I’m so not worthy of a Double Ray of Sunshine!!

 

Okay, maybe I am.

Although I try to avoid making decisions like that on my own, leaving it instead, to the professionals, and being pleasantly surprised with the outcome. At least a few, seem to think I am, every now and then. You can see for yourself, here and here. Anyway, this past Friday was another such occasion, but in a different way. For me, living in LA, and being intimately connected to the Industry, it’s like winning an Oscar AND a SAG Award…which will likely never happen…but you get the point.

You see, I woke up to not one, but TWO fellow bloggers nominating me for The Sunshine Award, via posts on their blogs!! Oh, and they shouted it out on Twitter too. OMG…have I arrived, or what? Both, Mrs. Martini over at Three Monkeys and a Martini, and Jenn at Something Clever 2.0. have hilarious blogs you will definitely want to read  follow religiously. To say I was blown away by such a double dose of honor is, well, an understatement. Of course, I’m still wondering if they called each other, or it had anything to do with the fact that we’ve all been on this bandwagon called Theme Thursday together for the past few weeks? Whatever. I will not look a gift horse in the mouth. Speaking of gift horses, I’ve always wondered what that statement meant. Were, at some point in history, horses commissioned to deliver gifts to folks by carrying them in their mouths?  I mean, I KNOW reindeer pull the sleigh at Christmas….

But I digress. With this award comes the responsibility of answering some quick questions, and paying it forward by nominating a few fellow bloggers myself. So, I’m gonna get to it. If you already know too much about me already, as the result of this post, you can skip to the bottom and stalk some other fabulous blogs. On with my show, now.

1. What is your favorite Christmas movie? That one is easy. The original Miracle on 34th Street, with Natalie Wood. I’ve seen it hundreds of times. Never gets old. And while I’m in this confessional here, I will admit that I have never seen “It’s a Wonderful Life”.

2. What is your favorite flower? Hmmm. I’m not a huge flower fan, honestly. They are beautiful, and I enjoy choosing and arranging them for other people from time to time, but I don’t really have a stand-out favorite. But in the spirit of actually answering the question, I’d say wildflowers are good, picked and given on a whim, straight from the heart for no reason.

3. What is your favorite non-alcoholic beverage? Sparkling water with lime. It used to be Sundrop, but I can’t drink caffeine much anymore for fear my heart will explode. Or at least that’s what it feels like it’s going to do

4. What is your passion? Milking every single second of my time here on Earth for all its got, and having no regrets when I draw my last breath. Oh, and making people smile. Or even better…laugh.

5. What is your favorite time of year? Without question, Fall. I grew up in the South, and the changing of the leaves, crispness/smell in the air…excitement of SEC college football…makes me adore the season. Since moving to California, it hasn’t been the same, so I have to depend on enjoying Autumn vicariously through my family back home. Until I win the lottery and can go visit every November.

6. What is your favorite time of day? Kind of strange, because I’m really a night owl, but my favorite time of day is when I wake up. The fact that it keeps happening over and over again is simply magical. And before you assume…don’t. I’m not secretly suffering from a terminal illness or expecting to die suddenly. I just appreciate the fact that each day is a gift.

7. What is your favorite physical activity? Dancing. I even have a Bachelor’s Degree in it. Started when I was 5-ish, and continued through college. Although I was never able to make a career out of it, the fire for it still burns inside me. There is no better way for me to relieve stress than to ‘dance it out’. Music often moves me, and when I hear it, I get lost, and see it dancing in my head. Actual choreography, with costumes, props and scenery. Rarely has any of this made its way onto a stage. Okay…never. But I’m not dead yet, and Martha Graham danced well into old age, so there is still hope, right?

8. What is your favorite vacation? Camping. Preferably in the Fall, with just my family, or even a group of families. I love hiking and exploring nature. Campfires make me feel all warm and fuzzy. No pun, intended. The only thing associated with camping that I’m not fond of are s’mores. Messy, gooey…yuck.

So, that’s it. Now you know it all.

What? I’m not done? Oh, right…one more thing. My nominations!!

I hereby nominate the following bloggers for The Sunshine Award, because their blogs feel like a ray of sunshine when I read them:

The Diary of a Reluctant Mother

Motherhood, WTF?

Things That Happen Everyday

One Funny Motha 

One Classy Motha

Now, go give these ladies some love on their blogs, and tell them

The Calibamamom sent you!

