Becky_In_LA

Martha Stewart is a lying little bitch, and I have proof!!

2011-06-20T20:52:00.000-07:00

That's it. Throw her in jail again. For her crimes against humanity...and my bedroom wall!

I admit, I used to be down with Martha. The past few weeks have found me paging through her magazine with friends, oohing and aahing over the lovely little delights that she schemes up, shows how to re-create, and then displays in stunning color all over Martha Stewart Living. I drooled when I saw her sticker collection. I thought "how handy!" when I saw her wedding page (for I am currently planning mine) and bookmarked the snot out of the decor section. I even thought, in a fit of self delusion, that I could do these things that Martha, dear Martha, has set in front of me.

And then I tried to do just that.

Fiance (R) and I are currently painting our new place, about to move in. The living room will be a sunny, custard yellow, the kitchen a light olive. But it was the bedroom that had me truly excited, for as we gazed at chip upon chip at Home Depot, hemming and hawing and biting our nails, I happened to lean down and spy the perfect color. It was a Martha Stewart Precious Metals chip, in a silvery blue. It was, without question, The Most Wonderful Hue On Earth. I snatched it up, and R responded with equal delight. We decided right then: we would choose this paint. We would paint with this paint. All of our friends would come over, see this color on the bedroom wall, and toss their hands up. "You win," they would cry. "You are clearly the superior paint-color-chooser. I will be forever depressed that I did not find this color first." At which point I would politely deny the awesome-ness of the color, and invite them back into the olive kitchen for sangria and homemade guacamole.

Fast forward to the paint counter, where R and I handed the paint mixer dude a small deck of paint chips. We patiently explained how much of each color we needed, and when we got to the Martha Stewart Precious Metals gem, he paused, inhaled, and said

"oooooooh".

But it wasn't the ooooh I was hoping for. It was more like "ooooh, there's a problem here". After asking, he explained that whatever color was underneath this paint would show up, no matter how many coats we put on. "Seriously," he continued, "You could spend like, a hundred dollars trying to cover one wall with six gallons of paint, and you'd still see the color beneath. This is just going to come out silver". Ok, we said, and picked out a blue to go underneath the color. He then continued to explain the finicky nature of this paint, and I went home with it all in my head, ready to conquer.

First, the endless taping and drop-clothing, because I spill and am a klutz (very un-Martha). Then, the painting of the blue, a nice slate color. Now the second blue coat. Now we wait at least four hours (but given my schedule this has all happened over about two weeks) before the Martha. Now we bust out the brush, the brush I spent 10 bucks on, because paint dude told me that Martha was a streaky bitch if you don't get a high quality brush, and we begin. Here comes the test patch in the corner of the room......

What. The. Hell.

Martha, you are lying to me. This is not a thin paint that shows the color below. This is a gaudy grey silver that is hell-bent on covering and destroying my pretty slate color. I see no blue beneath this. NONE. Wait a minute, where is that paint chip?

Martha, this does not match. This is not even remotely close. This is terrible. Let's try a test patch somewhere else, like....my skin.

Oh, I can't see my skin anymore either. Look everyone, I'm the Tin Man. *sings to self* I'd be friends with the sparrows, and the boy who shoots the arrows if I only had a heeeaaaaaarrrrrt.....

Fiance immediately began suggesting alternative walls on which to use the metallic paint, all of which were too horrible to mention (Love you honey). The truth of the matter is, the color just plain sucks. And now for the damage:

Blue Paint: $40
"Precious" Metals paint: $40 (for one gallon)
Awesome but expensive paint brush: $10
Realizing that Martha Stewart is a terrible person who is tricking every woman in America for her own profit and amusement: Priceless.

Everyone knows it, nobody says it...

2011-03-14T20:11:00.000-07:00

Some days, I have to watch this after I get home from work, just to deal.

You all know it's true.

How To Drive Like An Angeleno

2010-12-08T20:11:00.000-08:00

1. Figure out the most direct route to point B.

2. Consider traffic patterns and time of day. Check Sigalert. Abandon most efficient route, and find 2-3 alternative routes. You will probably use one on the way to point B and another on the way back.

3. Get a few good CDs to keep in your car, or hook up your ipod. Make sure you have a hands-free phone option for the drive.

4. Make sure your horn works.

5. Start driving. And talking on that phone.

6. On residential streets, drive in the middle until oncoming cars force you to pick sides. You will both be so touchy about the size of the road that one of you will have to pull over momentarily to let the other pass. The pull-over-and-wait person will usually be the person who has lived in LA the least amount of time, or the smaller car, or the person who has actually had a good day and doesn't really care.

7. Stop signs are somewhat optional. Also, the rule about who goes first at a four-way stop is not known by anyone. If you give someone their deserved right-of-way, you will have to wave them through. They will usually smile and wave in return.

8. The more expensive the car, the bigger the ego of the asshole driving it. Their overly aggressive driving will reflect this.

9. Any gap in the road will be filled with a car, whether they have the green light/right of way or not.

10. People will honk at you for being nice and letting someone through.

11. People will honk at you for being defensive and not letting someone through.

12. You may let one car through at any given traffic scenario. If you let in two cars, you are a pansy. More than two, and someone behind you may have a heart attack.

13. If you block an intersection, prepare to have your bumper taken off.

14. If one lane is clogged, people will veer into the open lane. They will not check to see if you are already driving in it.

15. Don't hit the bicyclists. Anyone who loves the Earth enough to ride a bike through rush hour deserves respect, and at least 4 feet of passing room.

16. If you want to change lanes, don't try to get ahead of the guy next to you. He/She will pace you or try to get ahead of you every time. Instead, signal and then drop back behind him/her. Usually there is more space there. Does it really matter if you end up 10 feet further away from the red light?

17. A good LA car game: One person counts Audis. Another counts Priuses. Another Lexuses, and another Mini-Coopers. Highest number when you reach your destination wins.

18. Who are you kidding? There's no one in the car with you. You can't play that game.

19. Stay off the 405. Just....seriously. Don't bother.

20. If you make it to point B and have to park on the street, read the damn signs about where to park. And don't be the jerk who hangs 3 feet into a driveway or blocks someone in so they only have 2 inches on either side. Not cool, man. Not cool.

A Burrito with a Message

2010-11-06T16:45:00.000-07:00

This summer I had a lot of time on my hands. I was RIF'd (pink-slipped or laid off for non-LAUSDers who are tuning in). I was at a crossroads in my life, and the only two living creatures who were happy about this were my gigantic cats, who loved that I was home all the time as I had no job and no desire to spend any money. With a ton of time on my hands, I began cooking. I went on a health food kick, did a ton of research, and decided to be as much of a "whole foods" kind of person as I could be. I made my own vegan bread and crackers. I scoured nutritional labels, and then generally put it all back on the shelf and opted for unpackaged foods. Did I mention how much time I spent cooking? It was really a lot of time. I wondered if I'd be able to keep it up during the school year.

I'd have had a better chance of flying.

So a few weeks into the school year, I slunk down to the cafeteria with my high and mighty tail between my legs, seeking a vegetarian lunch from the school district that I don't trust. I was hoping that whatever they had wouldn't be too far off my new food rules. After handing over $2.50, I was presented with a tray containing a bean and cheese burrito, grapes, spinach salad, and milk.

To be fair, the food in the cafeteria does not always suck. Sometimes they have jicama, sometimes they have edamame. Sometimes they have two vegetarian options. Unfortunately, there's a flipside. Sometimes they don't have a veggie option, and I have to speak in very firm tones to whoever is trying to sell me chicken. I have actually yelled out "This is Los Angeles for crying out loud!" in my quest for a salad. Sometimes they run out of beverages. Sometimes they mix up the hamburgers with the veggie burgers. Sometimes they can't even give you a fork, though your lunch definitely requires one. So on this day that my burrito came to me, I was relieved to find myself equipped with a vegetarian, fork-free lunch.

Now let's talk about the presentation, shall we?

The salad is in a little plastic thingie with a lid. By salad I mean it is a handful of spinach leaves. The grapes are in a bag. My burrito is in a bag. And the milk? Oh yes people, the milk is in fact also in a bag. Not a stand-up Capri Sun type bag. A plastic bag that wobbles around the tray with no hope of staying upright on its own. The cafeteria people offered me a cup for the milk, but with the amount of trash generated by this one lunch, I feel like enough of a jerk and refuse the cup. I set my tray down and begin to eat.

Verdict on the salad: Spinach is actually fresh.

Verdict on the grapes: They are almost expired, and quite mushy.

Verdict on the milk: I feel like an idiot drinking this thing. Many bad jokes come to mind.

My burrito is talking to me.

The burrito is boasting a label that it's a "Baja California Burrito". I certainly hope someone closer than Baja made this thing. Also on the label is a round orange dot, with the words "Say No To Drugs!" printed on it.

Why is my burrito telling me not to do drugs? Is my burrito a reformed junkie? Has my burrito done some hard time, and is now coming to do some preventive public speaking? And honestly, does anyone think that some kid is going to read the label on the burrito and have a crazy life-altering revelation? "Well, I was going to go home and do some ecstasy, but this little piece of plastic said not to. I think I'm going to listen and become a model citizen".

The burrito tasted passable. I already say no to drugs, so the message is lost on me. On the whole, the meal will keep me going until I get home for the evening.

Where I will promptly start cooking again.

Mitten Threads -- Days Six and Seven

2010-08-17T13:18:00.000-07:00

The last two days I was in MI were fairly low key. I had spent five days running around almost every second, on a roller coaster of emotions as I saw friends, missed others, interviewed for jobs over the phone, and generally tried to cram in all the fun I possibly could...you know how exhausting that is. Sometime in those two days, I did manage to get back up to MSU and had a random run-in with my friend K, and we had lunch together. This was wonderful because I really thought that everyone I knew from MSU had left town. God knows all us 20-somethings are abandoning the state like the financially unstable rats we are. Anyway, the last two days were filled with odds and ends, and lots of relaxing got done.

Here are some pictures from those two days, and probably some others from other times that I loved, but couldn't work into other posts. Enjoy!

All in all, a very good vacation.

