3 Doors Down

Over the weekend I was visiting with my friend C at her house just down the street and having a grand old time. After a few hours I finally got up the courage to ask if her 13 year old son might be available to watch the Cracker during our IUI even though we won't be able to give him much notice. Her hubby is a Paramedic and she does medical billing from home, which some how made it seem easier.

"I'll do it! I'll watch him!"

Turns out they are waiting to see the same RE. Imagine that.

We were both so thrilled to have someone to talk to that we spent the next few hours discussing everything. Her husband, P, was sitting with us and listening, but only came into the conversation a couple of times to ask things like "so have you ever made J do it while you still had the thermometer in your mouth?"

"Want to see something funny?"
"Always."
She looks P in the eyes and slowly says "cer-vi-cal mu-cus."
He instantly paled. "Oh God! You have to stop doing that! Ugh...yuck!"
"That's a neat trick!"
"You two are like the women on Sex and the City, except you talk about ovulating and gardening."

Life in New Mexico

In line at the Costco Food Court

Middle-aged Caucasian-looking man: Your son has the most interesting hair.
Me: Thanks.
MACLM: What do you call that color?
Me: Uh.........blonde. (Is this a trick question?)
MACLM: Hmm.
MACLM: What's his natural color?
Me: Excuse me?
MACLM: You know, his real hair color? If you didn't dye it?

My Mortifying Monday

(Potty Training and vibrators mentioned)

A week ago today the weather was sucky. We needed out.

A few days earlier I finally did what all parents eventually do...I banished Pull-ups from our residence. That's it! I've had it. Mommy says enough is enough!

Over the previous few months the Cracker had slowly become completely unpotty trained as we sat by and lazily did a lot of nothing about it.

"Do you want to go potty?"
"No!"
"Okay Schnookems! No pressure!"

But of course the problem wasn't fixing itself, and I knew he was totally capable, understood when and how and had done it all before. This was bullshit. And so I woke up one morning with no patience and a plan. The plan went into action right then and there and when J got home that night before he could even kiss me hello I gave him the low down.

"No more Pull-ups! None! He will wear only big boy underpants, and to control the leakage he will wear tight PJ bottoms and socks at all times. Wet stuff goes in the blue bag in the bathroom. Strip him down in the tub then use the hair washing cup to rinse him down. No bath toys and he is to remain standing. Don't shame him, but don't make it fun either. After rinsing wash his lower half with soap on a wash cloth. Wash cloths are here. Then rinse and redress. The steam cleaner is ready to go in the living room. Ask him to show you the spot and then pull this to dispense cleaning solution, scrub, and then soak it back up into the machine. Any questions?"


The first few days sucked and the Cracker and I muddled through it at home. One of those beautiful afternoons as I was carrying him by the armpits at an arms length to the tub to wash pee off of him yet again a quarter sized dollop of pee got on my jeans. I immediately took them off and rubbed my legs down with baby wipes. Within hours I had a quarter sized bright red burning rash in that exact spot.

(Today, nearly two weeks and a tube of triple antibiotic ointment later, it's down to an ugly series of mini scabs. I hate having sensitive skin.)

Anyway, by Monday the Cracker was getting the hint about the potty training, so off we went back into the world.

Our exciting journey first took us to the Post Office to mail a bill and have the talk again about how amazing it is that mail goes on airplanes and random people you don't know somehow get it from point A to B. Next stop was Starbucks where I felt no shame in getting a big fat drink because I'd just repotty trained a 3.5 year old. Last was the Cracker's treat, Home Depot, to ride the tractors and lawn mowers for being such a big boy.

We'd been there about 45 minutes when we got a call from J.

"The alarm went off. One of the spare bedroom windows."

Crap!

"The police were already dispatched and they'll meet you there. Whatever you do they don't want you to go inside. They have a description of your car. Go to a neighbor's."

The Cracker somehow mysteriously understood my half of the conversation and immediately asked "the police come my house? Yippie!!!"

?


We're home within 10 minutes...no police. We hang at Crazy Neighbor's across the street because he's the only one I knew would be home. Everyone else is at work.

Another 10 minutes goes by, no police.

"Gimme your keys. I'll go check."
"No, I'm just going to wait."
"At least let me go walk the perimeter and see if anything is disturbed. Did you do that?"
"No. I wasn't going to leave the Cracker alone."

So I finally give my neighbor the keys to the side gate, he walks around, pronounces that everything looks in order.

