Dinner and A Movie

The Dog Park

2011-08-10T13:58:00.002-07:00

I have been spending an inordinate amount of time at the dog park lately. We inherited a 2-year-old Alaskan malamute that defies the rules of sanity and must be worn out (read exercised or entertained) daily or he will eat my furniture. So once a day, we pack him and the 150-year-old dog into our scary white van and go to the dog park. It is an odd place with a different set of rules that I never dreamed I’d beholden too.

It is okay to sniff butts, but not to talk to one another. It is okay to run and be chased, but never to dig. And humping is largely frowned upon. There are “Bark Rangers” that troll the park and give out advice, discipline and tell you to pick up dog dodo. People talk, put only about their dogs. Everyone is anonymous except for the dog they have. And you are judged by your dog and his behavior. If your dog is a hoyden, you will hear about it. If your dog is a “sir barks a lot” you will be told it is not polite. If you miss your dog taken a dump and someone else beats you there with a pop bag, you will be severely reprimanded. It is a stressful place given that my dog, although sweet, looks like a wolf and acts like a 2-year-old on crack.

I admire the tenacity and wherewithal that it took a small group of dog lovers to secure this land, fence it, make rules, decorate it and patrol it. They are surly going to dog heaven. But I and my dog are not “good rule followers” in fact, we tend to be rebels. We like conflict and to snip a little off someone’s back if they are bothering us. I am not alone. There is a special group of people and their pooches who have befriended us. Fellow rebels and Northern Breeds. We take over the park and let the dogs howl, talk, dig and even hump. We have secret meeting times, off times when the rule followers are at home watching court TV. It does us both good and we feel happy when we have broken rules. I even bring wine in a pomegranate glass. I don’t know where this dog gets all his ideas from. Hmmmmm.

I have officially run away with the Circus again (at the Cass House)

2011-06-10T14:19:00.001-07:00

Watch this video staring The Cass House Circus Extravaganza!
Grace and Jensen Lorenzen, the executive chef and owners of Cass House threw the biggest best culinary and entertainment party in May 2011. See the full article by Teri Bayus of Tolosa Press at www.tolosapress.com or in The Coast News or SLO City News. Please subscribe to get weekly video updates.

Robert's Restaurant

2011-05-26T11:40:00.001-07:00

Watch this video staring Ryan Swarthout, the executive chef of Robert's Restaurant, by Teri Bayus of Tolosa Press. Full article at www.tolosapress.com or in The Coast News or SLO City News. Please subscribe to get weekly video updates.

Lori Nunes of KunFusion

2011-05-11T17:41:00.000-07:00

Watch this video staring Lori Nunes of KunFusion by Teri Bayus of Tolosa Press. Full article at www.tolosapress.com or in The Coast News or SLO City News. Please subscribe to get weekly video updates.

Rosie' Restaurant

2011-05-07T10:34:00.002-07:00

Watch this video regarding Rosie’s Restaurant in Nipomo by Teri Bayus of Tolosa Press. Rosie’s just opened and is serving up amazing Americana food. Full article at www.tolosapress.com. Please subscribe “Follow Me” to get weekly video updates.

Gather Wine Bar

2011-04-28T10:16:00.002-07:00

Interview by Teri Bayus of Tolosa Press of Kari Zeigler, Owner of Gather Wine Bar in the village of Arroyo Grande, CA. Kari talks about her food, music, special winemaker events and that special patio. Read the whole review at www.tolosapress.com

Alphy's Adobe Grill

2011-04-20T20:15:00.003-07:00

Dinner and A Movie, See the full article in Tolosa Press.

1000 pound Gorilla

2010-12-04T12:00:00.005-08:00

Fighting evil is like fighting cancer or a 1000 pound gorilla. You can’t really fight it. You can avoid it, prepare for it, and deny that it will change anything, but you can’t fight it.

I am at a spot in my life where I have found something I am passionate about doing to nurture my personal capital. I raise money for non-profits by staging events and coordinating them. I am proud of the work, enjoy the ups and downs and believe I am worth every cent I am paid. But then the politics come into play. Politics are like fighting a 1000-pound gorilla. You can’t fight it, you can avoid, play along, turn turtle or just ignore it.

I get why the gorilla wants to fight. He has risen to his level of incompetence (It’s called the “Peter Principle”, no really, it is) and wants to make boat loads of money for doing nothing.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Principle

I wish I could be like that, but my personality doesn’t let me. I must work, at multiple tasks, have many projects in various levels of development, and keep up the happy persona. I am Sagittarius, I usually don’t follow the horror-scope, but todays just got me:

Your Daily Horoscope

You've been stamping the ground impatiently. You're waiting for the moment to jump into new adventures with renewed vigor after your meditation of the last few months. Sagittarius, know that the moment has almost arrived! You now have the strategy, objective, and means at your disposal to succeed. Just a bit more work remains. Gather your strength and get ready for action!

Looks like I am fighting that 1000-pound gorilla.

The World's Worst Job

2010-11-10T17:14:00.003-08:00

You know the economy is still not so good when you post this ad on Criags list and get over 50 responses:

The yard has gone to the Dogs (Grover Beach)

Husband is out of town and I am hiring behind his back. I need someone to do our dirty work. We have been too busy working and badly neglected our yard. I need a back yard pooper scooper (2 big dogs) for a small but mistreated backyard. Then we need weed whacking, removal of a jasmine vine that is wrapped thru a lattice, weed pulling in the front yard (less than 200 sq ft) and general clean up around our house. I will need you to haul it away. I’m not even sure if the weed whacker works, so you’ll need to bring one. No weirdo's or whacko's. email with questions. But really, it is alot of dog shit and one obnoxious plant, what questions could you have? I will call everyone after it stops raining!

Here were some of my favorite responses:

-Hello.., I'm in GB how soon would you like the job done? I need the cash & have pick-up shit before. I'm also the furthest thing from a whacko/weirdo, just a dad who needs gas $ to visit his kids in S.M. Please reply asap, thank-u

He's a good Dad?

-My named is Bill. I can hook you up.I My number is 805@@#####. Let's get all that shit cleaned up.

I like someone who can hook up my shit!

-2nd attempt, maybe you didnt get my first response. Im in GB, have a truck & can
use the gas $ call at your soonest convienence

Gas Money?

-Hey I saw you add on craigslist and am really interested. I am hard working that has lots of experience in yard care and landscaping. I am have dog myself so dont mind cleaning dog poop.. I have all tools needed and will get the job done fast and efficient. If interested in my help call me at ######

Helps that he’s a dog lover?

-Hi, my name is Cesanne. I am a 21yr old Construction Management senior at Cal-Poly. I work hard and make sure that I get the job done promptly. Please let me know if I can be of service to you as I am currently in desperate need of some cash. I can build pretty much anything, landscape, wash, clean, weed and much more. Please let me know if I can help! Thank You,

This is what a degree gets you these days.

-hi my name is james and i am interested in helping u with your yard.....please call me if you would like me to help.....i have tools, i am a college grad and experienced in many phases of maintaining properties....

Another proud college graduate!

-Hi there, love your posting. I would love to help you out now that the rain has ceased.. My name is Jeff and can be reached at ######

What you don’t like wet dog shit?

-hi my name is josh looking for work if you are still in need of someone i have my own weed wacker and car if you still need someone please give me a call at ######

A man with a weed wacker, that’s assets!

- Hello, my name is Jaime and I need some work during an intirim unemployment period. Have you found someone yet? I used to work landscape around SLO and have done a few yards myself on a clean up. My number is 805####### thinking Friday would be best because of the recent rain :) go ahead and give me a call if you would like.

Isn’t all unemployment interim?

- I live in Grover myself on Ocean View and would be happy to help with your backyard dilemma. If you are still looking for help let me know, I can help out as soon as today.

Yeah, cause proximity to the dog shit is what matters.

-Hello I can do it immediately.. My name is sean I am not a weirdo..but I have a step son that will help me I am teaching him earning the dollar is life. We live
on stagecoach so not much for him to do there.. Call

Give this poor kid a playstation!

- Is this job still available? If not I am very interested. thank you Tracie

IF NOT, he is interested.

-Aloha, I hope you haven't hired anyone yet for the dirty work! I am very reliable! I do a lot of yard work for my family, friends and people in need of help. I just love to work. I hope i can help you out, i'm a 25 yr old male and am more than capable of helping you out and making your hard look great. If interested please let me know. I hope its not too late! Mahalo!

How do you make a Hard look great? Maybe it's a Hawaiin thing.

- Hi my name is luther i am willing to help u out i have a weedwacker and bags to haul it all off im not a weirdo or whacko lol im just someone looking for some extra $ times are hard please call me at home #####

PS. THANK U FOR YOUR TIME

Hey, I got nothing but time.

-hello, i would do the pooper scooper duty for you...i used to be a pet sitter....i can ask my husband but he will not be able to do it until friday or saturday for the other things....dep on the clean up around the house, i could see what that entails and maybe help with that...what were you wanting to pay for the work? when did you need it done by?
This lady is volunteering her husband to do??/

-and my favorites:

Subject: dog shit removal technician

wow, never thought i would put that in a subject line for potential employment. I bet my parents and high school guidance counselor would be proud. Anyway, im looking for odd jobs/general labor and and living in grover beach. Have operated heavy machinery/commercial fishing vessels and the like. I think i can handle a little dog poop. Please hit me back if the duty is still available as i am negotiable with salary plus desperate for some work. Thanks and kind regards-

Salary? Someone gets a salary for this?

-i need work and i have lots of xperience in wacking. please reply

Who admits they have wacking experience on a job application?

Gary Turns 51 and We have an amazing culinary adventure

2010-04-11T15:50:00.010-07:00

My husband has a need for speed and to feel alive. All this sitting in a room, pushing paper around, makes a man feel less than that heroic guy who has the number one plate in watercraft racing in California. So for to honor his annual trip around the sun (his birthdays), instead of cakes and parties, I make him feel alive. Last year for his 50th, he flew on the trapeze (video on You Tube, if you dare) and spent a culinary week in San Francisco (that is more my gig, but he loves the exceptional foods, dotting sommeliers and chef superstars). This year I bought him eight laps in a real NASCAR at Fontana track in California and a ride in an F-16 simulator, and a few surprises. Culinary wise, I scored a gig rating the best in LA, so the nights we bound to be fabulous.