Happy

2010-08-11T11:50:00.000-07:00

Driving down Sunset is always a bit surreal for me.

The first time I did it, I couldn't get over it. I was driving My Car down Sunset Boulevard. You know, that street that everyone in the world knows about, that's littered with Hollywood history? Yeah, that one. Sunset, as in "My apartment is a block off Sunset" or later when I moved, "My apartment is five blocks off of Sunset". Yup. Crazy.

So, I coasted down this famous street again, and this time contended with a bus on one side and a crazy-aggressive bicyclist on the other, who had his own lane but kept weaving into mine just to prove a point I guess. I was just trying to get my dirty car to the dollar car wash at Sunset and Descanso. Upon arriving there, I slid into a bay, pulled quarters out of my pocket, and proceeded to spray down my Prius. It slowly turned from dusty brown back into the blue it was supposed to be. When the last soap bubble had been rinsed away, I replaced the hose, and heard "Excuse me?" just as I was doing so.

I turned to find a 20-something guy in a silver pickup truck calling out to me. Being from LA, I scanned the interior of his car as I approached, looking for other people, weapons, or anything wierd. He was alone. His hands were on the wheel. I stepped up, and rested my hands lightly in the windowsill.

"Can you tell me how to get to West Hollywood?" Out-of-towner. Backwoods accent. Slightly nervous, but determined.

"Sure," I began. "The easiest way is to take Sunset or Hollywood that way-"

"I'm on Sunset."

"Yes, you are. But you're going the wrong way. You want to flip around and just follow it down, but it'll take 25-30 minutes, just so you know."

Out-of-town stared back quizzically. "So I go this way?" he asked, pointing in the wrong direction. I corrected him, then asked where he was trying to go. "Well, uh, ummmm...." out-of-town trailed off. I hoped he was here to visit friends, and not to escape some situation back home. We made sure one last time that he was clear on the way to go, then he thanked me and pulled away. I got back into my dripping car, and pulled out. I saw him (this time headed the right way) at the intersection, and waved as I turned left.

I'm glad that I finally know where I'm going.

Day Five -- The Mittenberg Olympics

2010-08-05T21:11:00.000-07:00

Every family should have a fun and slightly stupid tradition. My mom's side has found theirs: the Meulenberg Olympics. Each summer, the family gathers for food, fun, and a chance to win bragging rights for an entire calendar year. Oh yeah, and they also get a cheap ugly trophy (or should I say, they are grudgingly obliged to store the thing for a year).

This year's games, hosted by my parents, were:

- Croquet
-Tossing Ping Pong Balls Into A Hula Hoop Floating In The Pool
-Beanbag Tosss (or corn-holing, if you are Midwest and for some reason don't find that to be the crudest term ever)
-"Ball Shot" (which made me laugh much more than I'd like to admit to. It's a "Minute to Win It" game where you roll a ball down a tape measure and into a shot glass. Very addictive.)

There were three types of people who came out that day: those who were after blood, those who played for the love of the game, and those who played a little bit badly on purpose (my dad kept ducking out of the games and saying "I don't want the damn thing" under his breath). My cousin C kept jumping up and down, razzing everyone and yelling "It's mine! Back off, the trophy's MINE!!!" Cousin J played with mild interest until the Ball Shot (tee hee) and then became addicted to it for the rest of the gathering. We ended up sending the necessary game supplies home with his family.

I was one who came out to win, hoping to take the trophy back to the west coast and taunt my relatives for a year by taking pictures of it near the Hollywood sign, on the beach, etc.

Sadly, it was not to be.

My croquet score was 19 (much worse than the winning score of 13 strokes). I was knocked out of the ball toss on round 5. I got 0 points for bean bags, but did manage to eek out a few points for my stunning performance in Ball Shot (That's what she said!). Overall, my score was 12 points, nowhere near enough to catch the bold 21 points scored by Brian from Ohio, who was the proud winner of the day.

At least the trophy went out of state.

I'll be back for the title next year....

Anniversary

2010-07-22T11:21:00.000-07:00

I've been seeing someone for two years now, and I think it's pretty special.

She may not be everyone's favorite, but she's a class act in my book. Here again, my favorite pictures from the last year:

Happy two year anniversary, California!

MittenLanders - Day Four

2010-07-18T17:54:00.000-07:00

Day four was mostly consumed with job hunting.

I had submitted an application to work with the Youth Orchestra of Los Angeles, and they had promised to call me that day for a "brief phone conversation" (translation: they are considering SO MANY people that they have to narrow it down by phone first, so not good odds). I had no way of knowing that this job and I were not meant to be, so the morning was spent looking at recipes for the Meulenberg Olympics the following day, watching the Big Bang Theory, and fretting and trying to think of what they were going to ask me.

Oh yeah, and I also visited with my other grandma in the morning, who lives much closer.

Having bombed the phone interview (I didn't think it went too terribly, but they did not call back, so I must have said something wrong) I went shopping for the ingredients for chocolate strawberry shortcakes, my chosen recipe for the family get-together. And then I went to dinner with A and S, who are high school friends of mine.

A cat also came to visit, and hang out by the pool.

ColdMitten - Day Three

2010-07-17T13:01:00.000-07:00

I drove back to the town where I first started teaching, amid a thunderstorm and a wash of memories.

Literally everywhere I looked, I could remember things. Remember when I got lost on the way to the interview. Remember when I thought that the "Waffle Farm" campground was a funny name. Remember when I thought this town was perfect for me for awhile, and when I knew it was time to leave.

My first stop was to see one of my favorite people in Coldwater, who is also leaving. I knew this might be the last time we got to hang out in person, so I was very glad to get the chance. We talked, he showed me his house with all its boxes almost ready to go, and then his wife showed me the new house they are moving to. It is the exact opposite of my little apartment in the big city, and they seem very happy with it. I also got to see his 2 sons, both of whom I had the privilege of teaching. Once again, I did not manage to snap any pictures because, well, I just forgot to.

After that, and before an early dinner with other friends, I toured the town. It took about an hour:

My old school

My old door to the outside world

The water tower (this thing always creeped me out and made me feel like I was living in the town where "In Cold Blood" took place)

The front window of the school, and proof that Positive Behavioral Support is indeed running rampant across the whole country, thankfully taking the place of Assertive Discipline but still not as good as Love and Logic

The drive-in theater, probably the coolest feature of the town!

I also made a quick trip to Minnetonka Moccasins, but did not buy anything.

After that it was time to head over to dinner, with my friends M, M, S and A. It's always good to catch up with people, especially people who seem to erase the 2 years I was gone. My time in LA felt like a long weekend, and we fell into dinner like it was just another payday Friday.

After dinner I headed over to B and D's, and they drove me back to the school so I could actually get inside my old room!! I was smugly elated to find many things exactly the way I left them (argue all you want, but this is proof that most of the changes I made were, in fact, somewhat logical).

From my first year of teaching:

Diane!

Time to head home :(

MittenSchoen (Day Two)

2010-07-16T22:20:00.001-07:00

After 2 years in LA, I felt I had to get back to my roots. To walk among my people and feel like I have come home...

...or just engage in some Very Cliche Dutch Activity.

The west side of the state is home to many things. The first and most important: Grandma!

3 generations, and you can definitely tell we're related. Grandma time is always good (except for the part where she paged through my yearbook and said "very nice...lot of foreigners". After a stunned silence, my mom bravely volunteered that California is very diverse. Grandma nodded slowly, and probably forgot the conversation 3 minutes later).

After that it was off to lunch with my friend P. For some reason I forgot to take pictures at this leg of the trip; I think we were too busy gabbing. You'll just have to trust me when I say it was a good time, and lunch was very good, except the avocados in MI just don't do it for me anymore... one more thing California has ruined me for.

With a whole afternoon ahead of us, we pushed westward to Holland, Michigan, home of the Dutch Village. I think the pictures will explain it pretty well.

Also, I got a little pair of Delft Blue ceramic shoes to go on my bookshelf, which were wrapped up for me by the tallest teenager (so very Dutch looking) that I've seen in a long while.

After a quick trip to Lake Michigan...

The last stop on the tour was Saugatuck.

I have no idea how this little town, nestled in the midst of conservative west Michigan, ended up being the most gay-friendly and generally liberal town in the state. It's also home to some of the cutest shops, and if we hadn't had to turn back for the 2+ hour drive home, I'm sure I would have spent way too much of my rapidly dwindling money.

Oh yeah, and here's my dad striking a victory pose as we refueled in Okemos:

Mittenscape - Day One

2010-07-15T10:32:00.001-07:00

It's always nice to head back to Michigan, but this trip was especially nice. After a few months of craziness (and I am by no means out of the woods yet unfortunately) it was a relief to slide back into the green humidity of my home state, and see familiar and comforting faces.

The first day found me in Lansing. I got to see my brother, sister-in-law and most importantly, my nephew, C. We all went to P.F. Chang's and got wild....not really. But my mom did knock over her wine glass while attempting to make the baby laugh. After the sound of shattering glass echoed through the restaurant, my mom froze and her eyes shifted from side to side like a 3 year old caught too close to the cookie jar. A waiter appeared as if from nowhere and had the mess under control in seconds. Then my brother knocked over a bowl of sauce, and it took about thousand napkins to mop up. Amazingly, the waitstaff was still being nice to us despite our glass-and-vinegar covered table.

Also, I had a traditional Chinese dessert of red velvet cake :)

Also, this kid is SO CUTE!!!

One reason it's not good to be short in Los Angeles

2010-07-01T13:10:00.000-07:00

The sidewalks here are no wider than in any other city, and are consequently ill-equipped to accommodate the foot traffic of some 4 million people. So inevitably while walking around the neighborhood, there is some side-stepping, smiling and "excuse me" saying, and occasional run-ins with hyperactive dogs (I really don't mind those). This is usually not a big deal.

However, my neighborhood contains more than its fair share of aspiring models. And let me tell you something about these women:

First of all, they are 12 feet tall.

Second, they have terribly big egos, especially considering how freakin' tiny they really are (size, not height)

Third, they walk down the dead middle of every sidewalk, usually swinging a giant purse. And they do not move. There is no excuse me with these girls. Because clearly they are the Most Important Thing in the Universe. They are the sidewalk equivalent of an SUV doing 15 over on the freeway, zipping across lanes and cutting people off as they go.