"Okay then. Thanks!"
"Just let me go in your house."
"No, I'll just wait."
"Seriously!"
"No."
"Why not?"
"My house is messy." Half-lie.
"I don't care."
"No."
"Why not???"

And he won't stop bugging me.

"Whywhywhywhywhy?"
"Because!"
"Why?" OMG shut up!
"Fine, I'll tell you! I will tell you, but I won't let you see! My hot pink vibrator is sitting prominently displayed on the nightstand! Happy?! I am embarrassed enough that perfect strangers are going to see it, but I'm not letting you go in."
Insane amounts of laughter. Dying here.
"Okay, okay! I understand!"
More laughter.
"Maybe the cops won't even see it when the go in."
"Yeah, I think not."
"Really, maybe they won't notice."
"Believe me, they will."
"Does it have a name?"
I hate you.

Police arrive: three younger than me officers. They tell me all about the procedure, tell me they will check all closets and hiding spaces and then let me know when it's all clear. Then they make a big deal about going in, weapons drawn. Creepy neighbor continues the teasing.

Cops are inside forever.

When they finally come out they are all smirking and not a one will look at me, they all are grinning at the ground.

"Dude! They SO saw it! Did you see their faces? Did you? Bahahaha!"

Thank you, yes, I saw.

View

This is why I love where I live. The only thing that would make it better, of course, is if this was the view from inside my house and not my yard. But hey, I'm not complaining.

Week In Review

And what a week it's been! Since there isn't enough time in the world to rant about all of it, here's a synopsis:

My neighbors are driving me insane.
This particular set of neighbors have been home only 5 weeks since January 1st.* The rest of that time (except for the time I lied and changed the dates of when I'd be gone so that I wouldn't have to do it) I have been their dog and house sitter, which means going to their house a minimum of twice a day, and keeping the Cracker from breaking anything in their knick knack museum of a house. They never come home when they say they will. They said they'd be gone 3 days this time. Now it's going to be 2-3 months. I am leaving town in two weeks and will have to find another neighbor to guilt into the job. I also have the pleasure of hand watering their front and back yard for 45 minutes/night. I either have to do it during the dinner hour or in the dark because it has to be done after the heat of the day. And as a nice bonus for my hard work: I also found a black widow in their yard and then had to go to the store to buy something to kill it and then actually kill it so it wouldn't kill the dog. I also go to the post office for them, occasionally have to hang around waiting for UPS for them, buy more dog food because they didn't anticipate they'd be gone so long, fill the dog's prescription, oh the list just goes on and on.

*(Another neighbor is keeping track because if it continues he's considering reporting them to animal control even though I am always there. It's just not fair to the dog.)

I am trying to knock off some more of the landscaping.
It's going ever so slowly because it is too damn hot. I work 15 minutes and then take a 10 minute break, not because I'm tired or sore, but because I'm sweating so much I can't hold a shovel and my sunscreen is dripping into my eyes. We have no shade yet, which is what I'm working on. We live at a high altitude which means really strong UV rays, it's close to 100 degrees, and The Cracker undoes everything I do by helping. And he asks constantly if not only he can help, but his trucks too, when I've already told him yes and he's working on a task. The landscaping? It's all up to me, which isn't bad because I LIKE doing it, but it's going soo slow. I'm about to give up again at least until Fall because being out there for 4 hours and getting 30 minutes of work done once I've undone all the Cracker's hard work is getting a little depressing.

The Cracker is driving me nuts.
We are spending, minimum, 4 hours a day outside, but it's not enough. At least an hour in the morning, usually closer to two, then from 5-8:30pm, sometimes later. He has decided to start throwing tantrums again, and try as I might, time outs are not working. I've tried reasoning with him: "If you yell and kick and scream every time we have to go inside, Mommy isn't going to take you outside anymore." And even though he understands Advanced Physics, his look tells me he doesn't understand this. Every moment we aren't outside?
"Me go play ouside now. Bye!"
"No. It's too hot."
"No is hot. Is cold! Is snow-ging!"
"It is not snowing."
"Is raining?"
"No it's not raining."
"Me no go play ouside?"
"No."
"Me go dog's house? Dog eat?"
"No, we are not going to feed the dog."
"Me go give dog treats? Bones! Bones, Mommy, bones!"
"No we are not going to go give the dog bones."
"Me take dog for walk?"
"No we are not going to take the dog for a walk now."
"Me go dog's house waber fowers?"
"No we are not going to go water their yard."
"Me go outside get mail?"
"No we are not going to go get the mail."
"Me go Home De-po? Buy fowers?"
"No we are not going to Home Depot to buy plants."
"Mommy and me go red ball house (his name for Target) and buy me gucks?"
"I don't buy trucks. Nana does."
"Oh."
repeat