We left Friday morning early to beat the traffic, but we were wrong, oh so wrong. The knuckle clenching traffic added three hours to our trip and I feared we would miss his chance around the track at 160 mph. Not wanting to take more time, we ate fast food. This is a feat that most Americans excel at, but not us. We did a Jack in The Box breakfast that made our tummies rumble for two hours and a Wendy’s chicken, something covered in a sweet-spicy sauce. Nasty.
We made it to the track with minutes to spare. It was impressive. Two and half miles of asphalt that grown people hurl there bodies around in a fiberglass frame and roll bar at 160 mph. Gary was in heaven. He suited up in the fire retardant suit, listened to the instructor, rode with the pace care, then rode with a professional driver to get the feel for the track and the car.

His car was number 7- his lucky number and he roared around that track passing everyone on the oval of speed. 15 laps later, he had a permanent grin on his face and wanted to rent the whole track for a day (at a cost of only $4,500). See Video.

We check into our super cute hotel in Chino (as it was centrally located for all our adventures and super cheap at $59.00 per night). With a swimming pool, continental breakfast, and lush grounds, it was a deal. The rooms were clean and spacious. We asked for the best restaurant around and the proprietor told us most people around there celebrate at Olive Garden. Ahhh you gotta love the suburbs. Everyone is so……..normal………………average…………not daring. We check Yelp, Yellow Pages and in room magazine and it seem that not only were there no privately owned restaurants (except a Basque one, that I love, and Gary not so much), so off to Olive Garden for endless salad bowls and bread sticks. I only acquiesced because of the Italian Margarita (made with Amaretto). Gary ordered the beef rib and I had the salad and a smoked Gouda cheese fondue. It was very good. The servers were attentive and not hovering, my only complaint was the lady in the next booth yakking on endlessly about a bad flight. I was surprised.

The next day we got up early and found a local cake bakery. We had four cupcakes and the best sugar cookies ever. In our search for a local breakfast place, we found several garage sales and then a flea market. Being pirates by nature, we parked facing the sun in the drive-in theater and scoured the booths for treasure. Gary found a perfect area rug for his office, I found a pair of Gucci sunglasses for $5.00, and we enjoyed the booths with Nazi memorabilia in a town with little or none of the “pure race.”
We finally found a local place called Honolulu Harry’s that boosted $5.00 Mai Tai’s, so we ran in. Decorated in early Tiki tacky, it had grand lunch specials and famous Mai Tai’s (for which I drank two). I had the seared Ahi with rice and macaroni salad, it was a generous portion for only $6.95 and high quality. Gary had pulled pork with rice and salad and we were contented.

Our next adventure loomed at the Mig Flight Simulator center in Anaheim. They take you and your group through a “ground school” then suit you up like Maverick and take you inside the cockpit of an F-16 fighter jet. You get 10 minutes to get used to the controls and flying and then you start dog fighting. Basically, blowing your new friends out of the sky. Control tower keeps watch, gives advice, and guides lost pilots back to the battlefield. Spectators watched on monitors. Then the pilots practiced landing the aircraft on a landing strip and on an aircraft carrier. When Gary missed and crashed in the ocean after a night attempt, he asked the tower for permission for a fly by (ala Top Gun). It was all entertaining.

Next, we had dinner reservations at the new hot spot in LA, Hatfield’s. This husband and wife team had a smaller place that they had outgrown, but were known for superb service and amazing provisions. They did not disappoint. Armed with a Julia’s Vineyard Foxen Pinot Noir and a Justin Justification, we were seated right next to the kitchen. Whose wall was made of glass, so every shuffle, turn, cut, slice, braise, flambé and more was watched over by the hungry masses. I loved this aspect, we could see the kitchen, but not hear it and everyone of the 15 chefs (we tried to distinguish the hierarchy by the size of their hats but found out the Chef de cuisine and the owner wore none and the tallest chef wore a small hat to prevent his head from bursting into flames).

We ordered the chefs choice, which was nine courses of his choice, not necessarily anything on the menu. Gary enlisted the Sommelier, Peter to pair each dish with his meals; I stuck with the Foxen, because I had to get us back to Chino. Peter proved to be creative, enticing and a genius with his liquid pairings. There are not enough adjectives for fabulous to explain this culinary adventure, so here is how the meal went:

Amuse-Bouche (a small appetizer meant to tease the palate before the meal): Chopped salmon with seaweed sprinkles in a white vingerette sauce. Beyond palate pleasing.

First Course: Sashimi Ahi (a form of Yellowtail tuna) with blanched anise stalks and duck cracklings (deeply fried duck skin) with a light ponzu sauce. It was paired with a Sauvignon Blanc Ribbonwood 08 Marlborough.

Second Course: Foie Gras, a goose liver that was soaked in Medeara wine and surrounded by a butter soaked brochette topped with a Grand Marnier sauce and all sitting in a pineapple reduction sauce. This is the first chef to try pineapple sweetness with the Foie Gras and it was a masterpiece. It was paired with an amazing Louis Roederer Brut Premier Reims, a white sparkling wine that blew your idea of how champagne should taste.

Third Course: Custard and Coconut Soup with deep-fried Sweetbreads on a skewer. This soup had butternut squash custard, coconut puree and had tiny mushrooms swimming in it. Off the hook good, the texture was original and the flavor phenomenal. It was paired with a Vinhas Helhas Luis Pato 2007 Bieras. Peter explained to us that this was a mixture of two rare white grapes that had a creamy smoke and mineral refinement. It was truly an original.

Fourth Course: Salmon Roulade, a smoked salmon wrapped in cabbage and lay on a bed of linguini with a habanera sauce. Amazing and subtle. It was paired with a 2007 Maranges “Le Croix Moines” that was raspberry forward with a bright elegant fruit.

Fifth Course: Roast Squab sitting on roatmeal with bulga lentils, micro-green salad and oatmeal flake. The flavors were wild, and yet comforting. It was paired with a 2005 Hallcrest Pinot Noir that bought out the sun roasted flavors and chewy herbal fruit.

Sixth Course: Braised Pork Belly with a Meyers lemon caviar (they make it with Meyers lemon juice and tapioca like substance) on top of green beans and a cabernet sauce. It was paired with a Cidre Greniers Brut Julien Fremont 2008, Normandy (basically an apple cider) that was out of the attic with a balance basket of off-dry core fruit. This combination was creative and perfection.

At this point, we did not think we could eat anymore, so Peter brought us a “punch thru the stomach Bushnell VSOP brandy shot. We did as instructed and shot it down. It worked and we were ready for more victuals.

Seventh Course: New York steak with a light sauce assembled on spectacular spatzel. It was paired with a Clarendon Hills Baker’s Gully Syrah. The steak was rare and bursting with aroma.

Eighth Course: A passion fruit Pavlova, which was a sorbet placed on a gueatua meringue that opened up the palate and prepared us for the sweets. That was paired with a Moscato d’Asti Gianni Doglia that reeked of peach blossoms and honey suckle.

Ninth Course: A chocolate soufflé with chicory chip cream that was paired with a Brachetto d’Acquil Il Saulino, a hardy port with raspberry and floral petal delicacy.

Tenth Course: A chocolate mousse Napoleon with a cocoa nib chip and an afagatto parfait. It was paired with a Boilermaker, which was an oatmeal stout, poured into a 20-year-old port. It was magnificent.

Our waiter was primarily Courtney, but Mark brought out the food. He was shy at first, mumbling our food descriptions. I said, “No one wants to be a waiter in LA, you came here to be a star, so project Damn’it.” After that, he sang our descriptions and was full of personality. The wait staff said I should stay and be his coach.

I would highly recommend Hatfield’s to anyone trying to experience the best in food and libations. The staff was knowledgeable and eager to please and pass on their knowledge. In addition, watching the kitchen was such a novelty, I would go back for that. This chef/owner is a true artist.

We limped home stuffed and happy and got up early the next day for my big adventure:
Universal studios. We got VIP passes that meant - all you can eat in most the restaurants and front of the line passes. We ran from attraction to attraction, enjoying all, but mostly the Water World Show and the Mummy ride (4 times). I had two $10 beer’s, but they we so welcome in the hustle of the day. We were there for 10 hours and I Twittered that my inner child was exhausted.

The next day we were scheduled to see a taping of Chelsea Lately, but that didn’t happen, so we had lunch with my famous friends and discovered the Garment and Diamond district.

Santee alley must be experienced. For eternal pirates like our selves, we were salivating. All the designers were there and thousands of start-ups. We bought jewelry, fragrances, handbags, clothes, and ostrich shoes. With our tootsies throbbing and our credit cards tapped, we ducked into a Starbucks to reclaim our kingdom via caffeine. That is when I found that Rivera was right around the corner. This bastinade of Latin food has been calling my palate for over a year. We changed from shopping clothes to dining clothes in the car and strolled in to start at the tapas’ bar.

Ken our waiter had just returned from a viniculture tour of the Central Coast and recognized our Justin Isolece (we later shared the Justification I had in the trunk). We choose to eat at the tapas’ bar as the chef, Kiana proved too enticing to resist. Rivera is known for their Mix-ologist whose command of flavors of the high-octane mixtures is legendary. Gary started with the Freebird, a fusion of bourbon, homemade grenadine, soda water and basil leaves was not only refreshing, but changed his personality. He became the friend to all and it worked out to our favor. He started with the chocolate torte soaked in a drunken pineapple sauce (tequila and lime), with a pineapple dusted into the plate in chocolate powder.

I started with the patates xips caviar with chipotle-lime crema, floating under a mound of beluga caviar and spread onto house made Kennebec potato chips. It was the most original presentation of caviar I have experienced.

Then we had the Melon de mar, a poached Maine lobster with compressed melon (made to look like roe) and a chile verge gelee (hot chile little cubes of jello). AMAZING.
The conchas, which we raw Kamuto Oysters on the half shell with cucumber caviar and mezcal sauce blew our minds. Kiana explained every detail and the sommelier brought over several treats for us to try.

Next, we had the playa bar ceviche, which was raw tuna served over a bed of marinated jicama, Serrano chiles, a lime sauce and avocado’s. It was perfect. We paired it with a Spanish tickler, which was rhum, mango, lillet, habanero chardamom and seltzer. Spicy and refreshing.
For a transition course, Ken suggested the Cordero Vasco, a Basque lamb chops dish with chorizo, piquillos, olives, and capers. The plate had a woman’s face dusted on it in chocolate powder.