Here are my options:
1. Literally step off the sidewalk.
2. Hold my ground and see what happens.

And usually I opt for #1, but sometimes I just get annoyed. When I choose to hold my ground however (like today), Ms. Amazon Ego almost always runs into me. Usually the contact is pretty light, just an arm brush accompanied by a sideways head turn that seems to say "who do you think you are, hobbit?" A few times I've seen them lean into it like some scrawny, bitchy linebacker; this means that they DO in fact see me. Sometimes I actually get pushed lightly off the sidewalk.

In my head, I tell them they look like a dead tree branch, and then try to move on with my day.

Cattus Giganticus

2010-06-26T16:38:00.000-07:00

Yes, this post is about my cats. I understand that this pretty much rules out the prospect of me ever becoming a "decent" blogger. I understand that not many people actually want to read a post about my cats. I understand that this is the second post about my cats to appear on this blog.

Skip it if you don't feel like it.

Long story short, Peyton had his first hairball today. This is the kind of thing I see and expect from my other cat, who is basically a walking mop with yellow eyes and a squeaky voice. But Peyton has been having issues, and now I think we know why. Which means it was time to break out the Petromalt and see how he reacted. Oh boy.

My fluffy cat, Duke, does not like the stuff. I have tried showing it to him and getting him to lick it off my finger. No dice. I have tried mixing it with his food. Uh-uh. I have tried sneaking up on him and opening his mouth, and scraping it quickly onto his teeth in the manner of peanut butter. If Duke could talk, his response would be "Aw, HELL no!" with a vigorous tail shake to
accompany.
So usually what happens is, I smear the stuff on his paw and then watch him run from room to room, trying to shake it off and being furiously indignant that I would violate the Cat Code of Cleanliness.

Unfortunately, I found out today that Peyton is exactly the same. Except he doesn't lick the stuff off his paw. He is literally letting it sit there, and now he is going to punish me by making me clean sticky stuff off of probably every surface in my apartment.

The next cat I get will be bald.

Show and Tell

2010-06-25T11:40:00.000-07:00

I finally have a card reader for my camera! (a real one, not a crappy RadioShack deal that came dead in the package) Here's some of what I've been up to...

My parents came out for spring break:

They like to text.

My mom likes the observatory at night.

We went whale watching in Santa Barbara.

My camera has a sketchy function. Don't you feel like you're in an episode of Saved by the Bell?

More to follow when I get all 350 pictures safely sorted out.

Seriously?

2010-06-23T15:25:00.000-07:00

This morning I had to call...The District. It was going to be a delicate operation at best, because I couldn't very well call and say "Hi there! I need some of my personal information to complete a form that is being used in a grievance against you. Have a great day!". Still, it's my file, and I should have access to it, right? Right???

Call #1:

Me: Hello, I'm calling to confirm ____________.

Doofus: I can say yes or no.

(does she mean that she has the right to refuse me my own information? That doesn't sound entirely legal)

Me: Okay. I would like to confirm my _____________.

Doofus: Go ahead.

Me: I know it's _______(partial answer) but I need ________.

D: Yes. _______ is correct.

Me: Okay, what's the rest of it?

D: I can't tell you.

This went on for several minutes, most of which was me being put on hold. Finally it was explained to me that I could say the thing I needed, and she could tell me if it was right.

Me: Seriously, this is how we're doing this?

D: Yes.

Me: Okay. So you mean I have to guess, and if I guess right you'll tell me? (didn't I play this game in middle school when a friend liked a guy but didn't want to say who?)

D: Yes.

Me: **Takes guess**

D: NO.

Me: **Takes second guess**

D: NO. You only get one guess. Goodbye.

Call #2 was to my school to see if I could get the information that way. The secretary was in a meeting, so I gave my number and waited for her call. Meanwhile, let's try downtown again, shall we? Maybe I'll get someone different, someone friendlier.

Call #3:
Phone rings uninterrupted for a full minute. No one picks up, no voice mail. They know it's me, I'm sure of it.

Call #4:

Me: Hello, I'm calling to confirm _________.

Rude Lady (different from Doofus): Listen, we already told you *long rant restating info*.

So they know it's me. They've been discussing me. Greeeaaaaat.

Me: Yes, I have some questions about that.

Rude: Well, *dismissive rude rant* Why do you need this information?

Me: Because I need it.

Rude: WHY DO YOU NEED THIS INFORMATION?!

Me: Look, I just do. If I come in will that help?

Rude: NO. Here's the fax number. 213--

Me: Hang on one second please, I need to get a pen so I can --

Rude: Hold please.

**elevator music**

Rude: The number is 213blahblahblah. Goodbye.

Luckily, the secretary called back later and we pieced together the right date from my records, and the faulty guess I'd made earlier. And if those two ladies are ever in my position, I hope that someone is just as helpful to them as they were to me.

Waiting is Hell

2010-06-22T13:33:00.000-07:00

I have never been good at this part of the year. When I was younger it meant waiting for report cards, waiting for AP test scores, waiting on job interviews, with maybe some other fun surprises thrown in. My family can attest that this was a tough time to be around me; I would often bounce back and forth between listless, annoyed, snippy and depressed. Teaching has been a relief from this state, and I've really enjoyed the light feeling that comes with turning in my gradebook, signing off on everything, and walking out of the building for the summer.

This year is different.

The goons at LAUSD call it a RIF. In most other districts it's referred to as a pink slip. Either way, you get a not so nice letter of termination effective a certain date, and then you have to keep being a professional even with unemployment hanging over your head. The worst part is, they keep telling you "maybe, maybe not" as far as a rehire situation goes. I won't go into details, but I will say I'm on pins and needles over here. To sum up: it totally sucks.

Hopefully I'll be writing more this summer, and hopefully I'll have tales of adventure instead of worrisome stories of me twitching in some corner.

Do they not know they're playing with peoples' lives??

This is pretty much my life for the next two weeks...

2010-02-07T20:16:00.000-08:00

I'll be helping to direct the chaos...but secretly I'd like to be Sally.

Angelinos On Ice

2009-12-07T20:33:00.001-08:00

The sun is shining, and it is 75 degrees. People are bundled in coats, scarves and hats. Only in Los Angeles, I chuckle to myself as I help Jacob lace up his skates. I am wearing a t-shirt, and I'm already sweating. Still negotiating Jake's laces and pretending to listen as he instructs me how to tie them, snippets of conversation fall into my ears:

"I haven't been ice skating in 17 years!"

"I've NEVER been ice skating!"

"My skates are too tight..."

"No, they're supposed to fit that way."

"Are you sure?"

"Not really..."

It's then I realize a hideous experiment is about to unfold: we are about to put a snowless city's inhabitants on a makeshift ice rink in the middle of Pershing Square. Only after this thought do I fully understand why giant signs yelling "SKATE AT YOUR OWN RISK" are everywhere, and why children clutch their parents with excitement-but-fear in their eyes.

All too soon, the death shoes are on everyone's feet and it is time to go. Time for me to fall and crack my teeth. But first, a surprise: Jake is holding a hand in the air, expectantly, in my direction.

This kid NEVER wants to hold my hand. Here he is though, waiting for me to take him skating.

Feeling mom-like in a good way, I lead him out and quickly learn that he has no idea what he is doing. Fortunately, neither does anyone else. For the first 15 minutes of the hour skate session, young and old alike clutch the walls and gingerly inch their way around, exclaiming over the fun of it all and holding digital cameras perilously outward to capture the moment. I take up a position on Jake's other side, and try to coach him as he slip-walks across the ice.

Did I mention I'm going to be his step-mom? Did I mention that this is the first time I've watched the kids all by myself? Did I mention that after we told them "we're engaged!" it was wierd and awkward and silent? Yeah, this kid will not fall. This kid WILL NOT eat it on the ice on my watch. There is more riding on this afternoon than Kaitlyn or Jacob know about, at least in my mind.

At first I'm trying to help him, and he's not listening. Jake is caught in the fun of the moment, the slippery-ness and laughter of it all, and does not seem to care. I wait 15 minutes, and then his competitive side kicks in; he wants to be better than the other kids, better than me. I model how to do it, give analogies and imagery, everything I have been trained to do. We lurch laps around the rink, refining his abilities. We stop twice to loosen and then tighten his skates. No fewer than five times he pitches forward and grabs my arm (catching me completely off guard), putting all his weight on me. No fewer than five times I hold up my 7 year old boy with one arm, balancing and somehow not falling. To borrow from Dave Eggers again: "I am America! I am the Olympics!"

After 45 minutes we have had enough, mostly because our ankles hurt. We amble to the benches and de-skate. Again I fuss with laces, and while I am at his feet untying knots he says it:

"Those other kids didn't know what they were doing, but I did because you taught me. Thanks for teaching me."

I fight tears the whole way home.

Why I like Going to Nature Mart

2009-11-03T20:59:00.001-08:00

First of all, it's only a block and a half away. So I feel very eco-awesome while walking there, especially since I usually bring my own bag. Yes, I get all smug in a Los Feliz kind of way, which is fun for someone like me, who originally hails from the Midwest and usually feels like the short, awkward girl in the room.

Second, there is always an assortment of characters to pass and smile at. Today I nodded at red-suspender-and-high-top-wearing-with-crazy-hair dude, and he gave me a similar chin bob before continuing past me.

Third, when you get to the store, everyone is nice. It doesn't matter that it's late. Who cares that it's crowded with people buying their last-minute tempeh patties for dinner, and the staff is busy re-stocking the shelves. People smile, and say fun foreign phrases like "please", "thank you", and "excuse me". Health food makes happy people, and I have seen the proof.

Finally, the cashiers all rock. After being told off by a defiant 8th grader today, slogging through masses of students who all have a lame excuse why they didn't do their homework, and sitting through cynical yelling of teachers at our afternoon staff meeting, I was pretty drained. So while digging through my wallet, I had to stop and look up when the cashier ACTUALLY asked me "How was your day?" (not the usual "how are you" said quickly with no eye contact or empathy, but a real question!) When I looked up, he was smiling at me. Since there was no one else in line, we chatted for a minute. Mind you, this is not a fluke. Every time I go to this store, the cashier takes a minute to shoot the breeze with me. Huge plus.