My other neighbors are driving me even nutsier.
A different neighbor, one who is certifiable, who I have been avoiding, started coming around again. He wants me to be his mother. He is late 50s, unemployed and severely depressed. He says I am his only friend. He invites himself over and tries to hang out with me all day. And if I dare do anything while he says the same few sentences over and over, like make my kid a sandwich for lunch, he asks me to stop and give him my full attention. Friday he not only caught me getting in the car, out of the car, and then rang the doorbell 5 times asking if he could come in, to which I said I could give him 15 minutes each time, but it wasn't good enough and now I've sent him into another funk. He sulked home and planted his ass right back in the lazy boy he has in his garage watching my house so he could pounce if I took out the trash. "I want to tell you a story!" "Well I always have 15 minutes." "But I want to tell you all of it now!" "It's a really bad day for me. Can you give me a few highlights?" "That's not enough. It's a really long story." Sulks off. Holy shit...a short story is a minimum of two hours. And before you think I'm a total bitch for telling him 15 minutes, let me tell you that dozens of times he's been at my house for 6 hour stretches. Once you say yes, or don't kick him out, he's there until after dark. And he is scary, unstable scary. Those stories for later.

Other other neighbors, my next door neighbors, who seemed like nice, reasonable folk, maybe aren't.
I consulted with my know-it-all-2am-internet mommy friends, and they agreed. This was not cool.
They asked to borrow my wheelbarrow. I bought it in February, loaned it out to other neighbors, came back unharmed. Sat in my yard when it was here. The only sign of use was a few smudges in the paint, but no scratches. So when it was asked to be borrowed by these people, I said sure. I told them I'd need it back in a few days for stuff I needed to do. They wouldn't give it back. Had to ask numerous time. (They were mid project. Screw my project.) Ask again, 10 days after I needed it back. Wife tells me to jump their fence, and IF I can find it, then she'll open the gate so I can get it out. Find it like this...



Mixed concrete and chemicals in it. (A nice neighbor found out for me...I was too shocked to say ask, and she was pissed that she had to open the gate.) No thank you, no sorry we held it captive. Where you still see paint it's completely detached from the metal and is a sneeze away from blowing off. The brown stuff? Not dirt, but RUST. BUT THAT'S WHAT WHEELBARROWS ARE FOR, RIGHT???

J is working 12+ hour days. The Cracker is goofing off talking to himself when he's supposed to be napping, even though he can't stop yawning. The Cracker is also starting to find trouble.
I used to be able to sit him in front of Elmo or Tubbies and know he wouldn't move for the first ten minutes. Jump in the shower, barely use soap, and then get back out just as his attention was weaning. Now nothing works, and a minute alone equals trouble. I had to take a shower the other day, had to, and so I dared leave him alone for 10 minutes. This is what he did to the fire place...



(Take a moment for me, would you, and click on the picture for a full sized version. Then you'll get the idea.)

That would be Lorna Doone cookies, which he used a stool to get, and then sucked on them to make them nice and gooey, and then painted the fireplace screen. It took me a few minutes to figure it all out. I had just dusted that area a few days before, and for the life of me I could not figure out how a few days of new dust was looking more like crumbs, that is, until I found the BOX hidden in one of his favorite hiding places. Sweet kid that he is, he even closed the cupboard from which he extracted them. Maybe showering is overrated.

Saturday night, just as I was preparing a cup of tea to go with a little blogging, I found 3 ants on my kitchen floor. Half dead already from the poison outside, but still alive.
That meant freaking out, rewashing the kitchen floor (which I had washed the day before but only wet Swiffered that night, spraying around the outside of the house in the dark, cleaning everything cleanable, vacuuming the whole house even though I just had that afternoon. But I had to, because now we had ANTS! I also asked J, nicely, if he could contain the Cracker when he ate so as not to have food around everywhere. Just as I finally had everything to my satisfaction after hours of panicked cleaning, he gave the Cracker a handful of tortilla chips and sent him walking through the house with them. HELLO MOTHERFUCKER! "Oops. I'm sorry." And he was. But did he offer to revacuum since I'd just spent an hour making sure the carpets were crumb free? No. He went off to play computer games. No sex for him!