The Mole called my name as every chef makes it differently and Ken had told us that this chef makes his at home so no one knew the secret ingredients. For the uninitiated in Latin delicacies, Mole (pronounced Moh-Lay), is loosely translated to “concoction.” It is a rich, dark, reddish brown sauce usually served with poultry. It tastes of chocolate, garlic, pepitas and chiles. This was served on a Kurobuta pork chop with sweet potato (purple and orange) on the side. Unbelievable.

We had the three Spanish cheeses for desert with a sangria jus and crusty bread. We both sipped on a Spanish port.

It was then Gary decided that we were spending the night at the Ritz Carlton. Not one to argue when the husband loosens up the purse strings, I immersed myself in luxury as only the Ritz can do. We were surprised to find a Mormon bible next to the traditional Kideons in the desk drawer. We basked in the cheese and wine bar decorated with the set pieces from the movie The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and had a super breakfast in the executive suite the next morning.

We strolled through the diamond district and Mr. Bayus was generous with my ear lobs and ring fingers. Then we went again to the fashion district were we picked up some amazing bargains on designer clothing and purses. At 4:00 pm, we started home, only to be stuck in 405 traffic, so we got off on Santa Monica Blvd and hit the thrift stores. I looked thru the t-shirt section searching for movie swag and scored some funny/cool shirts for our weekend wear. The best store was Hadassah run, and I found a $3,000 watch for $30.00 bucks.

We went to the Promenade Mall in Santa Monica and at the Monsoon Grill, which was awful and expensive. We got on the road at 10 pm after more shopping, with the trunk and back seat full of treasures and memories.

Next year, we are doing the dude ranch experience for his birthday.

Finding my new face

2010-03-29T19:49:00.002-07:00

If I was the ruler of the universe, and lord knows I should be, I would make some things into a permanent, irrevocable law. These are my laws in order of importance:
Once you have found an esthetician (Facial girl for those dudes) that knows, understands, and makes your skin glow, she can NEVER quit. She has to do your make-up for your funeral.
Other people who can NEVER quit once they’ve been pondered over, checked out and reviewed are my maids, my hairdresser, my mechanic and the girl who makes cupcakes.
Dogs can never die.
Children switch parents when they become teenagers. They will listen to the new set of parents for at least a year before those parents become immense idiots too.
Good books appear every Sunday and you never have to waste a minute on bad fiction.
Restaurants only can charge you what you think the meal and the service was worth.
Everyone has a “Replicator” so you can have any material possession you want, you just have to dispose of it by recycling or it is yours forever.
Wine is free.

This train of thought came to me, as I was strapped to a bed waiting for my sixth attempt at finding a new esthetician. Mine recently retired (even through my hailstorm of begging, pleading, and crying) and now my face is falling to pieces and all I have met is whopping weirdoes.
Try number # 1 landed me with a geographically desirable lady (her office was behind mine), but she didn’t test her wax and gave my upper lip third degree burns.

Then I went to the expensive one, who shares an office with a doctor. In making my appointment, they insisted that I give them my credit card number, so they can charge me if I didn’t show up to the scheduled appointment. I don’t share my credit cards with my husband, so there was NO way bimbo #2 was getting it.

Attempts, 3, 4, and 5 kind of went like; I made an appointment, walked in the door, spent 5 minutes talking about them and the products they use and then me running screaming out of the strip malls. These girls were beyond intellectually challenged.

Tonight was attempt 6. She seemed okay until she spilled an enormous glob of steaming hot wax onto my chest thus searing my necklace to my throat for at least 3 months. Then she told me how the doctor had told her she needed glasses, but she didn’t really feel she needed them for work. Really? As you are pouring hot wax on my skin, then ripping it off, you don’t need to see clearly? I ran screaming home and put a nipple on a bottle of wine.

I cannot give up. My face needs a supportive individual to keep it spree and dare I say pretty. The search goes on.

P.S. Do not suggest your “great gal”; all six of mine were recommendations. I will find her; she is out there, like the great white buffalo.

2010-02-16T21:09:00.000-08:00

Small Business Ownership Joy: Two employees out sick, another pregnant, a sick one showed up to give us all a fever, customer shat himself in my store, over drawn at the bank because of a bounced check from a large client & my husband bellows at me over email etiquette. It is so glamorous to steer your own ship.

Men-o-pause

2010-01-13T19:48:00.003-08:00

It is kind of like puberty, so much potential, physical upheaveal, and emotional challenges. Moon cycles change, body changes too and my mind, it is a confusing mess in there, a hot mess.

The doctors claim it is hormones, the sheets in the morning do not lie. I awake in a puddle of sweat each morning. I am lost, confused and feel, out of my body. Something is wrong. I have gained 30 pounds in 3 months and have quit eating. When I do eat, it is organic whole food.

I’m confused. I want to run away. My children are grown, husband and dog well trained. My businesses run without me. There is a voice in my head whispering, “Teri, it is time, your time.” What the fuck does that mean? Sure I paid my dues, been a dutifully wife, mother (even raised kid that weren’t mine) and friend. I helped and watched in agony as my little sister died too soon. Failed at businesses, finances, and marriages. I won awards, sold screenplays, and did nearly impossible tasks.

However, the slate is clear. All karmic bills paid. All chores done. All promises delivered. It is just me in the mirror, with a beard.

I’m confused. I always know the answer for everyone else; it is so easy, so transparent. Nevertheless, my destiny is a myriad of choices, paths, and obstacles. The biggest one being me. I can do anything, be anyone, but I don’t know what that is.

I need some time in the looking glass, and this time I will take the blue pill.

Thrift Store Heaven

2010-01-13T17:28:00.002-08:00

My husband has freakishly good luck at finding nice thinks at garage sales, thrift stores and even on the side of the road. He call those treasures, “come across” and I must pull over violating 15 laws every time we see a sweatshirt on the side of the road. They weird thing is that they almost always fit him. One time he even found a big screen TV that had hopped out of the back of a truck. As we stood there and pondered how to get the behemoth into my trunk, the owners arrived and we helped them load it back in the truck and tie it down.

He decided to direct the Thrift Universe into knowing what he wanted. He went to Patrick James and Calvin Klein and found his perfect size, fit, style, etc. Then he put it out there to the universe and every darn weekend, he finds a new treasure. Custom made Italian suits bought in Paris, Camel hair and Cashmere sports coats, Silk, Wool, all beautiful, hardly worn and for the exorbitant price of $7.99. He has found perfect fitting Burberry jackets for $3.99 and cordovan shoes (that were never worn) for $1.99.

His newest finds are at our local Goodwill. Some man with the same measurements as him must have passed and Goodwill got all his custom-made Italian suits, sport jackets, shoes, and shirts. He spends hours every weekend trying on his magical clothing. They bring new stuff out every week, so the issue was how to mark the one’s he already had tried on.

His brilliant plan to “mark” the jackets he had already tried and rejected is to bring a sack of pennies and put a penny in the pocket of each suit already tried. So if you buy a suit and it has a penny in the pocket, Gary rejected it.

With a jar full of pennies, we set out each weekend. I find my share of items, but nothing like the windfall that has besieged my husband’s closet. People comment on all the money he must be spending for this new wardrobe, he just smiles. After he told me he had enough different outfits to wear a different one every day of a month, I was getting jealous. Why weren’t the Thrift Universe honoring me?

While he was trying on a gorgeous suit at a Catholic School Thrift store, I happened upon a enormous statue that I immediately fell in love with. It was from Africa, carved wood and matched my décor perfectly. He was tucked back in the manager’s office, hidden in thrift store shame. I asked the clerk about him and if the piece was for sale. She feigned surprise and asked, “Did you see the whole statue?”
“Yes, it is quite beautiful”
“But did you notice he is not a Ken doll, he is anatomically correct?”
“Yes, I saw that and my living room is filled with naked statues, how much?”
“You really want him?”
“Yes, how much?”
“Oh Thank God, I was sure I was going to loose my job if I didn’t get him out of here by Tuesday! If the manager of the store saw him, she would faint. Daryl, get that naked man for this lady and carry him out to her car!”

Yes, she gave it to me! The certificate of Authenticity was on the bottom with the artist name and the original price of $5500.00!

Seems the art Gods are shining on me now and I’ll go look for suits anytime the husbands asks!

Where have I Been? Wedding Hell

2009-09-07T20:17:00.007-07:00

On June 25, 2009 a nice boy asked my daughter to marry him. They planned a year long engagement. They set the date on the 50th wedding anniversary of his grandparents. Very sweet and gallant. Then my daughter got the flu, which the doctor explainedwas not the flu, but morning sickness. The wedding date was then moved up to September 27, 2009.

We begged them to do a small wedding, or run off to Vegas and do a large reception once the baby was born. But no, my daughter has this image in her head of her wedding and baby bump or not, she will have it. In the last three weeks, the bride has been put on bed rest, grown out of two vintage gowns, bridesmaids dresses were lost in the Matrix, and so on.
Normal stuff for planning a wedding, just a bit stressful for me, because I am the mother of the bride (MOB), she runs one of my businesses, and her hormones are out of control. Not to mention that we thought we would have a year to save and pay for all this and it is now 3 weeks away. Therefore, I don’t have time to even dry my hair in the morning, so instead of blogging, I am giving MOB Nervous Breakdown updates on Facebook and Twitter (follow me at teribayus). I thought I was being too chatty and coming off a bit bitchy, but I have had a bunch of people say they live for me updates, so they will keep coming. Like I was ever stoppable.

For those who want to catch up-here are my updates

MOB regiment: each day starts with coffee & rumcream, 1/2 blue pill, then into ocean. Rest of day, writing checks, lists & calming Bride

MOB words for today: "Your f*ing kidding right?" "It's how much!!" "The weddings in 6 weeks" "Please, Please, I'm begging!" "I gotta relax!"

Wedding theme is 1940's- any ideas?

Thank God for wine and girlfriends!

MOB nervous breakdown level RED: just got word my parents are coming in 5th wheel to stay whole month of Sept. Need dysfunctional deodorant!