Oh yeah, and their prices are actually very competitive. I've blown off Albertson's to go there for staples, in addition to getting my decaf green and vegan cereal. People of Los Feliz: Shop At Nature Mart!

That is all.

This is Who We Are. This is What We Do.

2009-10-03T08:13:00.000-07:00

So I went to school here.

I chose MSU because of its excellent education program (2nd in the nation; suck on that California elitism), its true "college" atmosphere, and its flute professor, who is a true artist and the teacher most compatible with my style. It was a wonderful time in my life, full of new friends, midnight study sessions, and of course, the marching band.

When I was a sophomore I decided to audition for MSU's drumline. The Drumline at State is also world class, and I worried that I would be laughed out of the building. But I went, and I'm glad I did. Two years as a cymbal player flew by, and I can honestly say some of the best moments of my life occurred as a member of that group.

However, being a part of the group that roots for MSU football has its downside.

Our team is wildly unpredictable. We can upset the top team in the nation and make them cry. We can have a 20 point lead going into the 4th quarter and lose. We can kill a school one week, then turn around and get our butts kicked in the next. It is truly a labor of love to root for this football team. Week after week, I watch friends update their facebooks to say "Go Green!!!" only to be replaced a few hours later with "I'd rather lose as a spartan than be anything else". And so it is on the weekend we play our biggest rival that I once again pull on my school spirit like a protective shield, and utter the following battle cries:

Go State! Beat Michigan!

Ann Arbor is a whore.

We'll get 'em in basketball season.

Last year, this year

2009-09-20T07:43:00.000-07:00

Last year: Moved to a new state and began teaching at a completely different school.

This year: For the first time in my whole teaching career (including pre-public school service) I have a schedule that I am familiar with in a school I am familiar with. No one changed anything (traditional to block or block to teaming or what have you) and as a result I actually knew what was going on from day one.

Last year: Our school was brand new and nobody wanted to be there, especially the oldest students who felt ripped out of their old school, where they were supposed to be the BMOC's (Big Men On Campus).

This year: Everyone gets that we're here, we do great things, so deal with it, it's all good.

Last year: had to figure out how to deal with R's two kids every other weekend when I'm used to having my grown-up time. Many tough moments and times when I simply had to leave for a few minutes.

This year: I am now annoyed that we are skipping a weekend with the kids and would like to talk to their mother about it personally. I especially want them for Halloween!

Last year: Only about 35% of students turned in the first homework assignment.

This year: 90% of my students turned in their first homework assignment.

Last year: had to pass the CTEL in all its mythified glory.

This year: Passed! and now working on BTSA :( but I have a feeling I can square that away pretty easily.

Last year: had a car that needed to go to the shop every 2 months like clockwork.

This year: I have a new baby, and I'm thinking it's going to be very reliable.

As you can see, most of the major stressors have been taken care of. I expect next year will be even better, and the next, etc. I think my life is approaching something close to what you'd call "settled". I'm very okay with that.

School Starts Tomorrow

2009-09-08T18:20:00.001-07:00

If all the students on my roster show up, I will have 241 of them.

That's a lot of names to learn.

Apparently I get to meet my favorites twice...

2009-08-21T08:00:00.001-07:00

This was true of John Krasinski; I met him at the Away We Go premiere (and I am biting back the urge to post the photo yet again) and then saw him a mere 6 days later as I was driving to school.

I also met Dave Eggers that night. For those who do not know, he is my favorite author. He writes the way I think, and the way I suspect he thinks, with long rants and strange comparisons, and when he talks, he blinks and shifts and grabs at his hair the same way I do on the podium trying to get a very important concept across to my students. These are not the only reasons why I like him, but they are some endearing and relatable qualities. Also, he founded the 826 stores which is just plain cool.

Mr. Eggers has a new book out.

Skylight Books was awesome and hosted a reading and a signing.

As I live within spitting distance, the question was not "do I go?" but "how early do I show up?" I showed up, bought my copy, and grabbed a signing number. Before the reading I even won an advance copy of "109 Forgotten American Heroes" put out by McSweeney's.

It was lovely to be in that independent bookstore with other 20-something hipster kids, listening to Mr. Eggers read from his work, us not caring that we were packed in like sardines and there was no air conditioning. For most of the reading I stood/sat behind a bookshelf, getting only occasional glimpses of the author. That was ok though, because I had already met him in May and was just glad to be there and listen.

After the reading, I wondered if I had time to go get a bottle of water. Turns out I could have gone home, used the bathroom, chatted with R, maybe could have even squeezed in a cup of tea, and then gone back. Most people I waited with in that long line were very nice. But there's always one. I waited in line near someone with 4 books who was chatting with his friends: "hey, wouldn't it be funny if I went up and was like 'yeah, you're not my favorite author, you're really no big deal'". No, you would not be funny. You would be an idiot, and a liar, because only a fan stands in line for over an hour to get no fewer than FOUR books signed. Nobody but a perfect jerk waits all that time to put someone important down in an attempt to make themselves feel better, stop talking you idiot. I guess even in Los Angeles there are still people who are stupid about meeting someone important or famous.

After hearing this stupidity, my visit was simple. The book was signed, the picture snapped. "Hey, I'm a big fan", "thank you, thanks for waiting so long", "It's ok I live like 2 blocks from here", "haha, you could have gone home and come back", "haha I thought about it", "it was nice to see you," "you too", handshake, smile, goodnight.

Just one more "glad I moved to LA" moment.

I just bought a car...

2009-07-28T22:10:00.000-07:00

Holy cow.

Blogging will resume when I feel slightly normal again...it may be a couple days.

The Sign

2009-07-26T16:30:00.000-07:00

7:55 am, and my mom, dad and I are applying sunblock. A slight breeze floats through, and the mountain looms high. My mom tests her newly bought walking sticks, decides they are useful enough, and nods. We begin.

The Hollyridge Trail begins at about 800 feet above sea level, but we have to gain about 900 feet ourselves before we will be level with the sign. The actual walk is 1.8 miles each way, on a dusty trail with scrub on each side, concealing spiders, rattlesnakes, and cute little lizards that dart in and out of the shallow patches of shade created by the bushes.

I cannot believe my mother wants to climb this thing.

A word about my mom: she is easily the most stubborn person I have ever met (and when she reads that, she'll take it as a compliment). However, her knees have been annoying to her for quite some time; a side effect of having naturally bad knees (which I think I've inherited), having arthritis (which I know I've inherited) and playing catcher for a softball team in her youth. When my mom said "I really want to do that hike", my first thought was "Seriously??" Then I remembered that I've never seen her back down from anything, and her reaction didn't shock me at all.

I hiked up to the Hollywood Sign for the first time in March, with R and the kids. We thought it was a pretty decent hike (enough to wear out R's 7 year old son, which is always a tough task) and when I got to the top I looked around and thought "My mom would love this." So I told her about it. Little did I know, the very next day she began upping the incline on her treadmill, in preparation for what she later called my challenge to her.

Now, 4 months later, mom uses her walking sticks like a pro, and her face is set in determination. Every so often my dad or I will crack a joke, and my mom lets out a laugh that rings through the hills as she sets her feet toward the top. The sun climbs with us, and the heat of a sunny SoCal day begins to build.

The climb is split into 3 parts in my mind, and I try to guage the distance for my mom, let her know how much further we have to climb. The easiest landmark is the one we're aiming for, but when it's out of sight I try to let her know what's left. We move up the steep first part, and into the mostly flat middle part of the hike. We stop at every patch of shade to breathe for a bit, and enjoy the view.

Near the top of the mountain, the trail winds around back and offers a spectacular view of the valley. I point out to my parents the freeway, the cemetary, Burbank, and we manage to pick out the school where I teach.

"Not much further!" I tell my parents.

"You keep saying that!" my mom laughs, and takes a mock swipe at me with one of her sticks.

"No, really, we're almost there" I say, and my mom turns and books it up the trail.

At the top of the mountain, the sign is about 20 feet below where you stand, and a chain link fence keeps people from defacing the sign or killing themselves. I turn and gesture spectacularly to my parents. My mom frowns.

"Your pictures didn't have a fence in them" she accuses. I point to the very peak of the mountain, and the small scramble it takes to get up there.

My mother-- the woman with the bad knees who just killed a whole mountain in one hour-- looks, hands me her purse, and hikes up to the tippy top.

We stayed up there for about 45 minutes, taking in the view, texting and calling people (mom wanted to call her mom and casually remark "yeah, I'm just sitting up on top of the Hollywood Sign, how are you?"). I pointed out what I could of the geography.

Mom sat back, drank water, and smiled; she was queen of Los Angeles for a day.

Life has been handing me lemons...

2009-07-26T15:30:00.000-07:00

My car went into the shop for the 5th time this year. I hope it enjoyed its stay, because I'm trading it in after this.

My cat has been into the vet once this week already, and has a follow-up on Saturday. He is currently sleeping under the bed, which worries me.

Faced with all this, and the laundry list of things that need to get done before year #4 of teaching starts, I left the apartment around 3 today. Objective: leave the house. Out of habit, I turned down Vermont, feeling the strong California sun as I went. The hum of the city usually cheers me up, and this time was no exception.

I stopped in to Cherry Pick vintage clothing off Franklin and Vermont, and was way disappointed. Almost no selection, and overpriced in my opinion. A very tattered yellow belt would have set me back $25. Nope.

Out into the sunshine again, and once there I decided it was too hot to just amble through the sunlight and traffic with no plan. I stopped at 7-11 for an iced tea, and ambled through the shade instead. Much better.

After a bit of meandering, I decided to make my way home, and turned up Dracena. On the other side of the street was a sight I couldn't resist: a child and her father armed with a table, a sign, lemons and a blender. Now really, who can resist that? I walked a bit up the street, tucked my newly purchased iced tea into my purse, and crossed back over.