And that's just a sample of why there hasn't been any blogging around here. Forgive me?

I Am Nothing if Not Eccentric

We all have our own little quirks, though, admittedly, I have more than normal people. I like to think of them as endearing.


In the kitchen

1) Everything, except for glass barware (martini, margarita and wine glasses) must go in the dishwasher. Case closed. Steak knives, pots and pans...yes, they all go in. If it isn't dishwasher safe? Still goes in.

2) Everything that goes in the dishwasher must be washed first.

3) And it must be scrubbed. Not just rinsed, I mean scrubbed. I use sponges that have the green abrasive stuff on one side and all of our cutlery and drinking glasses are scratched to hell from my using it.

Why? Because I have never had a dishwasher, even my brand new one, that has gotten all the food off on it's own. And then, because I hate drying dishes, I put everything through the drying cycle. So if there is anything left over, it is there permanently baked on. The washing dishes first thing really does make sense! Also, I have eczema, which means that even warm water makes my hands immediately crack and bleed. So really, the dishwasher is for sterilizing. Plus, sponges...eew. Talk about bacteria.

4) I leave leftovers in their containers (glass...plastic freaks me out because I never know if you're really getting it clean or not) in the fridge until there is room for them to go directly into the dishwasher. (After I wash them first of course.) In a worst case scenario, that means weeks. Yes, disgusting.

Here's the problem: because I make 3 meals/day for the Cracker (which I would never do for myself, but I don't want to starve the kid) I find that to have all the dishes done each night would mean running the dishwasher one and a half times. Well, the half would be a waste. So instead I wait until the next day, but then don't run it soon enough, and suddenly there are now two loads to do. And then I have to wait a few hours for the dishwasher to finish drying them for me, and now it's too late to get that second load in. It's a slippery slope. So I wash them, put them back on the counter, and then rewash them again before putting them in the dishwasher so that they don't have spots from sitting clean but wet on the counter.


Laundry

1) I don't hand wash. I don't dry clean. I don't iron.

2) Instead of ironing, I quickly hang up everything except socks and underwear before the dryer even stops. If you don't like it, then J you are welcome to iron your own shit. But I am not going to iron so that you can just squish it into the closet even though there is plenty of room. (He wears polo shirts to work not a power suit and tie, so it's just not worth my aggravation.)

2) I wash the sheets and blankets on the big people bed once a week. That night you are not allowed in unless you have taken a shower and washed your hair thoroughly within 6 hours of bedtime. If I'm going to drag all that crap off the bed, wash it and put it back on, dammit, you are going to be clean too. Otherwise, what's the point?

3) Every time I take a shower I am using a clean towel, or rather two: one for hair, one for body. I will reuse towels from showers for a bath, but not under any other circumstances. If we are out of fresh towels, then I won't shower.


The Cat Barf Game

I don't play this one anymore now that we have a Cracker running around and also because I learned that ants like cat gak, but J still does. And honestly, I'll never win, cause he's that good!*

How to play: Ignore it. Walk around it. Pretend it's not there and hope that it magically cleans itself up.

*And now for a big side note: my favorite cat gak story. J is home alone with a 27 month old Cracker in the new house, sitting on the couch watching TV. Cat barfs 20 feet away. He hears it and he can see it by just turning his head and leaving the rest of his body still, but like hell he's going to do anything about it. A few minutes later the Cracker finds it, then comes and tells daddy "eew!" pointing like crazy. Of course J knows it's there, but he's playing the Cat Barf Game and hoping Mom comes home real soon. A few more minutes elapse. Cracker goes into another room and brings J baby wipes. J thanks him but does nada, Cat Barf Game face on. Cracker grabs a wipe from the package on Daddy's lap, which J is aware of, and heads off in the direction of the gak. J doesn't even turn his head, just keeps watching cable crap. Then the Cracker comes back for another wipe, and another, and another, each time first making a stop at the trash can. Finally J starts to wonder "what the heck is Cracker doing?" He turns his head. Yes, the Cracker is cleaning it up.

Why the hell would J ever tell me this story??? (Remember, I was not home.) Because, as J pointed out, the Cracker did an excellent job, much better than he has ever done. No remaining evidence at the scene! And I know J didn't help him, because on the few occasions he has "cleaned" it up, he just picks up the chunks and leaves the stain, which even though it's either bright yellow (Friskie's Dental Diet) or dark poo brown (Whiska's Meaty Selections) he swears he can't see it.