Surreal neighbors. Daycare w/ small voices screaming "happy & ya no it". Barking ChiWaWa's. Man Wailing over crops. Bong hits. Only in CA. -

reviewed The Club Car & 500 Days of Summer. This tragic tale of young love makes me happy I'm old & settled. Club Car gets Culinary Cudos!

MOB nervous breakdown level: Orange. Just 12 hrs after buying a slice of heaven in Avila for wedding, bride gets put on????days of bedrest. -

MOB breakdown level: Pink. What's Tulle & why do I need 700 yards of it?

mOB nervous breakdown level: Icing white. Why does 3 pounds of flour, sugar & eggs cost $700? I going into wedding cake business!

This MOB is shucking it all & going to see Inglorius Basterds. All is good when Brad Pitt is in Technicolor glory with Taratino directing.

MOB nervous breakdown level: Vinyl. Couldn't sleep,spent all night picking wedding songs. Bride rejects all! What's wrong w/Jimmy Buffett?

MOB list: dress(yes), Bride (bedridden), cake(WTF), venue(hot), caterer(perfect), groom(loves her), flowers(truck loads), MOB meds- wine

MOB is scourging estate sales & thrift stores for vintage items for wedding. Lovin pawin thru peeps shit. Farmers market organics for M2B.

Review of Inglourious Basterds & PI-Whole. Cinematic excellence by Tarrantino staring Brad Pitt-Brilliant. Pizza big & good! I want Brad Pie!

MOB nervous breakdown level: Red! Dr. Keeps Bride bedridden, but says "Weddings Ok. Find someone to do everything for you." She Picks me

Besides being my daughter, Cheré runs my store. Now I must work her shifts, plan her wedding & cater to her bedridden. No stress in my life!

MOB update: (level Pink) The wedding is on! The wedding is on! Let the sleepless nights ensue!

MOB nervous breakdown level: Giggles.Bride says Groom is incharge of wedding plans.The deal-he gets puppy poop picked up-he can pick his tux

Arguing w/ a prego bride, what an idiot! My MOB douchiness factor amazes even me. *Pats self on the back & toddles off to get feet rubbed*

MOB nervous breakdown level: Creole- bride changed menu for 4th time. Wedding will soon be catered by the Taco Bell $1 menu.

MOB new mantra: "What ever you want dear!" *nods head with enthusiasm, big teeth showing smile* (Then does it my way).

Reviewed "Shorts" & Mandarin Gourmet. Due Wed. in all Tolosa Press's Pulp Pulitzer Publications. Loved The General's palette for chicken.

MOB shout out to Deb at Doughboy's! Saved my ars on rehearsal dinner-she's a saint & worlds best cook. Ordering y'all to try a pizza 474-8888

MOB nervous breakdown level: Orange. Bride off bedrest but not hormones. Now she can yell at me standing up.

23 days until wedded bliss. So many things to do. So many checks to write. It will be beautiful even if I have to kill people in my path.

Glee is back! I'm a happy, excited, gleefully super happy geek! Haven’t been this happy since I played the lead in Brigadoon in High School.

MOB nervous breakdown level: plaid(thanks Kari). Tin-can livin' parental units want to spend every waking minute w/me. Wedding be damned!

husband is adorkable! This week, 3 new listings, 2 escrows closing, preparing auction items for Rotary Event & all that cake to sample

Saw Julia & Julie again. Loved it more! I was distracted at 1st screening, BrAngelina & tribe were in row behind me. Wanna debone a duck!

Reviewed Julie & Julia and the Èclair Bakery. Both equally delicious & Fun. Inspired me to make Baked Alaska & Foie Gras for breakfast

MOB Nervous Breakdown Level: Red. It matches the ugly rash of unknown orgin hoovering around my mouth. High on Sudafed. Drs scratching head.

How I love coming home to a clean house! I'd go without food before I'd lose my maids. Plus husbands at a Rotary meeting- ahh sanctuary! LIG

MOB description of true love: after a harrowing, stress day, it's 11:30- I'm in garage assisting husband installing jetski parts w/ power tools.

MOB nervous breakdown level: Blue- lots of little blue pills! Nothing will bother me tonight!

MOB nervous breakdown level: Green! Found out 2 very talented men will be helping with hair, dress, flowers, decorations & shoes! Happy me!

Trying on MOB dresses makes me wish I was a soulless stick figure kind of girl. Arrgghhhhh!

MOB nervous breakdown level: Nuclear! Just tried on my first Spanx. I'm traumatized for life!

My dog is licking holes into his skin. I think I am freaking him out! We are both going for a long walk on and into the ocean.

Wedding update: bridesmaid dresses gone according to automated email.Brides 2nd dress doesn't fit.Trip to LA to fix wardrobe malfunctions

MOB finds the only thing that calms her down & makes her happy is watching The Big Bang Theory show. Star Trek, physics humor is my muse.

MOB Went to download and regroup at Gather Wine Bar- it was magical! Kari has a great gift for hospitality. MOB nervous breakdown level is non-exisitant now. Thanks Kari, good wine and specatular wine friends.

MOB had to run Impior today because employees are Brides Maids & their dresses were lost in translation. They went to LA with expess instructions to come back with dresses. They ordered "fabulous" ones due to be shipped due 9/19. Wedding is 9/27. MOB has a bad feeling.

MOB ordered to create vintage crystal doodads-6 blinding hrs later bride says no, “Less is more” (*Nods, smiles & will put them on her cake).

Teri Bayus Where we will live after the wedding breaks us. California dreaming! http://twitpic.com/gi7ww

MOB-23 days until wedded bliss. So many things to do. So many checks to write. It will be beautiful even if I have to kill people in my path.

Teri Bayus Is combing estate sales looking for Vintage. Please tell me why anyone would save & then try to sell plastic cups, used candles & 1 sock?

MOB Put husband in charge of dinner. It’s like living with a 5 year old with a wallet.

MOB nervous breakdown level:White. No white Cala Lillies in Sept. Thinking about snipping neighbors wild ones. Weird how flowers & Tule never entered my universe until I became a MOB. The advantage to planning a wedding in 6 weeks (3 weeks left) is brevity.

MOB Funny:If you receive an email from the Dept. of Health warning you not to eat canned pork due to swine flu risk, ignore it. It's just Spam.

MOB confession: Michael's craft store is like fluffy crack. No MOB should go in with a credit card or a wedding in 3 weeks. Lord (and Gary) forgive me for tule, miles of pearls, swaraski crystals & $10 bows.

MOB had to put dog- Tripper in the "Cone of Shame". This is what happens when you eat your ars.

From: Yolonda-I miss the hilarity of your life!! No one has a life like you do :) You so lucky!!! Hugs
September 9 at 8:21am ·

Comment Teri Bayus
Thanks Yoli- Glad to entertain! It is mayhem right now, you would be laughing your head off.

MOB word of the day: VISCERAL. Example: I have a visceral reaction when Caller ID shows it's my mother. (Who fortunately doesn't tweet or Facebook).

MOB trifecta of dysfunction. Parents, son & hormonal bride all discuss ceremony with me. Biggest concern: No Scotch served at wedding.

Dr. gave valium for severe MOB nervous breakdowns. Taking it is like being in a movie produced by David Lynch & directed by Tim Burton where every role is played by Carrot Top. Happy MOB buys more sparkly items.

MOB spent all day with Franc & Eddie-Wedding Planers, Floral geniuses & decorating gurus-even bride is pleased. Off to buy 30 dz roses!

What this MOB won't do for her bride! I braved the evil empire-Walmart-to buy miles of pearls, crystals, & Gary needed socks!

MOB Word of the Day: BELLICOSE: inclined or eager to fight; aggressively hostile; belligerent. Example: "To get wedding vendor on task, MOB had to bring out the bellicose Personality".

I just bought cottage cheese & the exp. date will last longer than my daughters single life! MOB panic in isle 4, wedding is in 13 days!

FOB-Gary made the best ice cream pie to date: Keepler chocolate crust, Ben & Jerry peanut butter Ice Cream, Nutter Butter cookies, Hagen Das chocolate Ice Cream with Smuckers hot fudge! He is a decadent desert designer- & I love that!

Reviewed the movie "9" and Frankie & Lola's cafè in Morro Bay. Both executed with creativity & perdition. Perfect pancakes & animation.

MOB Nevous Breakdown Level: Orange. Just found out the coveted and ohhhh so expensive "chair covers" may not fit the venues chairs. Final count down of guests jumped to more than we have seats for(I told the Bride she could eat outside, she... didn’t find it funny)and wedding planners can’t find the right shade of branches for the centerpieces. The wine being stored in my garage is no longer safe from this MOB.

MOB question of the day: Is it appropriate to kill ones husband 10 days before the wedding? Or will maiming do?

Every mother generally hopes that her daughter will snag a better husband than she managed to do...but she's certain that her boy will never get as great a wife as his father did.
MOB Nervous Breakdown Level: White. Bride has 8 days to find white shoes- & it's after Labor Day! Bedazzled Cons is my suggestion.

To MOB friends: Thank you all and we are doing all this stressing and planning so the day will be priceless! We do have a unique situation in that she works at my store (thus held hostage together 6 hours every day) and she has a bun in the oven. It will be beautiful and fun, even it I have to kill people to make it happen :-)

Any wedding goes thru stages: enthusiasm, complication, disillusionment, argument, bewilderment, decoration & finally cake & champagne.

MOB scouring the town for vintage cutlery since 8am. Me & Z's provided a welcome reprive, excellent food & margaritias. Even FOB is sated.

Can someone suggest an appropriate gift for MOB to give bride at shower? Lingerie & toys just feels weird.

MOB review of Joe's Place & Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs this thursday in Tolosa Press. It is foggy with a chance of Pancakes in Pismo

MOB breakdown level:Orange. 6 days till wedded bliss & so much to do! It's lists, beauty prep & deep breaths(& keeping MOB out of the wine)

MOB is in Bliss. After 6 weeks of planning daughters wedding (5 days away)MOB & FOB engage in adults gymastic activites for stress release. LIG

MOB nervous breakdown: Liver. I bought enough liquor to take down lg country. Guests at wedding will be sloppy happy. Anti-DUI bus booked

MOB Nervous Breakdown Level: Green! Looked at my bank balances- weddings are expensive! I'm enforcing the "no return" policy with son-in-law

MOB Nervous Breakdown Level: Yellow. Spent so much time at Dollar Tree, they have my picture on each register. God bless bridal stuff that's $1.00. Now if only they sold champagne!