While my lovely lemon drink was being prepared, I found out the reason for the lemonade stand: raising money to go see the grandparents in Scotland. With an 11 hour flight to look forward to, they had picked the lemons off their backyard tree and decided to try the concept. It reminded me of the time my brother's friends and I had tried a lemonade stand; we had a folding table set up at the end of a cul-de-sac, and so only had about 6 customers in 3 days. We had big plans to sell lemonade, pop, and various homemade desserts. Since the average age of the group was 9, the idea was abandoned after a few days and a few botched recipes. We spent more time hurriedly cleaning up the kitchen before mom got home than actually vending our creations, which I'm pretty sure no one would have actually eaten.

The girl standing in front of me now had much more mastery over the stand than we did. She squeezed lemons, poured juice, ran the blender, and even gave me my choice of staw color (I decided on purple). It was the perfect way to punctuate my bad day.

If you are in the area, I think you should head over to Dracena and see what I mean.

Bloggerprom!!!

2009-07-23T15:29:00.000-07:00

Alternate title: Amazing-ness.

R and I got dolled up on Wednesday night for an evening of prom fun. My words will not do the experience justice, so here's the visual breakdown:

The Venue

The Food

(Didn't snag a picture of the mushroom risotto I had, but it was to DIE FOR!)

The Drinks

(I had a Prom Punch Jungle Juice, courtesy of The Liquid Muse...delicious)

There's no picture of it, but we rocked out to 80's tunes all night...fun!!

The Raffle...I won! Thank you Bloggerprom Committee!!! (Photo from Caroline on Crack's Flickr)

The Gift Bag...I don't have a picture, but truly awesome swag inside. I think I've eaten all the eats already, I've watched almost all the Big Bang episodes (when I saw the full first season in the bag I squealed, R can attest to it) and I am very excited about my samples of Pinky Vodka and Miller's Gin. And of course, the "born to blog" T-shirt is excellent :)

Thank you Bloggerprom, for an awesome event!!!

The Year in Pictures

2009-07-21T10:54:00.000-07:00

In no particular order, my favorite images from the last year:

Happy Anniversary, Los Angeles!

2009-07-21T09:30:00.000-07:00

A year ago today, I woke up tired and confused. I looked around R's apartment and smiled, because it was my favorite place to be. And then I looked at my bed frame leaning against the mock fireplace. As my brain realized there was no way I could have flown a bed frame out to LA for a weekend visit, I whispered to myself "well crap, I really went ahead and moved to LA, didn't I?"

I'm very glad I did. Here's my year by the numbers:

2,100: miles driven to get to the city.

3: number of job interviews before procuring the best job ever.

5: number of apartments looked at before settling on this one.

6: hours my poor parents were stuck in Chicago flying my cats out to live with us.

17: approximate number of times R had to explain to me the difference between the 101, the 110 and the 10.

248: approximate number of times I had to hear the word "soda" before it sounded all right.

5: number of earthquakes felt

1: number of gang fights witnessed

10: number of celebrities spotted and/or interacted with

9,431: approximate number of times a snide teacher said "welcome to the district" with a sarcastic nasal quality

9,431: approximate number of times I almost slapped a snide teacher

4: number of visits to the DMV to register 1 car

2: Number of times hiked to the Hollywood sign

All in all, a pretty good year.

Celebrity Sighting #10

2009-07-20T08:47:00.001-07:00

While R and I waited in line for Harry Potter at our local theater, I received a text from R. This is odd, I thought, because he's right next to me. Phone comes out, and the message?

Alice Cooper is standing right behind us.

Sure enough, a slight turn of the head confirmed this. I didn't get any pictures or an autograph, because if I can't figure out who it is on my own, then he's not big enough to me to freak out about. But it was very fun to watch him in the theater later, walking up and down the aisles to look for a spot, and then hopping over to his chosen spot through people's knees with kernels of popcorn
spilling out of the bag and as he went. Also, I hope he enjoyed the movie.

One Year Ago

2009-07-12T09:32:00.000-07:00

Screw this, I'm going for a walk.

After a week and a half of fruitless job searching from 2,100 miles away, I turn off the monitor of my hulking dinosaur computer (a high school graduation present), leaving behind 14 or so Craigslist job applications for everything from teacher to secretary to full-time Beverly Hills nanny. Instead of facing reality, I lace up my walking shoes. ipod in hand, I head out the patio door, ignoring the "take me with you" meows of my cats, and the "I'll rip you to shreds" barking of my neighbor's ankle-high dog. I turn on a song that's peaceful to me, and start to book it to the park.

The ipod is no help, and thoughts invade: how am I going to find a job in L.A. when I'm in Michigan? When am I going to actually do this? It's mid-July and I haven't even taken ANY steps toward moving. I mean, literally. Come on girl, what the hell? You haven't put anything in any boxes, you haven't created a timeline, you're sinfully unorganized, especially for you. What are you waiting for, the stars to line up perfectly? They won't, this is a messy process. Oh my god, I came out here to get away from this crap! Shut up!!!

My thoughts finally slip away for about 10 minutes, and then I come upon them: the Smith family. I have taught two of their sons, and before I can blink, the summer-crazed boys are upon me, shouting their hellos and running around each other, off the trail to inspect this berry or that leaf, and their parents simply smile, relaxed and amused by it all.

"Hey, we thought you were moving this summer!" the dad begins.

"I am," I reply.

"Well, when are you leaving?"

"Pretty soon, I just have to get a couple things in line."

"Like what?" His eyebrows start to raise, and this slowly continues throughout the whole conversation.

"Well mostly I'm trying to get a job nailed down, but it's tough from over here." I think I have started to blush and stammer. My grand plan is only supposed to look cracked and ridiculous from my side; the whole world isn't supposed to see how bad it is.

"Um, aren't you forgetting about an apartment?"

At this point, I have more faith in myself. Clearly, this man has no clue that in order to find an apartment in a big city, you have to BE in that big city. I obtained my small-town apartment, sight unseen, over the phone, because it was the only apartment available in all of Coldwater. No one in their right mind in Los Angeles would rent to someone they hadn't seen in person. No one.

I explain the apartment situation as delicately as I can, doing my best not to sound haughty or like a know-it-all. My god, this man just does not get it.

"Well," he continues. "You'd better get on it. I'd hate to see you still stuck here in August with no job anywhere."

Yes, you person who is starting to annoy. I have considered this.

"That won't happen," I continue. "I'm moving out there, job or not. If I end up doing something that isn't teaching for a year, so be it."

"Well," the dad says (I am beginning to hate that he starts all his sentences with this word, spoken in such a way as to imply that HE is trying to get ME to see the light, diplomatically but overbearingly). "Well, we'll see. Have a good one, Becky." And his family turns away and continues up the trail, leaving me annoyed beyond belief. We'll see? We'll SEE?? Oh, you suck. You hear that, obnoxiously nice father of nice and talented children? You SUCK!

Deciding that there is clearly no escape from the situation I have brewing, I give up and jog home. The cats meow their hellos. The computer hums to life again, and the rest of the evening is spent bouncing between the aforementioned job aps, various moving truck websites, and the Craigslist apartment finder.

I will stitch together a life.

Celebrity Non-sighting #9

2009-07-06T22:15:00.000-07:00

She and I ate dinner 15 feet away from each other tonight.

I didn't notice, because my tofu wrap was that good.

My New Hat

2009-07-04T15:33:00.000-07:00

It started with a leisurely trip to the Grove Farmer's Market. My parents are in town, so R and I thought we should take them to a place where they could see and be seen, eat strange foods and people-watch to their hearts' content. I had no idea they would plop this on my head:

and then have the nerve to joke that it looked good. After much eye-rolling, I lifted the hat off my head, only to have them put it back on me again. "It looks adorable," they said. Are you kidding me? I went to the mirror to inspect. Surprisingly, not bad. I told them I would think about it.

Over the next half hour, we shopped and ate our way through the farmer's market, and the hat kept getting brought up. Was I going to buy the hat? Why was I gone so long? I must have been over in that shop, buying the hat. Finally, I went in again, and perched it on my head. Another few glances in the mirror, an approving smile from the boyfriend, and I admitted defeat. My friend the debit card came out, and the hat was mine.

I carried my new hat through the Grove, until finally R looked at me and said "put it on already". In my opinion, this was quite a demand to make. I mean, we're talking about The Grove here. People come from all over to shop at this Disney-like fairyland of retail. Snooty women and their snooty dogs wander by in maxi dresses with purses worth more than I pay in rent. Men wear berets and dark sweaters, and sit with their ipods on shuffle while looking for ideas for the latest screenplay. People here have style. Clearly, I could not put my ginormous hat on and wander through this crowd of socialites. I could almost hear them whispering behind their hands now: "look how short she is! my god, the hat makes her look even shorter! who does she think she is in that hat?"

I scanned the crowd nervously. Suddenly, I realized my key mistake. I saw women wearing shorts that showed the bottoms of their rear ends. Teenagers snapped gum as they clopped by in their gladiator-like sandals. A women playing with her baby bent down, and the back of her dress dipped to reveal her 3-hooked bra to the world. As she righted herself, the bra stayed on display, and a wedgie appeared on the scene. My God. These people have no taste.

The hat went on.

I have now discovered that in order to pull off a hat so ridiculously big, I must give off an air of "I don't care what you think, bitches". It is a personality-altering hat. It is a "Hello dah-ling, how good of you to drop by" hat. It is a "who does she think she is in that hat" hat. I rather like it.

Everyone else in L.A. is a character. I guess it's time I tried on the costumes to see what part I'll play.

Age doesn't matter...now

2009-05-25T21:14:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of R from 1994, at a Green Day album release show. His is the red headed, plaid bedecked figure in the front row. During this time, he was attending junior college, working part time, one year from marrying his first wife, two years away from his first child.

I also loved this album, and listened to it extensively when it came out. I listened to it while doing my homework...my 6th grade social studies homework.

Just one of the many time stamps that show our 10 year age difference. Good thing we were 2,000 miles apart until we were ready for each other.

Unintentional slam from R's son...

2009-05-16T21:18:00.000-07:00

Jacob (age 7): You're 26?

Me: Yes.

Jacob: Oh.

Me: And in October, I'll be 27.