Ants

Ants make me cry. Seriously. Spiders, no problem. Other bugs, depending on size and color, may freak me out, but I will never cry. (I am okay with bugs smaller than a quarter and and any color but black. Cockroaches, which I have never seen ever in real life, thank God, would be not cool.)

I am terrified of ants.

Little ants, which some people call sugar ants. Yeah, them too. It doesn't even have to be a family of them, one inside my house is enough.

Now, see, this is a problem here in the Southwest. Ants outnumber us a gazillion to one. Every time it's hot or rains, here they come. And living in new construction, that makes it worse. Keeping your house free of crumbs and sticky stuff doesn't help, because they will come in anyway. Like the time they streamed in for months in our rental house around the base of the toilet, which was no where near the kitchen and located smack dab in the middle of the house away from any obvious entry point other than under the house.

When I was pregnant, J actually came home from work on more than one occasion to help clean them up because I was that hysterical. Ask his old boss.

Okay, so worst places I've found them?
-inside the salt shaker
-stuck half dead to a bottle of vanilla extract (somehow managed to get inside the cap but were drowning on the trip back out)
-coming out of the bathtub drain

Since keeping the house spotless doesn't help here, this is what I do:

Anything I think they'd be remotely interested in (including the salt) is kept sealed in plastic zip lock bags. Everything, all the time. I also keep the waffle iron and toaster in plastic bags tightly sealed, because you can never get all the crumbs out, no matter how hard you try. I also spray the perimeter of the house as often as I can, especially after a rain, even though it takes forever to do so and I can't have Cracker outside with me when I do for fear of fumes. (This is what I want for Christmas or b-day btw, a professional sprayer to put bug juice in like the professionals use instead of the piece of crap plastic Ortho container it comes in.)

I have had to chill out a little on this since moving into a new neighborhood because they are everywhere. I used freak out if they were even as close as the street, but now I have learned to just try to keep them at least 30 feet from the house. The battle is never ending, and we are in the thick of the fight right now. Oh, and I spent an entire hour yesterday spraying outside because the big red biting ones were piling up dead against the foundation and I was afraid they'd soon be in. And then it rained. For an hour. And the yard basically flooded. So now I need to spend another hour tonight so it can rain again.


Gardening

1) After I've decided to buy a particular plant, it takes me no less than 10 minutes of carefully examining each pot for sale before I can pick one out to buy. Size, shape, shade of color and degree of health are very important to me.

2) To my neighbors: I am already crazy...err...different. Please, for the love of everything good, I don't care what you do with your back yard, but take 2 minutes to occasionally weed your front yard. Rotting cars and trash is okay, but not weeds. If you can't or don't want to, please ask me. I like doing it! I just don't know how to ask if it's okay for me to do it for you without sounding like I think you're an asshole. You see, it's so easy! But because I get mine the second they sprout, I’ve had less than a dozen in the last year in my own yard to have the pleasure of pulling. And then the neighbors up wind also pull theirs, and I really really want to pull weeds. They have such shallow root systems here because of the lack of deep penetrating rain that a baby could get them out, roots and all. And if you don't get them within a week or two, they seed like crazy and suddenly there are 20. I do occasionally weed your front yard when you are not looking (usually under the cover of night) and you must notice. I am not asking for a thank you, just permission to do the rest of the yard too, like under your bedroom windows when you're home. Trying to get them all on my way to the mailbox casually is getting a little obvious. Remember, just because they are green and nothing else here is doesn't mean they’re grass, though I know many of you like to kid with me that you pretend it is. Yes, I know that some of them flower. But they are the ugliest suckers ev-ah and even you admit that the goddamn purple flowers are foul.
















The brown house is mine and the ghetto cinder block wall separates our properties. See how there aren't any weeds at all, even in my neighbor's yard?
















Now here is the other side of their drive way. HOW COULD THEY NOT KNOW? Is this the problem with renters? No, a good 75% of our street is like this, most of them worse, and only the house next door is not owner occupied.

And if you still think I'm nuts, please note that these are mini tumble weeds which in a few short months will grow into big up-to-your-waist monsters. And then out-of-towners will come in and crash their SUVs on our highways trying to avoid them. Just run 'em over!


General rules

1) Unless you are a guest, you are not allowed to pee in the guest bathroom. Cracker is the exception, but only when we have other little people over who want to watch and cheer him on. I do not want to clean two toilets. If you break this rule, J, you are in trouble.