MOB nervous breakdown level: Red- brides eyebrow wax caused breakdown. Grooms suit is fitted for a midget & MOB still can't breath in Spanx.

Glee is the only comfort & escape for this MOB! I freaking love this show. It's perfect brain candy. FOB now forcing me to watch South Park.

MOB nervous breakdown level: Green. 4 days to go & I'm so excited I can't sleep! It's all beauty, pick ups & coasting now. Family & friends are rolling into Pismo. It's going to be a gorgeous, fun & special event- I can't wait! My baby's getting married!

MOB Shout Out: I have the best friends in the universe. If I don't say it before, during or after the wedding- Thank you for your support, advice, wine, food, etc. Couldn't have done this without you!

MOB nervous breakdown level: GREEN: facial, hair do's & giggles calmed me down. World's best florist/designers have created wedding magic!

MOB nervous Breakdown Level- Orange: Wedding in 3 days, 2 employees out sick, brides hormones make opinions not safe. MOB's into the wine.

MOB-Last minute details, zillions of pickups, bachalorette party tonight. 1st time all famlies blend. Let's hope everyone plays nice. Fingers crossed.

MOB tramatized.Bachelorette party.Male strippers & my mother interacting have seared my eyes shut.Who knew men were bendy like that! Whoop!
September 26 at 12:33am

Teri Bayus ahhhhh. wedded bliss, what a perfect day! Everything was beautiful. Tired MOB slepping for one week! Pictures to follow.
September 27 at 10:28pm

From Cody : 7/27/09 8:00 pm

Thank u so much for today. No one that glamous of a wedding but u made it happen for me and ur daughter. It was unreal. That u so much i love u

My answer: That is so nice of you to say! I love you so much and happy to have you in the family!

From Britani: Okay sweet! BEST FUCKING WEDDING EVER! Everyone said so!

Vet Bills for Takoda

2009-08-14T23:27:00.003-07:00

The cow dog is happy to round up sleeping seagulls and chase them back into the ocean. He would not hurt them and has proved on many occasions. When a sick bird drifted into the waves and ultimately to the shore to die, he pushes the bird with his nose back towards the water. In 10 years, I have never seen this dog hurt anything. The Malamute, Takoda is known to chases cats, or anything that runs. She also has a mind of her own and when we walk the beach, she goes to the edge of the beach to smell and see what the humans have abandoned. Once the sun sets and we can no longer see her, no matter the amount of pleading, threatening, begging, promising treats we do, she is on her own path. She magically appears, as we load the van with wet dogs and head home. We give her leniency for holding her hostage while we work in a 10 x 14 back yard. Takoda is our angel, our amusing dog that is perpetually shedding and a happy spirit welcoming everyone in the world with a wave of her paw.

Last night at the beach, she wondered as usual, only the few days she didn’t eat her food (always a cause for concern in a 120-pound dog), and then my husband said that aliens had been coming into the backyard stealing dog poop. With a simple Fruit Loop test, I knew where the problem lay.

The Fruit Loop test is a game where Gary takes cereal and lines it up on the table and flicks it at the dogs. They all lunge for it and gobble up the rainbow goodness. This game makes Gary howl with joy and the dogs rejoice in his glee. The next day, each of the dog’s leavings is a rainbow of color and being that the dogs are of considerable different sizes, it is easy to tell one from the other. This conversation happens nightly in our house, the color, consistency, amount, and texture of their poop. It is like a thermometer with the kids.

Bottom line was the Malamute size (colored or other) was non-existent. I give her my elixir of olive oil, mineral oil, and caster oil mixed with raw egg and rice ensuring movement within an hour. Two days went by with no movement and I was worried. I love this dog and would do anything to make her live as long as I do. We took her to the emergency vet, and was diagnosed with eating something toxic ( I am immediately blaming the kids for leaving pot or some other nefarious substance out). She flushed her subcutaneously and said to wait for it to all come out. Three days go buy and still nothing from the either end of Takoda.

I make an appointment with a new vet and she trots happily in (no matter what the agony Malamutes are always happy). He puts in a small room, takes her weight, vitals, and says he will be right back. While he is gone, all the home medicinal remedies I have been giving her explode out Takoda’s ass. Like a geyser it is coming in full force and she is running from it and so am I in a 4’ x 6’ room. The vet tech hears the screaming and comes to rescue us, but it is only rewarded by being covered in squirting dog excrement. We finally stop the geyser and get x-rays. We discover she has eaten a very dead and decomposing seal and that she has the worst case of salmonella poising the vet has ever seen. He flushes her, gives us $300 in pills to help, and sends us home. My dry cleaning bill was my responsibility.

Why you should never let a dog lick your face

2009-08-14T23:22:00.004-07:00

We are walking the dogs along the beach and I notice that one seems to have something stuck to his behind. He has been in and out of the water, so I figure it is just some seaweed. The white version of seaweed keeps poking its ugly head from my dog’s ass and we argue about whom should take a closer look. Being Mommy and well versed in things coming out of asses and removing them, I lose the argument. The last time the dog barfed on the carpet during Thanksgiving dinner, I picked it up as our friend commented, “Thank God there is a Mommy here, no one else would pick that up”.

I raised the dogs tail while threatening his life if he moves. I realize that the protruding object is a Tampon. A used tampon, eaten, and digested that is trying to free itself from his ass. This is too vulgar to imagine and yet it is there in front of my eyes. I can imagine the dog stepping on the garbage can peddle to poach this thrown away delight. I have to breath deep not to vomit in my mouth.

I explain what it is to my husband and another argument launches about whose responsibility it is to remove the cotton soak gross thing from our dog’s butt, as it clearly is not leaving of its own accord as he has been running down the beach in and out of the waves for an hour.

An environmental argument also erupts on how to dispose of the disgusting anal blockage once I have achieved my goal. I finally corral the dog and remove the third-time-used offender into a plastic bag.

This story is too gross to share with anyone, though I get great pleasure from doing just that when unsuspecting clients ask me how my weekend was.

Our dogs at the Beach

2009-08-14T23:15:00.004-07:00

OUR DOGS
We have two very different dogs that we take to the beach every night. We do not have them on a leash, because I would never put a nose around someones neck that I love. One is Austrian Sheppard (Tripper) the other is a Malamute (Takoda) who lives for the olfactory pleasures. She wants to sniff every morsel of sand as is her nose can tell her who was on this beach twenty years ago and twenty minutes ago and that is her purpose. She is a Northern Breed and ornery she must keep just our of our sight so we abruptly turn every few minutes to see if we can spot her white tail curled up and leaning slightly to the left. She cares not for the water, preferring to keep her dainty paws dry while the other dog’s surfs the biggest waves.

Each night as we wind down with the dogs as they search every inch of beach for a scrap of food left by wayward tourist. They are not on leashes. We are breaking the law. We watch the sunset as we keep an eye out for tourists with foo-foo dogs and beach patrol cops.

When the walk is over and we climb the stairs to the surfer showers. These are primitive cleaning facilities, mostly long poles with multiple showerheads spaced around it for the surfers to wash the sand off their wet suits and boards. The dogs know the location of the lowest showerhead and after a race up the stairs (all dogs think that stairs are raceways) they stand their panting and waiting for me to push the button so they can drink of the fresh shower water. They bite at the water and it usually means I get more water on me then they do in their mouths.

I am there for the sound of the waves, the joy in the dogs face. When the word Beach is uttered in our home and healthiest form of exercise known to man. Walking the beach, feeling the breeze off the ocean, hearing the whale’s breach and dolphin’s blowhole is the only gym for me. No membership fee required, just the smell of wet dog forever embedded in my car.

Amazing Grace

2009-08-02T20:00:00.002-07:00

Seeing as many movies as I do and existing in an idyllic life with a great husband, living in paradise and the kids grown, my mind tends to wander to romantic situations. (This may have been heightening by the fact that I spent the last three weeks in bed and stumbled across Soap Opera’s for the first time in 20 years). My husband took such good care of me while I was sick, when a glimmer of hope that I might survive inducted itself into my brain, I wanted to thank him in the most romantic way possible. I did not want it to be just a regular gift, I wanted something that would ring out to the whole universe how much I love him and the gratitude I felt for him running my life, store, businesses, and etc. while I blew threw boxes of Kleenex.

My answer appeared before me as I picked up my prescription from Von’s. Parked next to me was a car sign for a professional bagpipe player. I called the number immediately, and although he was visiting from San Francisco, he agreed to meet us on the end of the Pismo Pier at sunset and play Amazing Grace.

An explanation is due here. Our very first time sailing was on a tall ship called the Yankee Clipper. At sunset, the Scottish captain called for the crew to raise the sails and as the wind filled each sail with a sound that reminded me of angel’s wings beating, he played Amazing Grace on the bagpipes. That magical moment has been seared into our heads. Everyday no matter what is going on; we stop what we are doing, go to the beach, and watch the sunset. I have Amazing Grace on Cassettes, CD and on my I POD, but never have I been able to produce a live performance.

So I picked Gary up at work at 5:30 and gave him a madcap story of how today was going to be a exceptional sunset (I told him a web of lies that included planets aligning and marine layers) and we were going to enjoy it on the end of the pier with champagne and treats. As we walked down the pier, he said over three times, all we are missing is Amazing Grace. At the perfect time, our bagpiper appeared dressed in full Scottish gear and began our song as the sun set. It was a perfect moment. Gary was so surprised and I trust it conveyed my deep love and appreciation for him. Everyone on the end of the pier loved the performance and we applauded not only for the bagpipes, but also for the sun.

Musical Evolution

2009-07-22T10:39:00.004-07:00

During the course of a person’s adolecsants they will go through many musical phases including but not limited to: “awkward,” “classic rock,” and “being really into a foreign country.” Of these phases, there is only one that all people are required to go through before they can obtain their bachelor’s degree or acquiesce to a cubical ridden desk job. It is known as “Bob Marley.”

Depending on the coolness of the person, they can experience this stage anywhere between the sixth grade and their last year of college. Regardless of when they went through this phase, every person can tell you about the time when they had Legend on repeat. If you wish to test this theory, go to any floor in a College Dorm and there is a 100% chance you will find at least one Bob Marley poster.