 

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Damn you…catalogues and showrooms!

I wouldn't care about my furniture if I just had THAT VIEW through the windows!

I wouldn’t care about my furniture if I just had THAT VIEW through the windows!

 

While tidying up in the living room yesterday, it occurred to me that when couples decide to have children, they should be given this valuable piece of advice, in an emphatic tone of voice:

First, take a photo of every pristinely styled room in your home. File the photos under ‘The Good Ole Days’.  Next, sign a reasonably long lease (think 18 years) on a storage unit large enough to put all the nice things you own into. Once the ink is dry on the paperwork, scurry on over to the local thrift store,  and pick out replacement furnishings. The shabbier the better. Don’t spend a lot of money, as you will likely be beggingperhaps even paying someone from this very establishment to pick these items up again in a few years looking much worse for their wear. Under no circumstances should they be considered “investment pieces”. Next, haul everything back to your house, arrange it in the space and get used to the way it looks, feels and smells. Close your eyes and envision it more tattered and broken in. Imagine it if  you allowed a bunch of chimpanzees to express their artistic creativity on it using food as their medium. Oh, and black Sharpies and glitter glue too….for flair. Do you have a visual? Good. Dump a load of Pop-Tart wrappers, popsicle sticks, Capri Sun straws and Cheerios all over it. Now open your eyes and welcome yourselves to the furnishings and decor you will have during your life with small children and preteens. Don’t worry, eventually you will be able to get your real stuff out of storage and have your dream home again. Probably just in time for your grandchildren to enjoy 🙂  

If we’d known then, what we know now. So very cliché’, but oh so true.

My point is, I always thought when I married and had children my home would, at any given moment, look as if it had been staged by the decorators at Pottery Barn or Restoration Hardware and smell like Yankee Candles threw up in it. I should also add that my delusion included a perfectly organized home office, a kitchen worthy of a Crate & Barrel Hall of Fame Award, and a playroom resembling the offspring if a LakeShore Learning Store and a Toys R Us had an affair. However, as I gazed upon my house today, in all its lived-in, messy glory, I realized if anyone ever asks, I’ll need to tell them I drew my inspiration from John Belushi and hired the set dresser from Animal House to be my right hand man on this project just to save face. Really.

I’m convinced my delusion stems from the fact that I grew up in a 100 plus year-old house with a mama who didn’t seem to believe that “cleanliness is next to Godliness” and welcomed clutter with arms as open as the Statue of Liberty beckoning for the “tired, hungry and poor” of the world, bless her heart. As you can imagine, I was terribly embarrassed by my house, always opting to go to a friend’s instead of hosting a gathering at home. In my estimation, all of my friends had cleaner, nicer homes, in better parts of town, filled with newer, shinier things. When I was in high school, my middle sister had a perfectly clean, new home in a gorgeous country club neighborhood and I yearned to go and live with her and my brother-in-law. Now in my adulthood, I understand it had nothing to do with the house at all, and everything to do with the plethora of other reasons I avoided playdates at home at all costs. But that is a post for

a different day. Anyway, as my story goes, I grew to hate clutter and filth, secretly vowing to have a home one day that was the absolute antithesis of the one where I grew up. A girl can dream, right? If you read the first paragraph, you know my house clearly does not live up to my delusion. Turns out, I’m a crappy housekeeper, and I enjoy building Jenga-like sculptures with laundry baskets full of clean, yet unfolded clothes on my bedroom floor. Right now, there are 9 baskets in all. It’s quite a spectacle. I just can’t seem to find the time to fold and put the clothes away once they have been washed. (Another one of those tidbits people should be told before having children: YOU WILL HAVE NO TIME TO ACCOMPLISH MUNDANE TASKS IN A TIMELY MANNER)

What I didn’t realize while growing up, is that Mama was hoarding memories. Thinking back, my childhood home read like the scrapbook of our lives. Especially the lives of my older siblings. They left their marks throughout the castle. And amongst all that clutter were family treasures: the little, stainless steel cup by the bathroom sink, the blue ceramic vase thingy that held pencils and pens by the telephone, the napkin holder that said “no matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like my kitchen best”. Everything I just listed has its own little spot in my home, along with our own family “treasures” that have been dragged from house to house over the course of 13 years. I’m mostly okay with it all. But it’s taken some time.

