from your bodies, and it forms these chemical irritants. That’s what’s stinging your eyes. It’s the chlorine binding to the urine and the sweat.” My advice? Don’t let the water come into contact with your eyes, or nose, or mouth, or ears, or arms, or legs, or torso, or any part at all.

Oh, and if you hear the words “Code Brown”, it’s time to get out of the pool.

You’re welcome.

#learnin #summer #getit #dontgetit #chlorine

The A$$hole

For those of you who don’t know who Wayne Newton is… Wayne Newton is an American singer and entertainer, perhaps best known for the song, “Danke Schoen”, which was featured in the best scene of the best movie of all time, ever… Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

Apparently, he’s an a$$hole.

Not Ferris… Wayne.

You may remember the time when I sat in the front row at a Martin Short show and he gyrated in my face while wearing a nude bodystocking with drawn-on genitals, and how it was one of the highlights of my life thus far…

But what I didn’t tell you about that evening (aside from pretending to be “with” a group of people with backstage passes, and then – much to my husband’s dismay – following that same group of people backstage, and only upon entering the green room deciding that I had perhaps taken my Marty fandom too far, and so – to avoid a security incident – pretended to be lost and looking for the women’s restroom)… was that the woman sitting behind us was very vocal about her dislike for Mr. Las Vegas (Wayne Newton).

When the discussion turned to Wayne Newton (as it often does), the woman said flatly: “He’s an A$$hole.”

I had to turn around. I had to find out who was making this declaration for all (within earshot) to hear.

She was amazing: gray-hair piled up on top of her head, costume jewelry that wasn’t even trying to be real, mauve press-on nails, and a sweatshirt that read, “I don’t want to. I don’t have to. You can’t make me. I’m retired” across her bosom.

Her friends were visibly upset by this comment, mouths agape, shaking their similarly adorned heads.

The woman explained… “I went to a Wayne Newton show, and during the banter portion of the show I shouted, ‘I love you Wayne.’ Wayne said he loved me too, and then continued on with the banter. I then shouted, ‘Sorry to hear about your bankruptcy,’ because I was. I was sorry to hear that he’s filed for Chapter 11… Wayne then turned to me and told me to ‘be quiet’. He said it was his show, not mine. Can you believe that guy? What an a$$hole.”

I turned to my husband and gave him a look. The look that say it all. The look that says, the only a$$hole around here is sitting behind me, tapping her press-on nail on my chair.


That Time I Saw Jerry Seinfeld

I saw Jerry Seinfeld.

I should explain.

I didn’t just see Jerry walking around in the public realm…(he doesn’t do that)… I saw him perform stand-up comedy at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas.

The backstory: I was newly married (and, obviously… freshly deflowered), and as part of our “Honeymoon in Vegas” we bought tickets to see Jerry Seinfeld.

I don’t know what was more exciting… committing my life to one man and making a sacred covenant for the rest of my life in front of friends and relatives and the “man upstairs”… or seeing Jerry Seinfeld.

Obvs: Jerry.

You know the phrase, “knee-slapper?”

No? (Where have you been?) Well then…

Knee-slapper an uproariously funny joke which makes you slap your knee with vigor.

That was me watching and listening to Jerry Seinfeld perform his stand-up “routine”. I slapped my knee repeatedly as tears streamed down my face and I honked-laughed in the ear of my new husband.

I have never laughed so hard in all of my life, and I doubt that I’ll ever laugh that hard again, which is one of the saddest and happiest statements one can make.

100_0186Love you Jerry.

You too Rhys.

(Happy anniversary.)

The Dank Meme

I overheard the term, “dank meme” at work. A few of my co-workers were talking about memes, and said kept saying “dank memes” like it was a thing, so I also acted like it was a thing… Then I googled it as soon as they were out of range. 

For your convenience… 

Dank Meme A meme that is just really radical, cool and neat. 

(Thank you to the Urban Dictionary for that wonderfully concise definition.)

Apparently the term “dank” originated in the Bay Area* as a slang word for “good weed”, but eventually came to be used for everything that is good (or: radical, cool, neat, etc.). 

So, a “dank meme” is an awesome meme… (I think).

Other definitions suggest that the term should only be used to describe a meme that is old, cliche, or mainstream (God forbid).

Either way, I’ve incorporated the term into my vernacular to fit in at work. 

When I say, “I need some dank memes for my new cubicle”, I scan the faces of those around me to see whether I have used the term correctly. 

This is my life now.  



* The term is surprisingly not derived from Latin.

The Fine Line

My dentist said that I should get Botox®.

It was more like a suggestion really… A really suggestive suggestion.

We were just sitting there (well, actually I was sort of reclining in the chair and he was standing over me with a mouth mirror and a torque wrench), casually discussing oral health (as one does when one is at the dentist) when he casually said that I could, and possibly should get Botox®.

I should note: I suffer from Temporomandibular joint dysfunction (TMJ to the lay person), which is a dental condition involving the jaw joint, muscles, teeth, and central nervous system. I have to wear a (sexy) mouth guard to bed every night because otherwise I’ll grind my teeth and then my jaw will dislocate, and then I can’t open my mouth wide enough to eat a club sandwich.