At one point, my teens went thru 4 Bob Marley CD's, playing each into the ground with grooves and scratches so deep, no putty could revive them. This is also when skunks moved in next store, or so I thought.

It is also worth noting that people tend get into smoking marijuana during this phase. This is why all people view the combination of the two as one of the most pleasurable experiences on earth. But when people really want to take it to the next level they will combine Bob Marley, Marijuana, a long weekend and some sort of notable outdoor location (beach, cottage, or patio). There are few activities on earth that are more appealing. The only acceptable reasons for declining participation are a prior engagement at a music festival, preferably in the woods.

It’s also worth noting that when talking to people about Bob Marley there is no need to use his surname. This is because all refer to him simply as “Bob.” But be warned that a person saying they like “reggae” what they really mean is “reggae from 1965-1983.”

Since so many people are into Bob Marley, it is only natural for advanced musical people to profess to only marginally liking Bob Marley (note: it is impossible for a white person to outright dislike him). Instead, these people will claim to preferring more obscure artists like Burning Spear or Peter Tosh.

In Grenada our first trip, we asked every reggae band to play "Two Little Birds" and they laughed us into the ocean. Than is were we discovered, Bob was as American as Apple Pie. These born-with-a-steel-drum stick-in-their-hand guys would have rather played Dean martin, then Bob.

Note: if you are talking to a person who is really into Bob Marley, has dreadlocks, and professes to be a Rastafarian and skin is the color of snow white, you should end the conversation immediately. These people are of no value unless you need directions to a “save the (insert animal here) protest” or if you have wondered just how bad a human can smell.

Ghost Stories

2009-07-21T15:08:00.002-07:00

The long lonely road from Reno to Vegas seemed to stretch on forever. Nine hours with two rowdy teens arguing over the imaginary line, that divided the back seat. This road is so desolate that the kids could not even play the alphabet game. There were no signs. The only game they found was to count the dead rabbits. The kids had done well the first 6 hours, but now were starting to chew through their straps in the back seat. I was having daydreams of ripping their limbs from their body and feeding them to the coyotes when my daughter saw the first road sign in over an hour.
“Gold Hill. I want to stop in Gold hill!”
“No way. That’s were that haunted hotel is.” Was my only reply?
“I’m not getting out of the car.” My son yelled.
“I am, I am going to catch a ghost.”
“You can’t catch ghosts, you idiot.”
“Enough you two.”
The town of gold hill loomed before us and the kids argued about capturing ghosts and whose side of the car they would sit. I needed a diet coke and a mental health break. I usually avoided this stop, because the Gold Hill Hotel scared me. I had visited when a child and the things that I remember felt more like a dream than reality. This fear I had of the hotel seemed so real. I had only driven past it on many occasions, never even slowing down, because it scared me to death. I couldn’t discern the fear, but the hair stood up on the back of my neck when I saw the sign Gold Hill, Nevada, population 86. We pulled into town and got on the main strip. As we pulled in front of the hotel, the dust settled on our car like a blanket of snow. The sun had set and the advancing twilight made the shadows play tricks on my eyes.
There was nothing in this town except a gas station, a bar and the Gold hill hotel. The town had once had the biggest population in Nevada, when gold was found in the hills (thus the name Gold hill). 1000’s of gold miners came to seek their fortunate in the middle of the Nevada desert. The hotel was the only standing structure after a fire burnt the town to the ground in 1920. The hotel was an eight story beautiful structure that had been the centerpiece for this bustling metropolis. After the town burned down, the hotel had gone through many owners, but all had left under mysterious conditions. It was documented to be haunted. Books had been written, TV shows produced and many a ghost busters had spent the night here only to leave with their tail between their legs.
“Mommy, tell us about your time at the hotel when you were a little girl,” my daughter begged.
“I hate that story”, my son retorted
“Scardy cat”
“Am not.”
“Am too.”
“Okay enough, I’ll tell it”. I yelled and jumped out of the car.
A chain link fence surrounded the hotel. Broken windows and shutters hanging made it look dead and cold. I was scared, but wanted to behave bravely in front of my kids. Fear this raw was hard to conceal.
My daughter jumped out of the car with her flashlight and headed around the back of the building, I called her back, but she was gone. My less than brave son, stayed close to me. I yelled and yelled for my daughter and was ready to panic when I heard her voice come from up above.
“Mom I got in. look at me mom, I am in the hotel.”
I was terrified seeing here hang out a third story window. “Get down here right now. It is dangerous in there.”
“No mom its fine. Come around the back and follow the steps up its cool.”
She disappeared into the hotel darkness.
My son clutched my sweater. “Mom we are not going in there are we?”
“We have to go get Chere.”
“Let here die up there, I am not going in.” I saw he wasn’t going to help so I started to crawl through the fence. “Than stay here.”
“By myself? No way.” He scrambled after me.
“I am going to get her, stay close.”
He followed close behind me, hanging on too my shirt, big brave man.
In the back of the hotel, a hole had been cut in the door. We went inside and had to boast each other up into the kitchen area of the hotel because the steps had rotted away.
I yelled for Chere, no answer. I was beginning to get scared.
We entered the main dining room. Dust consumed everything and ancient spider webs filled the corners. All the original furniture was still in the hotel, it surprised me that no one had pilfered the place. The upholstered chair cushions had become nests for mice. The bar stools had were turned upside down. In the main lobby, the grand piano stood inviting us to play it. The tattered curtains hung on all the windows and I could see my car headlights beaming in through the front windows.
Again I called for Chere, nothing.
Then a moaning came from the second floor. Up the grand staircase, we walked slowly, setting each foot down to test the sturdiness of the floor. My son was shivering and calling for his sister.
“You idiot, you had better not jump out at us, I am going kill you for making us come in here. Chere, where are you?”
The moaning was louder as we arrived on the second floor landing.
The doors to the rooms were all closed, just a long dark hallway stretch out before us.
I opened the first door and the scattering of bats made my son jump with surprise. But Chere was not in the room.
I could hear the moaning getting louder and couldn’t tell if it was her, or the wind through the broken windows.
After checking five rooms with nothing but the refuge from bums homesteading there, I began to get worried and mad. Where was she? Was she just trying to scare us, because if she was, she was doing a good job.
The last door was 812. The numbers swung sideways as I opened the door. It creaked and groaned as if it hadn’t been open in 50 years. Once the door was open, I took my flashlight to look inside. The minute we stepped in the room, my flashlight went out, the door slammed shut. I screamed and ran for the door. It was locked. It was happening again. My son started to scream. I hit the flashlight on my leg to try to jar it into working. Nothing. Pitch darkness and the sound of my son screaming. I remember the book of matches that were in my pocket and took them out. Desperately I tried to light one after another, but I was shaking so bad, the flames never materialized. Finally, with only one match left, a fire ignited. In a brief second of light, I saw my daughter mangled, dead and rotten hanging from a rope in the middle of the room. Her eyes wide open in terror and maggots crawling from her mouth.
I screamed, grabbed my son and ran for the door. It fell open with a powerful kick. I raced down the front stairs, through the lobby and slipped on the dusty floor of the kitchen. Out the back door, we jumped to the ground and ran. While passing thru the fence, my son got snagged on the chain link fence. All the while he was sobbing, “Did you see Chere, mom she was dead and old, what happened.”
I tore him free and sprinted for the car.
My mind worked on one thought; get to the safety of the car.
Once we were inside and I locked the doors, I grabbed my phone to call the police. When I swung my arm to the back seat to get the phone out of my suitcase. I saw my daughter, peacefully sleeping under her favorite blanket.
Was it a dream?
No, it was the hotel. It had done it again. But this time I had my sons torn shirt as proof. I grabbed his sister and she protested as to why I had woken her up.
She was fine. My son sat wide-eyed in the front seat.
“Mom can we get out of here?”
“Sure thing honey.”
I popped the car into reverse and laid a shower of gravel on the front of the hotel.
“Mom,” Chere said, “hey you were going to tell me about what happened to you at this hotel when you were young”.
“You do not want to know”, my son answered.
The hotel seemed to leer at us as we drove away.

My First Best Friend

2009-07-21T13:58:00.004-07:00

Most of us are lucky enough to find life long friends as a child. I was not so fortunate. With divorced parents shuffling me back and forth, I had neither the time or self esteem to make friends. My grandmother became my best friend. She was my port in the storm, a calming, soothing force during the turmoil of my young life. I worshiped her. Even in her lingering ladylike state, she would sit in the mud and play Barbie's with me for hours. She knew how I longed for a playmate, but had the inability to find one my own age. We shared stories, secrets and games.
As I grew into adolescence's, she became too un-cool for me to "Hang" with, so she graciously took a back seat. She was always there with open arms when I came running back, so desperately needing a friend to talk with.
I married and traveled the world and still considered her my best friend, but distance weakened the bond. When I was pregnant with my first child, I again ran to her for instruction, sharing and a never-ending friend.
Cancer took hold of her and whisked her out of my life when I turned 25. It was then I felt I needed her most. I was devastated. Now friendless and alone, I tried to find friends to take her place. Even the Jehovah Witnesses that visited with their booklets on how to have a happy life, where considered for friends. Nothing took Nana's place. How could it?
In desperation and loneliness, I begin to believe that she was with me, an Angel looking down on my children and me. Protecting us from harm. I would talk to her at night, as I lie in my bed worried about what was right and wrong in raising my children. As the kids grew and so did myself esteem, I thought of her less and less. I took charge of my life and made my own decisions without council from anyone. I still felt lonely at times for a friend, but had no time to pursue friendships while raising kids.
As the kids entered adolescence's and I entered mid-life, I decided it was time to get some of my own interests. I took a writing class at the local college. I loved the class, the writing the assignments, the people. I started searching for writing groups to join.
I found a writing group in three ladies that shared the class with me. We couldn't have been four more different people, but our shared love for writing, bound us together from the first time we met. We didn't even write in the same genre. It didn't matter; somehow, the glue of writing and the possibility of friendship held us together.
I was the youngest in the group at 40 years old with teens ruling my life. I wrote mostly slice of life stories regarding these strange beings that used to be my precious children. My work was described as "edgy". I was opinionated, fast-talking, full of my writing and myself.