2) Baby wipes. I clean all general filth with baby wipes, and if it's sticky or just worse for some reason then I use Clorox wipes. Before Clorox wipes, Swiffer and getting a floor machine I used to clean our noncarpeted floors with a scrub brush and 409 on my hands and knees. Yes, linoleum and tile. My neighbors used to ask constantly for my secret, but I was too ashamed to tell them.

Oh, there is so much more, but this is getting long. So here are a few last thoughts, more specifically some of J's endearing qualities so that you can see how petty I am.

1) Doesn't see crumbs that he's made, ever. They do not exist, even if the size of a baby's arm.

2) Won't pick up tub toys after he's given Cracker a bath, and of course, it’s in our master shower combo. This is part of general rule #1 above. We do a modified version of the Cat Barf game with rubber ducks.

3) Dirty laundry is never dirty. He piles it up on the floor next to his side of the bed and lets cat hair collect on it until nothing he owns is clean, and then presents me with 10 loads of laundry all at once. The intent is to make less laundry for his lovely wife, yet he never does wear anything more than once because of our furballs. (Yeah, I steal from pile when ever I can, but I get caught. This is why his side of the bed is on the right, because you can't see all the shit on the floor from the door.

Now, I must admit I used to do the same thing as a teenager to my mom when I changed clothes a million times a day, but then they really were still clean. Instead of the floor, it was the back of the desk chair in my room. My mom and I had a deal: when the chair fell over I had to give her 5 items. Fair, no?

4) When the Cracker and I leave town, J doesn't do anything related to house work. Vacuum once, you know, right before I come home, because we have 3 cats and I've been away two weeks? HELL NO. Forget that you can actually see cat hair floating in the air when the sun streams in or the chunks of fur from a tiff. “But I didn’t make a mess, so why should I clean it up?” BECAUSE YOU LOVE ME, YOU MORON. So I come home to crumbs the size of a baby’s arm and general filth everywhere. Dishes, not rinsed or even washed, sitting in the dishwasher growing and getting smelly. And he also doesn’t put the trash on the curb, because he swears he doesn’t make any. Funny, the big-ass can looks full to me! And I always come home on a Saturday (so that I can stay up all night cleaning and doing laundry and have J get up with Cracker in the morning) and trash day is Friday. What the hell to do when the can is already full and they aren’t coming back for almost a week?

Wait! He did do laundry once, even though he isn’t allowed to touch the washer and dryer. He took a load of darks and washed them with Biz. For those of you who don’t know, Biz is a stain additive similar to Oxy Clean. It faded everything.


Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go do everything on this list because guests are coming Wednesday.

Happy weekend!

Greetings from La La Land

No, it's not just a state of mind. It's an actual place, and I live there.

WARNING: THIS IS NOT A POST, IT'S A BOOK, BECAUSE IT BECOMES ALL ABOUT WHY I HATE CALIFORNIA. IT MIGHT BE WISER TO PRINT IT OUT AND SAVE FOR JURY DUTY.

In the last 9 years, J and I have filed taxes in 4 different Western states. We were so into the nomad thing that we actually moved for funsies 3 times within the same apartment complex. We've lived in big cities, little cities, hot cities and cold cities.

LLL has been home for 3.5 years now, and it's bliss. It took me a year, but now I am in love, hot monkey love. Why?

A few weeks ago I pull out of a Starbucks drive thru and turn right into a parking lot aisle. I'm going in a straight line, 10mph, and not breaking any traffic laws. The lot is basically deserted BUT I'm not giving the road 100% of my attention. I'm trying to shove change back into my purse and reason with an angry toddler who *thinks* he wanted a designer coffee but didn't get one. Basically, a textbook case of those distracted drivers we all love to hate.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see a guy make a quick U through some empty parking spaces from the next aisle over. We both slam on the breaks and avoid hitting each other by less than a foot. Even at 10mph, the force with which we both overcame the momentum of hunky steel made it pretty dramatic.

What happens? We exchange smiles, wave, wipe our foreheads and say "phew!" and go about our merry day. No horns, no rude gestures, no screaming match.

Ahhh...the serenity!

There is also no rat race in LLL. The Joneses? Yeah, they don't live here. Even though the ethnic mix is pretty diverse you don't hear about a lot of gang wars on the news. I'm not saying that it's utopia, just that we've all managed to learn to peacefully coexist.