Enough about the cross I bear…

“Dr. Cho” said that he could inject Botox® in my jaw, which would block the nerve activity in the jaw muscles, causing a temporary paralysis which could help with the ol’ TMJ. Then he casually added that it wouldn’t take a whole vial (Botox® is sold in vials), so he could put the rest of it in my forehead and take care of that “fine line”.

I left Dr. Cho’s office feeling a lot of things… Anger, sadness, embarrassment, lust (all the feelings), and to make matters worse, my gums were bleeding from an over-enthusiastic hygienist.

Dr. Cho made it sound as though my mid-30s face required it.

Some things to keep in mind:

1. I have been ID’d on multiple occasions and locations, which means that some people (with glaucoma and other “seeing” problems) think that I look younger than the legal drinking age, which is 21.

2. I regularly ask people at work and on buses how old I look and they (almost) all say: “late 20s”.

3. From the back, I look even younger.

There is a fine line between being giving constructive and pertinent medical advice and suggesting (admittedly, casually) that an extremely young looking patient (with zero cavities) could, and possibly should inject Botox® in their face… Just because they have some fine lines.


The Memo

So, last week I went to Utah.

Utah is… (How shall I say this delicately?)

Utah is an interesting state in that… It’s not very interesting. On a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being the least interesting, and 10 obviously being the most interesting)… Utah is a 0.5.

Meaning, it doesn’t have a lot going on. It has, in fact, very little going on… At all times (days, evenings, weekends, etc.).

I was also surprised* to see so many women with short, spiky dyed blonde hair… a la Kate Gosselin.

You know… This gal:  images

You know that idiom; he (or she) “didn’t get the memo”? It means that he (or she) wasn’t informed about something that is considered common knowledge by everyone else on God’s green earth.

Yeah, I don’t think Utah got the memo.

About a lot of things… birth control, alcohol, caffeine, up-to-date hairstyles, ethnic diversity, and having just one wife or husband, etc.

As Oprah would say… These are good things.

I don’t understand why the majority of Utahans don’t like these things.

Birth control? It’s great. You can have one (or none!) children, and enjoy (or endure) sexual intercourse as often as you like.

Alcohol? Come on! Do I even have to explain this one? It’s basically the best thing ever, plus it’s a social lubricant and a beverage that dulls (but never erases…) the pain of past regrets. Can water or orange juice do that? No.

Caffeine? How else does one make it through a day of work? Seriously.

Up-to-date hairstyles? Perhaps I shouldn’t be the one to comment on this as I’ve rocked the “Hilary Clinton bob” since 2004.

Ethnic diversity? Who wants to just look at a bunch of white people all day? Not me! And, who doesn’t like Mexican food… specifically, guacamole? Well, guacamole wouldn’t exist without ethnic diversity… just sayin’.

Having just one husband? It works for most people. Cleaning up after more than one man seems like it should be considered a punishment for a heinous, hateful crime.

(Okay, now that I’ve had some time to think this one over, I’m not entirely opposed to the whole “having more than one husband” thing… I’ve always had somewhat of a “crush” on Pearl Jam’s lead singer Eddie Vedder, but I’m also extremely committed to my husband of nearly nine years. If I could marry them BOTH… I could maintain my wonderful relationship with my husband, whilst occasionally making out with Ed Ved. My husbands would have separate rooms – or, better yet – wings of the house, and I could choose who I wanted to sleep with each night. We would obviously hire a housekeeper to help with the extra chores, and to free up more time for “cuddling”. This actually sounds pretty good to me. I’m going to run it past my current husband tonight. Fingers crossed!)

So, Utah… you may have not have gotten the memo, and you may be super boring… but I think you might be onto something with the extra husbands… So, thank you.


* I wasn’t that surprised.

The Overindulgence

Yesterday I ate a lot of food. A lot (a lot).

We are currently on vacay, and sometimes when “one” is on vacay, “one” may overindulge because “one” might feel that it is well-deserved (and by “one” I mean me). In the past three days there has been a lot of overindulging.

I have ordered whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted… Including cocktails at all hours (as early as noon!), red meat, and tons of gluten.

But yesterday was a whole other ball of wax (more specifically – a chicken schnitzel with spaetzel and red cabbage, a half bottle of wine, two shots of premium whiskey, a creme brûlée, fresh cherries, and a dinner roll).

And (not surprisingly), I felt quite sick. Quite.

I woke up at 1am with a stomach ache, and a realization: I’m a glutton… for punishment (and also, just a regular “glutton”).

When “one” eats until they are stuffed, “one” should not be surprised when one regrets such decisions.

Have I learned from my late night ordeal? Of course (but that’s just me – a learner).

Do I still have two days left of my vacation? Yes!

Can I take a half-drunk bottle of premium whiskey on the plane home with me?

(Does anyone know the answer to this?)




The Gravity

I often look around me… at whatever’s around… the pavement, my husband, a palm tree, a squirrel running up the palm tree… and I’ll be amazed.