Jacob: Oh...I wonder if you'll grow more.

And then we all burst out laughing. Yay for being 5' 2" !!

Celebrity Sighting #3.5

2009-05-13T17:07:00.000-07:00

Remember this guy?

I saw him AGAIN today, while I was driving to work. That's twice in one week.

Randomly running into actors I admire...yeah, I could get used to that.

Away We Go

2009-05-08T00:52:00.000-07:00

Alternate title: Celebrity Sighting #3...and 4,5,6,7 and 8

R and I went to this thing

The film itself was great. Afterward the writers, director, and some of the actors came in and had a discussion panel, which was also lots of fun.

R and I also went to the after party. It was a VIP event, but I feel like an idiot saying that. LA has this whole VIP thing down to a science. I was a bit nervous about it. I kept wondering: Am I too dressed up/underdressed? Do I look like I fit here? When should we get there? How long do we stay? Do I eat the food? (nope, not vegetarian) Do I chat up the people I don't know who are probably important people even though I don't recognize them? (nope, tried that with one girl and her incessant name-dropping left me cold) That part of the process was very tiring.

I was on a mission to get my copy of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius signed, and hopefully snap a picture with John Krasinski. R was on a mission for tacos and whiskey.

After R had accomplished the taco part of the mission, I strategically seated us on a u-shaped couch about 10 feet away from Dave Eggers. Once the people he was speaking with left, I saw my chance and took it. He is such a nice guy, and even chatted with me for a minute about teaching. Surprisingly, I was not nervous while talking to him. Once we were done talking I sat down and tried to look normal, hip even, and not paw through my book to read what he had just written, like a 7th grader with a newly signed yearbook.

R went to achieve the whiskey portion of his quest. Maker's Mark in hand, there was only one more person to look for.

Watching John Krasinski move in a room was like watching a queen bee move through the hive. All were aware of his position, and when he moved even 2 feet, the whole room would shift, buzz and resettle almost unconsciously. Everyone was trying not to look at him. We were all looking at him. He told stories, leaned casually, threw his head back and laughed, perfectly at ease, magnetic and charming. We stood near him, waiting for the inner circle to slowly disperse and leave room for us. Just as I was in the clear, he shifted again to sign something, and the room swirled in lockstep, leaving me three people away again. To borrow from my favorite author (the one who just signed my copy of his book):

"Hands reach toward him, grasping for his flesh, and he reaches into the anemone of fingers...close will not do here, chance is not good enough..."

And he turned and looked at me expectantly. Hands were shaken, smiles exchanged. I leaned in to compliment him, ask for a picture. He obliged, and was nice as hell about it too.

"I feel the jolt through me because we have completed the moment."

He asked if the picture turned out, smiled and said "nice to meet you", and then turned to the next crowd of people, his last before leaving for the night. The swarm broke up. R grabbed 15 mini tacos, and we headed for the car.

Also there: Sam Mendes, Catherine O'Hara, Vendela Vida, Maya Rudolph, and I'm sure a metric ton of execs, writers, and important people who I'm too lame to recognize. Lame or not, I had a great evening.

Farewell, Princess Hollywood

2009-05-03T08:38:00.000-07:00

The sad truth about this city is that not everyone who arrives here gets to stay. I was reminded of this last night, overhearing (hard not to, she was sitting outside 10 feet from my window) Princess Hollywood's story of woe. Acting = didn't take off. Side job = didn't work out. Unemployment = almost gone. It was very hard to hear about her packing things, shipping things, and retreating on her last dime back to her hometown. I hope my story never turns to that.

While things like this do happen, I have the utmost respect for Princess Hollywood (even as I mock her), because she took a risk. When I left MI, several people confided to me that they had always wanted to do what I did; to Pack Up and Ship Out and Make It Big In the Big City. When I asked why they never did exactly that, the response was always the same: fear. Fear of not knowing anyone, of new things and people, fear of The Big City Itself, etc. In fact, one of my colleagues who knew I was leaving my job as early as January, didn't fully believe me until April when I officially resigned for the coming school year.

Me: Well, I did it.

Other teacher: did what?

Me: I told the principal I'm not coming back next year.

O.T. : Oh. Oh wow.

Me: Yup.

O.T. So you're like...actually going. Wow.

Me: I said I was.

O.T. Yeah, but I didn't think you'd really DO it, Becky.

So for all the people out there who didn't do it: You should. If you really want to do it, then make it happen. Find that job. Move that family. Set up your life in your own personal paradise, and if it doesn't work, then at least you'll know you tried.

Princess Hollywood, I'll wave at the sign for you the next time I'm driving by.

I think I have a pencil just like this

2009-04-26T19:01:00.000-07:00

Choosing a cupcake...an LA rite of passage

2009-04-25T20:54:00.000-07:00

For most, it is Crumbs vs. Sprinkles. I have yet to try out any other big names, simply because I don't know any.

But it's official: I'm a Sprinkles girl.

Sprinkles cupcakes are adorable, interesting, perfectly iced little gems. Simple, effective, delicious. I have only had them on 2 occasions, but both times were yummy.

Oh Crumbs, you tried...

Crumbs gains serious points for style, being far more "done up" than Sprinkles' little sugar babies. From a visual perspective I find them very appealing, and the 12 mini cupcake variety pack almost made me squeal, it was so pretty. R came away with the Madison Avenue and I ordered the classic Red Velvet. We rushed home, eager to taste.

However, the award was stripped from Crumbs...mostly for icing. I am a HUGE fan of icing, and believe it makes the cupcake. But when I bit into my red velvet Crumbs confection, all I could taste was butter. There's buttercreme, and then there's butter with a little sugar in it. This was just a bit gross. Ok, pretty gross. To make matters worse, there was a full inch of it on the cupcake. And an indentation in the middle of the cupcake, to hold-- you guessed it-- still more overly-buttery icing. Nope.

Other bakery suggestions are welcome and encouraged. I believe this is just the beginning of the LA cupcake story.

Subtlety must not be my strong suit...

2009-04-25T11:02:00.000-07:00

1 post ago: up late giggling and screaming = nope.

2 posts ago: know-it-all teacher lady = me.

When your boyfriend AND your mom miss these things, it's time to clarify. Thank you.

Celebrity Sighting #2 Remix

2009-04-23T19:46:00.001-07:00

Saw Angelyne again today. R and I were on the way home from Albertson's and saw her car in the parking lot. It's kind of hard to miss.

Unfortunately, the above is not our Kodak moment. R pulled out his camera and was aiming it, when I saw that she was actually in the car. Camera went bye-bye. No picture taken. But I'm sure we'll both be up late tonight giggling and screaming about it.

Are girls really this annoying?

2009-04-18T15:57:00.001-07:00

I'm surrounded. Profiles of my neighbors:

Name: Stompy.

Lives: upstairs.

About: I have seen Stompy several times when coming home from Albertson's. I squeeze through the gate, my arms laden with groceries, and she sits casually on the stoop, a teeny little thing with a cigarette, a glass of red and a cell phone. Polite nods and smiles are exchanged. I then leave her to her business, and try not to listen in as she pours her heart out loudly about the latest guy scenario that did not work out. After her call, it seems she tries to mend her broken heart by going upstairs and perfecting her high-heeled runway walk over and over, playing wii-fit, and doing what could only be described as the Window Jig, a dance she puts on as close to the windows as possible, making our windows rattle like a 3.2 is always rolling through the neighborhood.

Name: Princess Hollywood

Lives: Across the way.

About: I am like constantly listening to her, like, talk on the phone, oh my god! She's like this actor person, and she's always complaining about auditions (or lack thereof). Her patio is decorated like college, complete with strung lights and dead plants; the sign of a person who wants to have a cute happening pad but doesn't know enough or care enough to actually water the vegetation. She can be seen sitting out in her pink nightgown, ringlets bobbing as she gabs away during all hours of the day, and like any true actress her voice carries well and you cannot block her out. She does bad vocal warmups in the afternoons, and her flat, forced voice pushes relentlesly through them until landing on the last note, inducing a false lounge-singer vibrato so bright and fast you could use the sonic waves to crush and loosen your kidney stones.

Name: Never-home

Lives: Somewhere out there, not too close but certainly not far enough away.

About: She must have a happening life, because on weekends she's never home. But her alarm clock goes off all day, reminding us all that she is definitely out and cannot turn it off, so sorry.

Name: Know-it-all Teacher Lady

Lives: Um...close by

About: Constantly losing the volume of her voice (one assumes by accident) when she speaks about teaching and her students, this one has been overheard referring to kids as everything from "really great" to "obnoxious little knuckleheads" depending on the day she's had at school. Everyone is privy to her opinions about how the educational system of LA should be improved, starting of course by mandating parental involvement and de-constructing LAUSD's overly bulky beurocracy. While everything she says is true, wonderful and from the heart, she could probably be quieter. The phrase "I can't, I have to plan for school" is constantly floating through the air. I think she's from Michigan too, because she's always talking about it, and her phone conversations end half the time with "I'll let you go, I know it's late over there".

Monkey on my back...literally

2009-04-07T20:52:00.000-07:00

I love my boyfriend very much. He is a big part of why I moved to CA, my constant partner in crime and someone I know I will always want around. I love him so much that I put up with his odd decorating sense. A garden gnome, painted by his daughter, hangs out on our kitchen counter every day. A trio of monkeys balancing a giant bowl on their heads sits on the coffee table, waiting for keys, hair ties, and other odds and ends to be tossed in. Two (yes TWO) fruit mosaics are standing in the closet, waiting for a permanent position of prominence in the apartment, which I know they will eventually receive. And then there's the monkey flashlight.

The flashlight was given to R by an old (ex) friend and was really more for the kids. It's Curious George. He holds the wide brim of his big yellow hat, and at the flip of a lever the hat opens and a light shines out, usually accompanied by squeals of glee from anyone who is seeing it for the first time. This is the flashlight used in our apartment, and my big heavy Maglite stays in the linen closet. George has been used to retrieve cat toys, locate spiders who have been sentenced to die, and look for obscure tiny objects that have fallen and need to be resurrected from the carpet. He is a very useful monkey.