Occasionally, I become possessed by the gods of OCD, and spend a couple of days on a cleaning jag, frantically trying to organize things, scrubbing toilets, dusting trinkets and folding laundry. During these times, I try to guilt, and/or bribe the girls into helping instead of playing because I have decided their rooms should be certified as “disaster areas”.  After lots of protesting (from them) and threats (from me) they usually oblige. Notice I said occasionally, which is code for “almost never”. Admittedly, a good thing for all. Otherwise, no fun would ever be had by anyone. Everyday I have to remind myself that the people who care about me, will come visit anyway and feel right at home, and I should never be embarrassed. Those who examine the props instead of the talent will not be invited back to the show. Or perhaps never invited in the first place if I suspect they might turn out to be a jerk about it. This unfairly weeds a lot of people out I’m afraid, and often hinders my girls’ ability to have friends over. My girls aren’t the least bit embarrassed by their home. Because there is nothing wrong with it, and I know this. In fact, it’s quite beautiful, located in a safe, clean neighborhood with fantastic public schools (a major plus in Los Angeles). The stupid insecurities are mine.  (A FINAL TIDBIT I WISH I’D BEEN TOLD: If you actually knew how often people think of you, you’d realize how seldom they do. Give it up….enjoy life’s party and the children who provide the confetti.) 

I’m working on that. Promise.

 

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I need a nurse…STAT!

Looks like it might hurt, huh?

Living out here in the land of ‘pretty much anything goes because it’s Hollywood’, I witness all sorts of things. It’s only on rare occasions when I’m an insider, instead of a spectator. Well, lucky you…because this past weekend, I was all up in the insanity, and it made for a very…um…colorful story, to say the least.

First you should know it involved the part-time writing gig I have (yes..the one I got because of this one) which I normally do from home, in my pajamas, while answering online reservation requests for a very upscale club in Hollywood. Rarely do I have to go in. To be honest, I have never actually been asked to come in, but being the Type A, overachiever I am, I believe it’s important to pop in from time to time and do a bit of ‘Vip customer public relations’ (i.e. meeting the people face to face that I book bottle service for, and normally only deal with via email, to make sure they are getting drunk having a good time). And because our huge Halloween parties were happening this weekend, I believed it was crucial that I pop in and say “Hi”, or at the very least laugh at people’s costumes as well as the debauchery sure to happen at a kick-ass Hollywood Halloween Extravaganza.  The only catch was, I had to wear a costume in keeping with the theme, which revolved around an insane asylum. Fitting, right? Because we all know there are a bunch of crazies in Hollyweird. Anyway, the costume requirement boiled down to….‘Naughty Nurse’. Yeah, those risqué costumes that every male patient on the face of the planet wishes his girlfriend, wife, nurse would come through the door wearing. Yes, I have pictures. You will never see them. Get over it 🙂

So….Friday night was pretty benign. Nothing too exciting happened. Started off the evening downstairs in the office processing reservation requests on the computer (yes, I know. I could have done that from home). After I was done, I went upstairs, and just stood at the front door of the club looking like a 40 something, Nurse Ratchet in a costume that belonged on Nurse Anita Lay, surrounded by all the gorgeous 20-somethings who also work there, and SHOULD wear those kinds of costumes 24/7. It was definitely motivation for me to get my ass to a gym….STAT. Mostly, I greeted people as they came in, and laughed hysterically at their costumes. All in all, an easy fun time.

BUT BOY OH EFFING BOY…..Saturday made up for it, by leaps and bounds. It was a freaking doozy!!! Not sure if it was because my costume was smaller, making me look like a trampy ballerina nurse (I had on a tutu), or if the crowd was just completely CRAZY BALLS, but this is what happened:

The Man was with me, which turned out to be a blessing. Otherwise, I would have been much more frazzled than I was after the shit show I got caught up in.