Of course, there are a few downsides too.


(News crew knocks at door)

Hello?

Good day Ma'am. Dan the Man with KLLL news. May we have a few moments of your time?

Sure! (Pats hair.)

We're here about your son, Soandso.

Oh, yes. (Beaming) He's a lovely boy.

(Clears throat) Actually, we're here to get your reaction to the news that he has just been arrested.

Oh? (Unconcerned) What for?

His 17th DUI in 12 months.

Oh. (Gazes lazily at the stars)

Do you have any comment?

(Completely unfazed, she shrugs)

Do you think that perhaps he might benefit from some jail time?

Hmmm... (Actually *thinks* about if for a moment; shakes head.) No, not really. He's got kids, you know.

Our research indicated that his exgirlfriend has a restraining order against him, and that he's never even met two of his children.

Huh.

We understand that you have two other boys.

Oh yes! And a daughter too!

Your other sons are currently serving sentences for DUI as well.

Hi kids! If you're watching, I love you!

The state has been trying to crack down on DUI. Ignition Interlock (breathalyzer installed in vehicle) for first time offenders, increased sobriety checkpoints, multi million dollar media campaign and tougher jail sentences. What do you think will help?

God.

God, Ma'am?

Yes, it's all God's will.


Another downside to LLL? My dear son, who is now 3 (in case you hadn't caught that one already) is absolutely positively dumbfounded by grass. Every time a neighbor invites us to see a new little patch of sod that they will have to fight like hell to keep alive, my son simply cannot help himself. He drops to his knees, lets out a little oooooh, and then proceeds to roll around in it, manically laughing until I drag him home an hour later kicking and screaming. Poor kid.

J is not nearly as enamored will LLL as I am. It's mostly brown year round, and we constantly fill our trash can with tumbleweed. (Growing up his family, who lived in another state, used to call where we live now BROWN TOWN. I'll get you a picture later.) His biggest gripe? It really bothers him that all the senior citizens at our neighborhood Denny's are packing heat on their walkers. He says that makes Denny's not so family friendly. And that local social etiquette says it's okay to leave your teeth on the table while you eat. Ya just can't please some folk!

In contrast to LLL, I grew up in a little town just outside of San Francisco. Surrounded by redwood forests, the ocean, the bay, the creeks, the perfect Mediterranean climate, I believe it must be one of the greenest, most lush places in the world. Tourism floods the area all year long. There is never a dull moment...so much to see and do!

But the downside? Yes, California = expensive. I could sell my 1 year old 1900+ sq foot 4 bedroom house with a big yard on a cul-de-sac go back to work so we'd be a double income family and *might* be able to afford the rent on a studio in the crack district. But that's not what bothers me...it's the people. And so we will call it LE&B, for the Land of Excess and Bitchiness.

Is it really THAT bad? When my parents bought me this car so that J and I would stop risking our lives every day, the neighbors inquired whether or not is was sticking around. They were worried that a 6 year old car with 30K miles, friggin *perfect* brand new condition inside and out would drop their property values. Do you see the headlight washers? (It even had tushie toasters embedded in creamy leather seats, heated side mirrors, dual-climate control and 3 driving modes: economy, sport and winter. I so didn't deserve this.)














"Opal" My 1993 Volvo 850GLT, R.I.P.

Now, what I really wish we'd done is towed MY car back from Colorado to LE&B so that my parents could have turned it into a planter.
















"The Hobo" My 1984 Volvo 240GL, R.I.P.

With 388K, every motor mount broken (for all 4 years that I owned it Jiffy Lube refused to change my oil); both sides of the front end smashed; no working brake lights; "Eat shit" written on the headliner in Sharpie by the previous owner; an automatic transmission that loved turn off the entire car randomly at 75mph on 1-25 in Denver; a sunroof that wouldn't open but would store water until it became a waterfall when you hit a red light. Power steering...gone, which I've been told makes it harder to drive than a car that didn't have it in the first place. Except for the turning off part, it came to us this way. With just over 200K miles, J's dad picked it up for us, and he was right...it took us from A to B for nearly 200K miles. (He didn't even know that I had a Volvo fetish. Imagine the luck!) He felt bad for that we were trekking through snow and waiting for busses just to get groceries we could barely afford. Poor car, even I trashed it a little. You see, dumb bitch from California didn't know that while it was okay to scrape snow off the windshield, you shouldn't do the same ON THE PAINTED PARTS. Yup, first big storm, I scraped the clear coat and then some off the entire car. Luckily, because of the color, you couldn't see it unless you were close-ish.