It’s all amazing… Concrete. Humans. Plant life. Squirrels.

Everything is (amazing)… and the fact that everything just stays there (where it should stay) is also pretty flipping’ amazing.


Okay, the obvious (and accurate) explanation is gravity.

No, I’m not referring to the Oscar-winning sci-fi thriller starring Sandy Bullock as an astronaut that is stranded in space (I’ve heard Clooney’s performance is “top notch”). I’m referring to the natural phenomenon whereby all things attract one another, giving weight to physical objects (pavement, husbands, trees, squirrels, etc).

The world spins, and we spin with it… at about 1,040 miles per hour, and its gravitational force keeps us from floating off into the atmosphere.

But sometimes we forget.

So, we’re grumpy sometimes, and sometimes we forget to say, “thank you”, and sometimes we roll our eyes at our moms when they mother us, and sometimes we don’t appreciate all that we have.

This natural phenomenon “gravity” (not the movie) is what keeps us from floating out to space…

I think if you (or me, or anyone) actually stopped for one minute and looked up from your phone/TV/computer screen/mirror… and you actually thought about the fact that you live on this giant, spinning orb and that its gravitational force keeps you “grounded”… and how it doesn’t really matter that you didn’t get that thing that you kinda/sorta wanted, because OMG you live on a giant, spinning orb in the middle of an expansive 13.2 billion year-old galaxy comprised of stars, gas, and dust… and, you are (somehow) alive and able to breathe, love, cuddle, eat pizza…

If you don’t think about these things sometimes… Why not?

Is it easier to not think about these things?

Is it easier to think that you’re an island, and stupid stuff actually matters, and you have a right to roll your eyes at your mother (the woman who birthed you)?

Because you don’t…

And, you should (think about these things).

The Cat-titude

You know… the Grumpy one.

Or, the one that appears to be grumpy because of a genetic medical condition called “achrondroplasia” (feline dwarfism).

He (or she!) might not even be grumpy. They might be the most exited, excitable cat around, but one would ever know it…

Then again, I’ve had several cats over the course of my lifetime and none of them have shown a cheerful, pleasant attitude either.

However, it is my feeling (and you’re welcome to disagree), that all cats are grumpy, but only some of them appear to show it.

Grumpy Cat being one of those.

Grumpy Cat’s memes have made me laugh the way very few things do (The Last Man on Earth, my husband’s dancing, Waldo Pancake, puns, when people drink outdated milk and then do a spit-take), and its memes now appear on all kinds of bric-a-brac: magnets, mugs, key chains, “cattoos” (a term for cat-themed tattoos that a co-worker coined), and of course, t-shirts. I love all of it.

I suppose I love Grumpy Cat because (for me) he (or she) symbolizes the attitude of all cats everywhere (grumpy, cantankerous, crotchety), and that is very, very funny to me (possibly because sometimes – very occasionally – I share that same attitude. Like, when Aunt Flo is visiting. Or, right before she visits. Or, right after. Or, when I’ve not had enough sleep. Or, when I’ve had too much to drink the night before. Or, when I’ve not had enough to drink. Or, when somebody says something insulting in jest, but I know there is truth behind it, and I can’t help but feel insulted and provoked. Or, when someone eats the last of the peanut butter and leaves the jar in the fridge… Those are some of the times when I might share that “grumpy” attitude – or “certitude”, if you will).

I mean, come on…




The Rain

You know the old saying, “when it rains it pours”? Yeah… that’s not true in Southern California. When it rains here in SoCal, approximately 4 – 6 drops fall from the sky, and then it stops raining, and people feel disappointment for many reasons (for example: they have wanted to take a bath for the past six months but feel too guilty to indulge in such pleasures), but mostly because we Californians are in the worst drought in 1,200 years.

So, let’s be honest… when it rains, it doesn’t necessarily pour.

Although, to be fair… sometimes when it rains, it does pour.

So, I think we can safely say that both statements are true. Sayings are sayings for a reason.

And, sometimes, when people say “when it rains, it pours,” they aren’t even talking about rain (or any form of precipitation for that matter).

Sometimes they are talking about how when things go wrong (or right), a lot of things go wrong (or right).

I’ll give you an example…

You wait for two years for great work opportunity and then two equally great work opportunities come your way within the same week. And then you’ll say something to your friends like, “when it rains, it pours!” and they might think you’re talking about the weather and the chance of precipitation, but you’re actually talking about the fact that two work opportunities have come your way in the same week. Oh, and you live in California (Southern), and your friends (who also live in Southern California) might get excited by your statement, thinking that the end of the worst drought in 1200 years is imminent, but then you say you were actually just using this particular idiom to illustrate your point about how when things go wrong (or right), a lot of things go wrong (or right). And they might get (very) upset with you, thinking (and saying) that you are taking this drought thing too lightly, and now you’re also using it to illustrate points, and that perhaps you do not recognize the severity of this drought, which happens to be the worst drought in 1200 years.

And then you’ll reply, “I totally understand the severity of this drought, which is why I haven’t had a bath in six months.”

Drastic times call for drastic measures.