Now, let me set the scene here…..when you walk into the club, there is a huge outdoor courtyard, with 2 long reflecting pools. One has a fireplace in the middle of it, and the other has a GIANT, vine-covered swing erected above it, with a round ottoman anchored in the pool in front and back of the swing. They hired an actress on Saturday,  to dress up like a creepy looking little girl, and swing on the swing. Well, she decided she needed a break, and left the swing unattended. I was out front, greeting folks again, and The Man texted me and said “I NEED HELP AT THE SWING. PLEASE COME IN HERE.”  So off I go. I rounded the corner only to see a gaggle of drunk, Harajuku girls dressed in nothing but lingerie (since when is this a costume?) trying to climb onto the swing, in the absence of the swinger who had vanished. The Man, dressed like he just walked off the set of ‘Men In Black’ was explaining to them that “no he wasn’t an employee, but he knew they weren’t allowed on it”, in his best, unofficial security guard voice. Now, I knew if these pop-tarts got hurt on the swing it would be a liability, and having the best interest of the club at heart..guess what I did? I got up there to keep them off it. BIG MISTAKE. That just prompted one of the most scantily clad one of the lot to climb onto the ottoman in front of me, and writhe around like a skanky stripper, facing me and opening her legs spread eagle, giving me a very vivid crotch shot, every time I swung forward. OH JOY! I was trapped on the swing for FORTY FIVE MINUTES, and adding insult to injury, all her flockies whipped out their smart phones and started taking photos, and no doubt, video….which has probably already made it on to YouTube. Yippee effing skippy!

Anyway, if the girl whose job it was to swing, hadn’t shown up when she did, to take over again….I had made up my mind that I was going to put my legs straight out and knock Hello Kitty off the ottoman and into the reflecting pool with a swift, go-go booted heel to the forehead. Even though, she kept saying ‘you so hot’, non-stop. No compliment is worth that kind of torture. Seriously.

The Man and I ended up leaving right after this happened, because despite my stone-cold sober state, once I got off the swing….I was ready to vomit. Good times, people.  Good times. But I am clearly too old for this shit.

And now for the photos. What? You thought I wasn’t going to post any didn’t you?

This was Friday night’s uniform. Of course, this is NOT ME. Mine looked just like this one though…minus the hot girl in it. Oh, and I wore a bra.

Image compliments of SpicyLingerieStore.com

Now, this was the costume that apparently caused all the havoc on Saturday. Again, NOT ME in this photo. Plus, I wore a red tutu, instead of this skirt, and paired it with red fish nets and white go-go boots. But you get the idea, right?

Image compliments of SpicyLingerieStore.com

 

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Best Date Night Ever: Halloween Horror Nights

Halloween 2009; My Fancy Nancy with HER Fancy Nancy. I made this costume up, btw, using dress up clothes we had on hand.

Let’s just establish from the git-go that Halloween is my favorite holiday. Save the Turkeys, let Santa retire and put the Easter Bunny on permanent hiatus as far as I’m concerned….but don’t mess around with Halloween. I blame my mama for my ridiculous obsession with this holiday. She was a seamstress, and possessed a burning passion for creating garments for people to dress up in. Sure, she made normal clothes too….but DAMN….THAT WOMAN KNEW HOW TO PUT TOGETHER A COSTUME LIKE NOBODY’S BUSINESS. One year I was a clown (okay, I’m still a clown), then I was a hobo, the next I was Tweety Bird and when I was in junior high she really stepped up the game….by tea-dyeing about 5 yards of muslin, ripping it into strips and wrapping my entire body up ‘like a mummy”. Of course, I couldn’t piss for several hours, but the costume was effing fantastic. It wasn’t just my mother though. My brothers and sisters got into it too. Although I am the baby of the family by 12 years, they continued to carry on like complete wing nuts every Halloween, perhaps for my benefit, but I really suspect it was for their own enjoyment. One such year, when I was maybe 8 or so, my brother rented a studio grade gorilla costume, and teamed up with my sister, who worked for a local vet in town, known for his love of exotic pets. Dr. Young was also known for being a bit on the eccentric side, and subject to doing things most folks would not dare. Keep in mind, I grew up in a really small town. With that in mind, you can imagine how hilarious it was when my brother, dressed as King Kong decided it would be fun to have my sister and the other vet-tech she worked with drive him around town while he was standing up, appearing to be chained in the bed of Dr.Young’s pickup truck. They drove all over the freaking city…up around the courthouse square…through neighborhoods. EVERYWHERE. Each time they would approach a group of middle or high school aged trick-or-treaters (not little kids, mind you) they would slow down, and my brother would pound his chest and roar, then act like he was ‘breaking free from the chains’ and jump out of the truck into the group of kids. The kids would scream and scatter, understandably….probably wearing dirty underwear. Good times….for the times. Today, he would likely have been shot. Halloween was also a time to go TP yards, shoot random strangers with water guns filled with chocolate syrup, or worse….egg houses. I can remember participating in this kind of prankster activity when I was 6. I thought it was cool, because I was with my 18-year-old sister and her friends. Little did I know, it was also criminal. Thanks, Bug. Anyway, you get the point. These are my people, and Halloween is a big deal.  So it’s only fitting that I carry on family tradition, right? No…I don’t take my kids egging or TP’ing, but we do dress up….elaborately. The picture below is from last year, just before they left to beg for candy from our strangers neighbors:

a tiger, a witch and….a punk rocker?

Ironically though, as much as I LOVE dressing my kids up and going all out, that’s not my favorite part of Halloween anymore. Nope. My favorite part is Halloween season date night with The Man. Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. It doesn’t involve kinky sex or role-playing with costumes. We go to Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights every year….without The Beans. For obvious reasons: they are too young. Although, after this past summer, and our participation in the filming of the book trailer for the zombie novel “100 Days of Death”, they might enjoy it now….lol. But I digress. Last year’s annual Halloween Date Night was definitely one for the history books. Even better than the year we ate ‘herbal brownies’ before going in, and were totally paranoid the entire night, thinking the Texas Chainsaws were real. I mean what kind of asshats do THAT? Yeah, us. What can I say…it was our rookie year, and somebody else brought the treats. Anyway….back to Halloween 2011. It started out pretty normal. Except for the fact that we waited until the last-minute to buy our tickets, and missed out on the coveted ‘Front of the Line’ passes, which are worth every extra penny they cost, btw, which is why they SELL OUT. So, there was a fair amount of bitching at the beginning of the night. Still, we were excited, because one of the mazes was ‘Scream 4’ and The Man had just finished mixing the post-sound for it, and wore his crew t-shirt on our date. Very appropriate, attire I thought, although he paired it with some jeans that had a small hole near the pocket in the back. To be fair, I pointed out the hole before we left, and suggested he change his pants, but he ignored me, naturally. Turned out, the tee-shirt was a conversation piece that set the night in motion, and wearing those holey jeans happened to be a stellar decision as well. We were on the escalator going to the lower level, and happened to strike up a conversation with a couple of ladies in front of us, when they inquired about The Man’s shirt. See? Great wardrobe choice. As luck would have it, they were staff make-up artists going from maze to maze checking on the actors and doing touch-ups as needed. We remarked about missing out on the front of the line passes, and how brutally long the lines were, and they offered to take us with them through the maze they were headed for. They got to cut the line, because they worked there, and we just happened to be at the right place at the right time. Now, let me tell you….despite the fact that he works on movies for a living, and knows it’s all costumes, make-up and sound….the characters at HHN scare the crap out of The Man. Every effing year. Me…not so much, as I have nerves of steel. Nonetheless, we truck along with our new BFF’s, and head into ‘Alice Cooper’. Little did we know one of the girls was dating the guy who worked the door to the maze, and she called ahead and told him to have the actors pay special attention to us. And holy shit snacks, did they ever take those instructions seriously. Within the first few minutes of being in the maze, one of the characters jumped out practically on top of us, The Man fell back into me (because I always make him go in first & use him as a shield), scrambled to get away, almost ditched me and did his dead level best to run like hell through the remainder of the maze, with our 2 escorts laughing hysterically. I was laughing too, of course, because when my husband gets spooked, it’s the best show on Earth. But oh…the fun didn’t stop there. Once we got to ‘safety’ outside the maze, I noticed that in the scuffle, the tiny little hole in the back of The Man’s jeans had grown by epic proportions…..

yes. it's exactly what it looks like

yes. it’s exactly what it looks like

Yes, ladies and gentlemen….The Man busted the ass out of his jeans trying to get away from a ‘monster’. And I wet mine laughing at him. Best. Date Night. EVER. Universal Halloween Horror Nights 2011. Needless to say, the girls got such delight in watching The Man get the shit scared out of him in the first maze, they took us with them through every single one, even with The Man’s underwear showing. So we essentially got the Front of the Line Passes…..for free. Sometimes, we live a charmed life when it comes to shit like that. Hoping we get that lucky again this year 🙂

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