And can I just tell you that I LOVED that car? I really did. It was my FIRST car, and it had OUR NAMES on the title. It gave us freedom and great memories.* I cried when they finally towed it away, even though I knew Opal was in California, junking up the 'hood, waiting for me to come get her and drive back to college.

Anywho, getting back to the LE&B but staying on the topic of cars, let me tell you how people treat each other when driving there. (Remember that story way back up at the top?)

In LE&B, you not only tailgate, you try to see how close you can come to causing an accident just because you're better than everyone else. The closer you come, the more at fault you are, the louder you yell, the more you cuss and gesture. Forget the horn...but lean on it anyway. Because, apparently, the more you act like a psycho asshole in the LE&B, the less at fault you actually are. If you're evil enough, you can even make it the other person's fault. Great, ain't it?

When visiting the LE&B with Cracker, my mom sends me out each morning around 9am to hang at Starbucks and just relax. What a kick ass mom I have! Except, the Starbucks I go to happens to be the second closest to the Golden Gate Bridge. Also, it's got great freeway access where as the other one doesn't.

This is one high volume shop, even at 9am. But man, can those baristas work magic! Walk in the door and get in line behind 20 other people, order the most complicated bitchy drink you can fathom and still walk back out the door 2 minutes later, drink in hand. (They really are that good.) But because it's the LE&B, all anyone can do is bitch. They stand in line with their shallow friends and complain loudly about the service. They even make threats like "maybe we should call the district office and tell them how horrible the service is here! I'm going to be late for work!" Just because it's a $4 cup of coffee doesn't mean it's made by genies you assholes. They do this even though they just walked in and the line is oh so fast; they do it until the nice person behind the counter smiles and says, "your usual is ready. That will be $4.68." Then, as they just now get the bright idea that maybe it's time to start fishing for their wallet, they bite back "Finally!" I take one look at their elaborate hair, their perfect makeup, the acrylic toenails, their designer clothes and the fact that it's already 9am and I know that when they are 30 minutes late it's not going to be because of the 2 minutes they spent at Starbucks, and I boil over. I cannot tolerate such rudeness when people are working their asses off AND accomplishing the impossible. I say something, because the baristas can't. And honestly, while it's absolutely verbal abuse, they're so used to it that they don't even roll their eyes or exchange questionable glances anmore. They don't even blink.

The LE&B is home to many celebrities, who I must say, know how to act in public even though almost no one else does. (Except for George Lucas, who is an ass. He came into every retail establishment I worked in and I had the displeasure of waiting on at least a dozen times. And the people who he sends to do his errands are asses too. Not only can you pick them out by their attitude, they TELL you who they're running bitch errands for.) Occasionally, there was some fun on my side of the counter. For example, Carlos Santana, who is always out playing chess in the square, came in a week after I started a bookstore job. "Hey, where do you have books on our neighbors?" In a rare moment where I was able to actually get my brain on board for the task at hand, my 16 year old self asked "uh, like................you mean, like Canadians? or, like...Mexicans?" "No man, aliens! UFOs man!" "Sure..." Of course, my hip hop gansta rap self didn't know who he was, but I got filled in later.

The LE&B is also home to well known comedians. Dana Carvey lives in my dinky hometown, and Robin Williams in the next dinky town over. It's where they get their best material.

Dana Carvey was on Leno last week, which is why I'd waited to post this, hoping a transcript would pop up on the web. Still nothing. Instead, let me try to paraphrase, but it's all Dana, and there is no way to do him justice. He mentioned the county by name and described the unique subspecies of woman found there.

In a nutshell, he named those women at Starbucks! Specifically, the older ones. Cougars. You walk behind their perfectly manicured clad selves in skimpy tennis gear...they have no thighs, zero% body fat, big guns and huge perky boobs (that yes, you can see from the rear) and a healthy glow. These women...perfection! Then they turn around, they're 80+ years old, and for no good reason they roar and try to rip your eyes out with their claws.

Dana Carvey's a genius.



*We used to tempt fate by taking it on long road trips in the middle of the night. We even used to do it on the hood at 2am on the side of highway 287 on our way to Southern Colorado. Once a trucker came through on the desolate stretch and honked at us. Fun! (BTW, we were barely nekkid even though we had both had fabulous bodies back then. It's cold in Colorado!)