Betty was 76 years old, a successful business owner that had just finished a book on a local Indian tribe and was starting a cookbook with antidotes about the contributors. Her style was sweet, nonfiction and straightforward. I admired her instantly for the lack of filter between her brain and her mouth. She said what she thought with no regard for what anyone felt about it or her.

Nita was recently relocated from Washington, DC. Her husband had just retired from the Secret Service, and had bought a mountain in need of trees to fill his days. She was a special education teacher with a heart of gold. Nothing came out of her mouth that wasn't nurturing. She was writing mysteries and fictional facts about the people she had known in DC.

Kathy was closest to my age with three children in college. She was the personification of cosmopolitan. She had a French husband, had lived abroad, and drove a Jaguar. She was everything that class represented. Brilliant, she had decided to rewrite the book of Genesis; with her own fictional twists mingled with legend.

I thought for sure they would throw me out of the group the first time I read a story about a teen smoking a Hookah in my house. They didn't, they encouraged me, laughed, rolled their eyes at my work and taught me to edit.
At one point, no one can remember when or why, we began to call the group "The Angels". We consistently meet once a week at a local coffee shop to share our writing. We wrote together and discussed each other's lives and philosophies. I was addicted from the start. I lived for the five-hour meetings where we could argue, yell and then hug, laugh and make up. It was amazing. For the first time in my life, I had real friends. New to the sensation, it often frightened me. I was afraid of the group realizing I was not up to their caliber and throwing me out. It never happened. We were equals. So diametrically different in everything-we balanced each other. We taught each other and supported each other.
Each night I thanked God for these amazing ladies; now called friends. The Angels were in my life to stay.
One night as I dreamed of my Nana, I solved the puzzle of the Angels.
Nana was 76 years old when she died; she had a dog name Tina. She had owned a successful restaurant for 30 years. So did Betty.
Nana's real name was Nita. In her younger life, she was a teacher and married to a police officer. So was Nita.
Nana was small in build. Barely weighing 100 pounds. She had three children and was a patient, soft-spoken lady of class. So was Kathy.
Nana was with me in the incarnation of a writing group and three wonderful women now known as the Angles. She was still being the best friend anyone could have, even from the distance of heaven.

My Daughter is engaged!

2009-07-03T16:26:00.004-07:00

Marrying for love may be a bit risky, but it is so honest that God can't help but smile on it.
My daughter went to Maui for her birthday and her sweet boyfriend asked for her hand in marriage! I am so excited, I like this boy, and this is my first chance to be a MOB (Mother of the Bride, or Monster, if I am a bitch). The night it happened, she called to tell me and asked me to be her maid of honor! I cried, it is such an honor when your grown daughter considers you a friend. She also asked Gary to walk her down the isle. He is her step father, but in her eyes the only man that has ever been really there for her.

When asked by her finance, what kind of wedding she wanted, she told him she dreamed of a wedding of elaborate elegance,
A church filled with family and friends.
She asked him what kind of a wedding he wished for,
He said one that would make me his wife.

They are going to be engaged for a year, and are planning a destination wedding.

I can barely stand not to plan every little detail for her. When people come into my store (where she is the manager) and she doesn’t immediately tell them she just got engaged or thrust her engagement ring into their face, I interject “Tell them, tell them!”

This is my favorite child, I know you are not supposed to admit that, but this one is the joy of my life. She is and has always been a good girl. A good girl with previously rotten taste in men. Past boyfriends have been nice, but losers. Men with no future or personal pride. This one is different. He is an entrepreneur, with big goals and he treats her like a princess. He comes from a good family (we have yet to meet them, but that what everyone says).

So we begin our year of love, joy, planning, and excitement. First we meet the parents, and hopefully not scare them away. I will try to be good and not say Fuck or drink too much wine.

Men marry women with the hope they will never change. Women marry men with the hope they will change. Invariably they are both disappointed.
-- Albert Einstein

My Michael Jackson Story

2009-06-30T18:06:00.008-07:00

Since the passing of the Gloved One, many stories are coming out about sightings, paternity, drug use and much adulation.

As a teen girl in the early seventies, I adorned my walls with my idols. Fresh from the pages of Teen Beat, hung on my walls with pink pushpins where the smiling faces of David Cassidy, Bobby Sherman, and Michael Jackson. It never occurred to me that Michael was a different skin tone. My father on the other hand, being raised in Oakland California was acutely aware of skin tone. He did not approve of any boys learing at his daughter over her vanity much less one with an Afro. There were many loud arguments at the table over mushy peas regarding my inability to marry and worship Michael Jackson.

After a year he acquiesced my love for Michael and for my birthday requisitioned tickets to see The Jackson Five at Harrah’s Tahoe in the winter of 1974. My father’s profession was that of an institutional food salesman, and he did his job well. The hospitality department of the big casinos welcomed into their kitchens and helped him land these rare tickets. The whole family was slated to go, but no one was more excited than me.

We were poor white children, so when we had formal events, my mother made us dresses. This was a point of pride for me when I was younger, but as the teen years took hold they bacame a major embarrassment. Mother was not aware of my loathing for home made clothes, as I would just have friends bring extra clothes when forced to sport my Simplicity pattern and change in their car.

My mother made us matching dresses, with identical patterns, only the colors were different. Three little beauties. They were floor length, with a large row of ruffles down the chest, a bow in the back and a high scoop neck. They were Little House On The Prairie meets Annie. I hated them. The night of the concert, I threw a fit supreme as only can be done by a 13-year-old girl. No one understood why I didn’t want to wear the dress my mother labored until 3 am to finish. My father took a firm hand, and I dawned the dress and a major frown.

We were greeted at the door by friendly maître d' who gave us a table right next to the stage. He was a fan of my fathers, so we got the VIP treatment. The table was shared by Mrs. Jackson, Latoya and Janet (then 5 years old) and their manager, Billy Preston. The show was beyond breathtaking and my eyes never left the teen idol and I mentally vowed to remember every dance step. At the end of the show, they announced they would be releasing the new single “Dancing Machine”

The fog covered the stage, multi color lights roamed the proscenium and Michael stepped out. I held my breath as he danced and sang his way around the floor. I had never seen anyone move like that. After one go around of the song, the Jacksons came to the edge of the stage and started bringing girls from the audience up on stage to dance with them. I watched with envy.

Then Michael walked to the edge of the stage and held a hand out to me. I hesitated, and then froze; there was no way I was going to get on that stage in this homemade monstrosity! I knew that if Michael saw me in this dress, he would never want me. The other girls on stage were all dressed in sequins and short skirts. My mother pushed from behind, my father told me to get my ass up there. I was immobilized; Michael shook his head, took his hand away and moved to the girl at the next table. I cried all the way home.

Puppy Sitting

2009-06-28T18:53:00.004-07:00

We have been on “puppy detail” for 5 days now. Our daughter went to Maui for her birthday and we got to watch the 10-week-old Malamute puppy, Nugget. He is beyond cute, smart, and rambunctious. He eats every two hours and chews on EVERYTHING! Legs of chairs, carpet, logs, nozzels, the wood floor, toilets, fireplaces, towels, socks, antique vases, couch, trays, you get the idea. Im going to be buffing puppy marks out of my life for years.

The first night he peed once in the house, but instantly knew that was bad. Gary did the smart thing and showed him (by example) how to pee in the back yard. Yeah, the neighbors love us.

He cried for two hours by our bed, and then I put him out and shut the door. Then he howled as only a Malamute can do while scratching the paint off the door. I finally gave up and put him in bed with us. Sensing victory, he circled twice and then jumped off the bed and went right to sleep.

Our older dog, Tripper was not pleased with this invader and growled non-stop for two days. Then he acquiesced and began to play with him. Now the puppy follows the senior member of the dog staff everywhere, latching onto his tail, and sniping his food. I believe if we leave the front door open, Tripper will leave and never come back.

He has never been left alone, so even taking a shower produced the essential lonely howl. We took him to work and there, he slept. I did get to walk him all around our little town, saying hi to the other shopkeepers and he only shat on three lawns.

But he is so cute and full of personality, we want to spend every moment watching him. We also want his mom to come back soon, so we can sleep and get the carpets removed. We have fun with the camera trying to pose him for a “bad boy” shot to shock his mom, so we won’t be the first call she makes when needed a babysitter. We are going to make fabulous grandparents.

A farwell

2009-06-20T20:17:00.007-07:00

There comes a time in each mother’s life when she must say goodbye to her child. Sometimes it is an obvious form; they pull out of the driveway with a car loaded with posters, clothes, and college dreams. Or they are whisked away by a new love under the veil of hurdled rice as they begin to make a life together as husband and wife. Or sensing it is the right thing to do, he dresses in uniform and leaves to go defend his country. However, mine was not so obvious of a split. I did say goodbye as he drove away in his truck to experience the big city, then again when the police took him away for a crime he committed to himself. I said a hysterical goodbye when the ambulance turned on the red lights and sped away.

But he returned, thankfully. He is back, but living a life I don’t understand. My roll is to support him, yet not enable. I am to help him with sobriety, but not life. These lines are nearly impossible for a mother to distinguish. This was the child I carried in my body for 9 ½ months, how can I leave him in his time of need? But his recovery almost depends on his mother saying goodbye. Saying he can handle this. Seeing that he has always marched to a different tune, always been different, always lived life on his terms. He can do this, he has the skills. He doesn't need me or need to worry about me.

He was born of a 7-generation circus performer and a wanderer. His parents are so different, he was never able to explain what we did to his teachers (and we certainly weren’t invited to parents night). He spent the first year of his life on the road, eating most meals in the front of the truck. His heritage is different, his parents are entrepreneurs. Our home was never a “Beaver” type of place. It makes sense that he is unusual.

I must remember that even his birth was difficult. He refused to turn his head, so he could move thru the birth canal. The doctor moved it in to position, only to have him move it back. This first act of defiance nearly killed both of us. At 18 months, he took to taking the screens off the window and escaping out of the house, so that he and his dog could “be alone.” At three, he got in my car, popped it into gear, and drove away. Standing on the seat squealing with glee as he hit other cars. At four, he began to runaway from the house, and when I caught him and brought him home, I would lock him in his room. He would scream out his top story window to the horrified neighbors below that I was killing him.