Unfortunately, George has fallen out of favor with me today. I was standing in front of the fridge, looking for lunch, when George took on a life of his own. He somehow fidgeted his way to the edge of the fridge top where he perched, and when I least suspected it he launched himself downward, hitting me on the neck before continuing south to annoy neighbors below with the deafening sounds of plastic on kitchen tile. I actually yelped, not unlike a monkey.

I picked George up, slammed him onto the counter, and immediately emailed R explaining that the monkey would need a new, lower, more stable home.

Maybe the closet.

California Rolls

2009-03-07T07:22:00.000-08:00

What's more LA than sushi? We decided to take R's kids to get sushi down the street, since it was once again a beautiful day. We ordered them the safe option (chicken teryaki) and then got some California rolls for the non-vegetarians (everyone but me). We told the kids we'd give them a dollar if they tried a California roll. Here are the results:

I am impressed with the bravery...I don't know if I would have done that at 7.

The sky is falling, the sky is falling!

2009-03-03T18:30:00.000-08:00

Seriously LA? Rain? Is that all it takes?

That's it. That's all it takes to turn 10 million people into morons, careening and skidding about the roads, turning the freeways into a very dangerous version of the ice capades. Someone I work with managed to be in on time today, despite the FOUR car crashes standing between her and work. I did not have so much luck.

When my alarm went off this morning, I turned it off and listened. Sure enough, the rain was still hitting my windows, and I flew into a frenzy. Hair was left semi-tangled, dishes un-done (ok, that's normal for me) and I almost forgot to put on my socks in my rush to leave. I did make it out the door half an hour early, and it usually only takes me 15 minutes to get to work.

Not today, of course. I did make it with very few hassles, but when it rains the whole city divides into 2 groups:

1. the "Drive like nothing's changed" group (these are the ones who crash)
2. the "Drive like a skittish cat" group (who will slow to 3 mph as soon as they see a drop on the windshield)

There's got to be a happy medium, but I haven't seen it yet.

Oh, and it doesn't help that the soil won't absorb much, making the roads look like this:

The Oscars

2009-03-01T08:23:00.001-08:00

I'll be honest, I pretty much don't care.

I'll watch some red carpet interviews, the opening of the actual award ceremony, and a half hour in I'm pretty much over it, and wander off to do something else before bed.

Oh yeah, and this is in Michigan, where the Oscars start at 9 and are 2,000 miles away.

Now, when they show people arriving, I know they're arriving on my turf. I live 3.4 miles from the Oscars, and knowing there are SO many famous people concentrated a few miles that way is just trippy. Oh, and now it starts at 6 for me instead of 9. So I was shocked to find that I sat and watched the entire thing, while doing a puzzle with R that the kids hadn't finished over the weekend. And every time I saw a face of someone I particularly admired as an actor, I had to remind myself "they're right there. Literally, right down the street". As proof, I would remind myself of all the street closures I'd had to navigate around the past few days, how clogged Franklin had become on my way home from work.

The next day, I briefly flicked through some pictures and commentary, laughed at all the details people seemed to want (what were they eating? I mean really, who needs to know what celebrities are eating??) and went right back to not caring again. Also, I realized that if I ever walked past some of these people going incognito on the street with their hats and huge sunglasses (and I'm almost positive that I have) I wouldn't recognize them at all.

I'm bad at Hollywood, but I like living here.

Mornings Around Here

2009-02-08T09:03:00.000-08:00

For me, living in LA is like a fairy tale. By this analogy, little birds and woodland creatures should be singing me awake in the morning.

I have a slightly different reality.

At 5:30 each morning without delay and without exception, I will hear the hungry complaints of my cat Duke, who in all his 16 pounds of glory has no business meowing such a squeaky (really rather girly) meow. But meow he does, as he stands with his front two paws on my back, demanding that I wake up and feed him.

This is not as soothing as the little birds would be. Duke will continue relentlessly until I drag myself out of bed, and walk carefully (he insists on walking just in front of me, often turning around to rub against my legs) to the food dish. After this, he will sometimes head back to bed with me to demand attention and cuddling in addition to food. I am happy to oblige, unless he does the annoying thing where he stands just out of reach and continues to complain at me.

Usually around this time, 18 pound Peyton enters the scene. (I should mention that while Peyton is a bit plump, both these cats are naturally big and long and that's why they weigh as much as they do. I do not have unhealthy, morbidly obese cats.) will first hear of him when he slams his paws into the side of the mattress, peering up to see if there is room to join. A few seconds and a loud thud later, Peyton is almost standing on my head. He immediately inspects the bedside table for a glass of water, and if there is one, then nothing else matters to him. While Duke and I cuddle, he steps on my face, crawls over me, rests his tail on my head and proceeds to drink my water while almost sitting on my head. He loves me, no doubt. After the water, he will jump over me and curl up on my other side, so I am in the middle of a very fuzzy sandwich. This is how I wake up every morning; to over 30 pounds of cat.

By 6:30 on weekends, I will usually give up on sleep, grab whichever cat is closest, and walk out into the kitchen with him, petting him while the microwave warms up my morning tea. I think Cinderella would be jealous.

Celebrity Sighting #2

2009-01-24T07:53:00.000-08:00

This was awhile ago, but I should document it.

Apparently this lady is famous just for being on billboards, and being blond and driving a pink corvette. I passed her on Franklin near the 101. Oh wait, here's what Wikipedia says:

Angelyne (born 1958) is an American model and occasional actress who has purportedly become an icon of Hollywood and Los Angeles best known for purchasing billboards advertising herself.

Aaaaaaand end lame post.

I'll just panic, thanks very much.

2009-01-23T23:17:00.001-08:00

I have gotten so much crap about earthquakes.

It started when I moved out here, and R said "don't worry, we really don't get earthquakes that often". Exactly 9 days after my installment into the city, we are at the post office when one hits.

"Huh. Earthquake," R says in the voice most people use to announce rain, or the score of a baseball game they don't care about. I am frozen. I drop the pen I'm using and grip the sides of my chair as the post office sways and bucks like a ride at Disney Land. Only after the fact do I remember to look up to see if something is going to fall on my head. We have to leave the post office for 20 minutes or so, so I can collect myself enough to go back and finish my change of address form.

Earthquakes 2, 3, and 4 happen while we are in our apartment, which to be fair will sway if a mosquito buzzes by. Still, the second two earthquakes bring me right back to my chair-gripping, wide-eyed frenzy, complete terror in the foreground in lieu of safety and common sense. And then all I can say for the next 5 minutes afterward is "I hate those. I mean, I really hate those. Why do earthquakes have to exist? I hate earthquakes. I hate them". Only this last earthquake, a mere 3.3 from Marina Del Rey, is soft enough that I can lean against the counter and watch nonchalantly as the windows wave back and forth.

My other friends out here laugh at me, stating that anything under magnitude 5 isn't worth fussing over. "Just wait until we get another Northridge," they jeer as I shudder.

I'd love to see those same people deal with a tornado.

So not important...so on my mind.

2008-11-10T21:33:00.000-08:00

I think there should be a white house hedgehog.

The Obama family should definitely get their dog, and I will stand by any dog they choose. I hear the goldendoodle is up there on their list, good for them. But in the spirit of change and ushering in a new era, I think they should introduce a new species to the west wing. Thus, I say, they need a hedgehog.

Let's look at the advantages here:

1. Hedgehogs are cute. You can't see one and be in a bad mood.

2. They are both cuddly and prickly, much like leaders should be: tender and warm-hearted toward the nation they are leading, protective and vigilant against potential enemies.

3. Unlike other spined animals, their quills are not barbed or poisonous. This means they are OK in the hands of both children and foreign dignitaries.

4. Hedgehogs are nocturnal. Meet the new night watchman on the beat.

5. They interact well with other pets in the house.

6. Some people use them as natural pest control in their gardens. Meet the new gardener.

7. Did I mention cute already??

Michigan, I've let you down...

2008-11-08T07:43:00.000-08:00

For the last couple weeks now, I've been fighting it. But the time has come to admit the truth:

I am a weather wimp.

I came to California, laughing at all those who say "oh yes, it gets cold here". I sneered at people who said "We get snow....on the mountains". I'm sorry, do you scrape it off your car every morning? Drive through it 5 months of the year? No? Oh, well then, you have NO IDEA what snow really is! Clearly these people are all spoiled rotten by the weather and just don't know it.

I woke up a couple weeks ago, smacked the alarm clock, got ready for school amid the chaos of my two 16 pound cats, and stumbled out the door.

Cold.

Hmmm...that can't be right.

Went to school, parked, and walked to my room quickly.

Cold.

Next day, same morning routine.

COLD!!

It's got to be 30 degrees outside. Why did I leave my coats in Michigan? I should have my parents send my winter gear over, this is clearly only the beginning.

A hasty check of weather.com confirms what I feared. Actual temp. on those mornings: about 60 degrees.

I'm sorry Michigan, I thought I was stronger.

It's not all smog and pixie dust over here.

2008-10-27T18:45:00.000-07:00

I just realized that my 'you know you're from LA when' was totally depressing. So I would like to add some things that I adore about my new city, things that make me want to wrap the whole metropolis up in a big hug and let it seep into my veins. In no particular order...

1. I drive by the Hollywood sign on my way to work.

2. There are hills! And I can drive up and down them! I would like to specifically recommend Baxter Street in Echo Park.

3. I live 2 blocks from a yummy Indian restaurant.

4. People here get their daily vitamin D from the sun, so people are friendly.

5. Going for a walk outside can happen 360 days a year.

6. I can walk to the Griffith Observatory.

7. If there's a specialty store for it, it's usually no more than 5 miles away.

8. It's hard to decide which yoga place to go to.

9. I'm no longer percieved as crazy liberal, but just normal.

10. Humidity does not happen.

11. FOLIAGE. LA is a living tribute to all things floral and green.

12. You can dress however you want on any day of the year, and fit right in.

13. When it's 9am in Michigan and the teachers over there are starting 2nd hour, my alarm clock is just going off.

14. Pacific Ocean. Enough said.

15. Not everyone is fake, like some would lead you to believe.

16. You can watch a TV show, run to the grocery store afterward and potentially run into someone you just saw on the screen.

17. No salty roads.

18. No frostbite.

19. 92 different languages spoken here every day.

20. You can catch a great band most any night of the week.

21. I live a block from a place called "Nature Mart".

Celebrity Sighting #1

2008-10-15T19:05:00.000-07:00

First of all, I should mention that I am not cool. I spent most of my life assuming that if I ever met or saw a celebrity or anyone of importance that I would either pretend to ignore them completely, smile possibly say something witty, or not recognize them at all because I really don't see a lot of movies or watch much TV.

Boy was I wrong.

R and I went to a friend's birthday party, and had a great time listening to said friend's band. Afterward we were hanging out on the sidewalk chatting with friends, when someone incredibly tiny walked by. She was wearing black, and I detected wispy blond hair and bubbly cheeks kind of like I had when I was younger. Did I mention she was tiny? That was the first thing that got me thinking "maybe that's like an actress or something".

So what do I do? No no, I didn't discreetly look to see who it was. That would have fallen under the "cool" category, which I do not belong to. Nope, I had to be the one who, without thinking, got up on tiptoe and leaned over the people I was with to see who it was. Said person caught me leaning and staring, and abruptly darted the other direction, as anyone being leered at would do. This was my second clue that she was probably someone noted. Sure enough, half an hour later, I keep hearing "did you see her too? She was here, I swear!" And I had to be the idiot gawking from the sidewalk.

I hope I get better at this.

I'm caught between two worlds...

2008-10-11T08:41:00.000-07:00

I only put the ones that apply to me. Most of you will only find
humor in half this list. Sorry.

You know you're from Michigan When...

"Vacation" means going to Cedar Point.

At least 1 member of your family disowns you the week of the
Michigan/Michigan State game.

Half the change in your pocket is Canadian... eh!

Your idea of a traffic jam is 40 cars waiting to pass an orange
barrel.

You know how to play (and pronounce) Euchre.

It's easy to get VERNORS ginger ale and Sanders hot fudge
sauce, and Faygo pop.

You know how to pronounce "Mackinac".

You've had to switch on the "heat" and the "A/C" in the same day.

You bake with SODA and drink a POP.

The word "thumb" has geographical, rather than anatomical significance.

You show people where you grew up by pointing to a spot on your right hand.

Traveling coast-to-coast means driving from Port Huron to Muskegon.

When giving directions, you refer to "A Michigan Left".

You know that Kalamazoo not only exists, but isn't that far from Hell.

Your year has 2 seasons: Winter and Construction.

You believe that "down south" means Toledo.

You know you're from Los Angeles When...

You’re driving on the 101 and see a clear cut definition of where the smog begins and ends.

You go to the beach and see that real lifeguards actually do look like the lifeguards from Baywatch.

You begin to “lie” to your friends about where you are (i.e. “Yeah I’m like 20 minutes away”) when you know that it’ll take you at least an hour to get there).

You eat a different ethnic food for every meal.

You look around at the nice cars around you during traffic, thinking it’ll be your favorite Laker or WB star.

You know it’s best not to be on the 405 at 4:05 pm.

Getting anywhere from point A to point B, no matter what the distance, takes about “twenty minutes”.

You’ve inadvertently learned Spanish.

You know what “sigalert”, “PCH”, and “the five” mean.

Your TV show is interrupted by a police chase.

You know someone named Freedom, Rainbow, Persephone or Destiny.

You think that Venice is a beach.

You drive next to a Rolls Royce and don’t notice.

Calling your neighbors requires knowing their area code.

You have a favorite Thai restaurant.

When giving directions , you follow up with the phrase: “With/Without traffic.”

It is not unusual for your waitress at a restaurant to have blue streaked hair, a dragon tattoo and tounge piercing.

Walking out of Jamba Juice, you see that a movie is being shot on-location across the street.

You have to yell at your bank teller through a 2 inch thick wall of plexi-glass.

You know that not everyone in Beverly Hills is a millionaire.

The guy at 8:30 in the morning at Starbucks wearing the baseball cap and sunglasses who looks like George Clooney IS George Clooney.

It’s sprinkling and there’s a report on every news station about “STORM WATCH ‘99″

A shout-out for all the Mitten People!

2008-08-11T18:02:00.000-07:00

Hello Michiganders!

I have been promising pictures and stories for awhile now, and here they are! I hope you'll forgive how late they are, as I've been worried about silly things like getting an apartment and a job, and starting a brand new school (stories about that to follow). There is good news on both those fronts now, and I have a little time to share my moving adventure with everyone. I'll try to go as chronologically as I can. Here we go!

DAY ONE (and feeling very “manifest destiny”)

Robert and I left Coldwater on Wednesday July 17, in a 16 foot Budget moving truck, towing my car behind us. I waved and called out goodbye to the whole town, did you hear it? We went through Bronson and caught the 80, a road that we would stay on until we were almost to Colorado.

Along the 80 we saw many interesting sights, such as a town that might have been named by Fozzie Bear:

The Mississippi River:

A Very Boring Town:

and lots of very beautiful countryside. Indiana and Illinois were nothing new to my eyes, and probably not to yours either. But as the sun began to set in Iowa on our first day on the road, we got some pretty nice pictures.

We stopped that night and stayed in Council Bluffs, Iowa. It's almost on the border of Nebraska.

620 miles down, 1500 to go.

DAY TWO (here comes corn)

We passed through Omaha almost as soon as we were on the road, and saw that we had 454 miles of Nebraska to get through.

This was Robert's least favorite day, having been told by a fellow Californian that “Nebraska will test your patience for boredom...there is literally nothing there”. Now, it wasn't the most exciting drive ever, but I thought the scenery was just fine. There were fields, horses, and gently rolling hills to watch as we slowly climbed the plains and got ready for the mountains.

Sometime in the mid afternoon, we entered Colorado, and the landscape started to change. It didn't look like Michigan anymore at all. The trees pretty much disappeared, and were replaced with rockier looking hills, lots of cows and horses on farms, and the scrubby, scraggly looking vegetation associated with the high plains.

We got to Denver and decided to call it a day, having driven 545 miles. We didn't really do much in Denver, being a bit worn out from two days of doing nothing but driving. This was the last time we were bored until Nevada.

DAY THREE (I do not heart Colorado)

I woke up nervous as all get out. Having lived in a relatively flat area all my life, I did not want to spend my first day in the Rockies towing my car, driving a moving truck, and contending with traffic. Worse, we couldn't seem to get an accurate estimate of how long it would take us to get through The Mountains. We had heard the following:

“It's a 90 mile stretch. Should take a couple hours.”

“It'll take you the whole day.”

“Well, that depends on a lot of things. Just don't overheat the truck or run outta gas.”

“You're driving that thing up there?”

So I got ready and went out to the truck, anticipating a 2 to 10 hour drive of winding turns, steep grades, traffic, and elevation issues. Robert was out there checking the truck. I looked at him and said “ready when you are.” He gave me a look and said “Yeah, I don't think so.”

I have no idea how we drove on that tire, when that giant hole had happened, or how we managed to get to the repair shop without it blowing out on us. But we did, thankfully. While it was getting fixed, a nice guy who was also waiting for a repair told us he was from California but had recently been to the midwest. He was headed to Sturgis for some business or another, and he and I spent a moment “nerding out” about Michigan together.

An hour later, we were on the road.

For lunch, we stopped in a little mountain town called Idaho Springs, where we ate a picnic lunch by the river, and watched white water rafters float by.

The mountains are very beautiful, and very nerve-wracking to drive through if you aren't in a car, truck, or van. So I will just put the pictures up, and you can view them without my commentary of how nervous I was that day.

Oh yeah, and this is the Colorado River.

We finally got to Utah!

We drove to a town called Moab, which is 30 miles off the main freeway. We went this far off the beaten path because the next day we were going to get up early and see Arches National Park.

DAY FOUR (and getting sick of driving)

The park is gorgeous! We did a little driving through the park, and a little hiking. We saw some wildlife, cacti, and lots and lots of red rocks. We were definitely not in the midwest anymore.

After we left Arches, we filled up the gas tank. It was good that we did, because five miles afterward we saw a sign that said “No services next 100 miles.” 100 miles in Michigan terms = 1.5 hours, right? Oh, I wish.

Here's the thing about Utah. It snuck up on us. We were all worried about Colorado, and never even thought about Utah. Utah sat there, quietly and unassuming, and didn't make a big show about what it has. And then we got there, and found mountains upon mountains, deserts that stretch forever, and we started to think two things: 1. how in the world did people live out here before electricity and cars, and 2. Are we going to make it out of here? The pictures are neat. But if you stop and think “how did they get up there?” it gives you an idea of what that 100 mile stretch was like.

Somehow we got out of Utah, ducked through the top left corner of Arizona...

Into Nevada...

and made it to Vegas. We booked a hotel outside of town a bit, ate dinner, and then I won exactly 20 cents in a slot machine. What can I say, I take the big risks ;)

DAY FIVE (are we there yet???)

After four more hours of desert, we finally rounded our last mountain in the early afternoon and entered the Inland Empire. I don't have any pictures because it's not that exciting. It's basically suburbia on steroids.

We drove through suburbia for about 45 minutes, just to give you an idea of how big it is. Finally, we went through Pasadena, and popped into Echo Park at about 3:00 in the afternoon. The sun was shining, the traffic was light, and the graffiti was everywhere. Here are some shots of a few of my favorite murals, all done by the same artist:

That night we celebrated our trip's end by going to a restaurant on Hollywood Blvd. called Palms Thai, a place with Thai food and a Thai Elvis Impersonator who serenades the crowd every night at 7:30. Afterward, I celebrated more by starting a very long process of unpacking.

Ok, that's the end of the tour. I miss you all and would love to hear from anyone and everyone (even Doug). I think my LMS account will be up for some time, and if you write me I'll send you all my contact info. If you send me your address, I'll send you a postcard :)

Also, I'm going to update this occasionally if something really wierd or cool happens, so you can check back.

If anyone is going to be out in LA, you'd better call or write so we can hang out! I plan to be home at Christmas time to remind myself what snow is.

Hope you are all having a terrific school year so far!