He was different from the others, always the entertainmer, the muse, rabble-rouser and dare devil. He drove teachers insane. They lashed out at him and told him he was stupid, not normal. I fought the battle for him, to prove he was special. Ultimately he needs to see for himself just how special, smart, and wonderful he is.

My therapist says that children instinctively know when a parent lets them go. Then they become adults, functioning on their own. He feels the pull to be my son, as much as I feel the pull to mother him. We must leave each other in these rolls, and come back together to have an adult relationship.

I know she is right. I feel the weight of his recovery wearing on my soul. I am becoming angry that he is not filling in that picture I had painted for him. I must see him as he is, living his life on his terms, with no regard for what I want. He will be happy, I may not understand, but his soul will be thriving and driving. His Mommy won’t be giving him a ride.

My dear son, I love you, respect you, and wish you a life of happiness, no matter how you chose to spend that life. I am here for you when you need me, but its time for you to fly.

To My Father

2009-06-19T09:49:00.003-07:00

TO MY DAD
HAPPY FATHERS DAY

What possess a man to give up his blissful and quite bachelor paradise to move into a house and marry a women with two children? What posses that man to nurture and love these ornery, orphan girls, no matter what kinds of trials and tests they throw at him. What possess a man to give up that great car and other decadent bachelor possessions to finance swim lessons, dance lessons, girls scouts, horses, ski lesson, rainbow girls, and prom after prom? And what possess a man to give his wife yet another beautiful baby girl to entertain and amuse the family. There is no logical explanation - just love -- pure uncomplicated love. It started first with his wife. She was easy to love. Sweet and beautiful, always a smile on her face and a song (usually Elvis) in her heart. Despite the girls reluctance to love a man again, because the one they had first called Daddy had left and never came back, they grew to love the him. He taught them it was safe and good to love a man. He taught them that real Daddies stay - no matter how rotten the girls were to him. He had to be strict and mean - but he always loved and they always knew it.

Children never realize this until they are parents themselves. They remain perpetual rebelling teenagers. Complaining about what they didn’t have and how strict their parents were----- until that magical day when their own children look them in the eye and scream “I hate you, you are so mean!”

Or when they too have introduced a step-father into their children’s lives. Then they see a man struggling to fit in, survive and teach these ungrateful children about life. They watch, (as Wives), the sacrifices and heartache their new husband experiences trying to love and guide these kids that are afraid to love a man. The Wife finally sees what kind of man it takes to stick with the unpaying, expensive, and difficult job of being a Step-Dad.

So Dad, I thank you for the love, the patience, the hope and most of all the perseverance that you have consistently showed me. No matter how rotten I was.

You are a HERO and I LOVE YOU!!!!
Happy Fathers Day

Human resources at its finest!

2009-06-15T14:34:00.002-07:00

Employees SUCK! I have been a boss for most my adult life and there are times I want to kill those people I write a weekly check too. Somehow, I always am sucked into their lives, dramas, and problems. Then I know too much and I am not as hard on them. They become people and not just tools. I like them better as inanimate objects that help me make money.

I finally have some momentum on my writing; website almost done, novel off to editors, producers finally settled on the ages of the kids in the screenplays, Video projects booked. This is me loving life. Then the employees start to revolt.

Two of them became roommates, a big mistake, I told them at the time. They are now at war. Problem is, my kind of business is completely service orientated, so wars means less customers, less customers, means less money and now I can’t pay my editor or web master.

I was highly emotional today and almost fired everyone. My husband insisted that I stay at home and calm down. So I’m texting, blogging, and twittering about the suckage of my staff. He can keep me home, but can’t keep me quiet!

I long for the day I can replace everyone with a computer. When it acts up, reboot. When it quits being effective, replace. I never gave a shit who my laptop was dating. Or maybe we can train dogs to wait on people. I would much rather give my dog a weekly paycheck. At least I know he is not spending all his money on Ganja.

Today is my Anniversary

2009-06-12T12:21:00.002-07:00

MARRIAGE PSYCHO STYLE

My husband and I were married at lunch. In the middle of a fight.
We were screaming at each other over important issues like trash receptacles and toothbrush caps and it had been going on for three days.
I had spent the night at my sisters, avoiding killing him. He came into my work the next day with flowers and an apology via Hallmark. I told him that it was nice, but we had to figure out why were fighting so much and we would talk about it after work. He started screaming, said he was leaving me and stomped out.

I was confused, devastated and pissed. I ran out of my office teary-eyed and drove to his business. I slammed in the door and started yelling and throwing trophy's at him. His mechanics hid in the back.
As I threw a trophy at him. He ducked, put his hands on his hips and declared, "I want you to marry me".

I screamed, “That’s no way to win a fight!”
“I’m serious.” Cowering in the corner.
“You’re nuts.” I threw another trophy at his head.
“I want to get married and I want to do it now!” I stopped throwing.
He tucked his hands under his armpits and flapped around like a chicken.
“What are you, afraid? Chicken, buck, buck, buck? Don’t you love me? Buck, buck, buck.”
“Fine,” I screeched. “Let’s go get married.”

Since we lived in Nevada, this proposal was entirely possible. We jumped in the car, slammed the doors and drove to the courthouse. He threw his drivers license at the clerk and asked how much to get married. $30.00 later I thought it was just a license and at any time he would end this charade and say never mind.

We got the license in 15 minutes and scooted over to a tacky chapel across the street. My soon-to-be husband marched in and announced to a balding Elvis that he was going to marry us, “How much to marry us right now?”
“30 Bucks, Dude.”
I grabbed his arm and took him outside. I explained to him that I was not going to get married again unless it was forever and we needed to talk about this (since in three years together, it had never come up). He said that we needed to do it now, before we chickened out and that our lives would always be intertwined and our love unstoppable. I was awed, but not convinced. He started flapping his arms and bucking like a chicken again. I yelled, “Fuck it, lets get this done, I have to go back to work.”

The ceremony took 5 minutes and we did not have a ring so we used a twist tie from the rolled up marriage certificate. They snapped a Polaroid of us and we look astonished and trampled.

One the way back, we stopped at a sleazy hotel (Fantasy Inn) that featured theme rooms. We had $25.00 between us, but told the clerk the story and she took pity on us and gave us the Cave Room. We consummated the marriage and returned to work. Stunned I sat at my desk. My secretary came in and asked me what I did for lunch. I told her she wouldn't believe me.

We got home that night and told the kids we got married, but they refused to hear it and we set a date for a month later. After putting the kids to bed that night, we snuck out of our own house and back to the Cave Room. My best friend had decorated the bed with champagne and letters I wrote to her swearing I would never marry this man. We snuck back in the house the next morning and got the kids ready for school.

My assistant had Cerebral Palsy and felt she would never be married, so she asked to plan the entire event, I happily handed it over to her. She picked out everything and did most of it for trade for advertising. We were married at the MGM because I wanted to be photographed on the Grand Staircase, the one from Gone With The Wind. We had dinner at the top of the Hilton, Gary made everyone order desert first. Then the whole wedding party went to see Legends in Concert where the Madonna look-a-like took Gary up on stage and molested him. The evening ended at 5:00 AM with me dancing on a bar at a dingy bar to the sound track of Grease. They had never had a bride dance on the bar and it sounded like a good idea at the time. Luckily, someone had film left. All these years later, we are the happiest couple in the world.

Why I love Sharks- a Sailboat Adventure

2009-06-06T18:55:00.007-07:00

We spent that last year refurbishing our sailboat at 33 foot Yorktown sloop. Her name was Options. We did most the work ourselves and put our life savings into the project. I placed it on Craig list today for free.

First, a brief history. We bought the boat after drinking a bottle of Patron at the seaside sailors bar. A surfer who lived aboard her, was leaving for six months on a surf trip to Bali. He complained he only had $50.00 in his pocket and no idea what to do with the boat. My husband, Gary, told him how much HE had in his pocket and we stumbled to the end of the pier, took a wet ride and viewed her in the dark.

We were so excited, our floating palace in the ocean where we could hide from the kids and chill. She was an old sloop, and a surfer had called her home for over two years, so we scrubbed and cleaned. Although the intent was to relax, Gary saw her as nothing more than a huge "to do" list, a whole in the water where we threw money.

For four years we worked and argued about every aspect of the boat. I had no problem drinking myself into a coma and reading Twain, but Gary felt the pressure to make her "right". When a vessel resides in the ocean, she is never right.

After battling seagull shit, hawks, seals, pirates, sacrificial anodes, and a laundry list of things we fixed, broke, replaced and ignored, we pulled her out of the water to completely refurbish her. The hope was that my husband would finally relax and enjoy Sailing......

Two years and every ounce of our savings went into to making her perfect. We spent every weekend, sanding, painting, replacing and arguing. We never argue in daily life, but something about this vessel, made us disagree on EVERYTHING. With literally every aspect of her new, but her name, we put Options back in the water.

Each year around this time a bunch of seals, come to Avila harbor to feed. Usually they are taken care of by the natural food chain and the sharks eat them. The sharks are not here for some reason. Seems the seals have a better PR campaign then the sharks. The Sharks are being used for McFish sandwiches.

The seals used to hang out on our working dock (which was 20 feet off the pier) and the tourist loved to see them frolic about. When we needed fresh water or electricity, we moved the sailboat there and have to frighten the seals off the dock. They don’t scare easily and usually poking was necessary which caused the tourist to complain about the cute little seals being harmed by big mean sailors. Harbor patrol put a fence around the working dock, thus giving us a reprieve from seal feces every time we needed water.

My two favorite stories of the working dock happened on our first trip there. It is terrifying to sail a 33-foot vessel and bring it to a halt against a wooden platform in the middle of the rocking ocean. I would make my husband drive, and as he approached, my job would be to jump off the bow and scare the seals away so I could use the cleats to tie up the boat. First time, I jumped off on to a 3-foot round pile of seal shit. The line got into the poop also, so after I secured the boat, I was covered in seal feces. The seals kept jumping onto the dock, no matter how many times you poke them. It took two bottles of Antibacterial soap to get the smell off my body.

While I was taking an outdoor shower, another boat pulled up on the other side and a dog (terrier) came leaping off the boat barking and going after the seals. The dog latched on to one of the seals back flippers. The seal squawked and plunged into the ocean. We watched in horror as the minutes ticked off and finally the little dog popped up and swam to the dock. He was in shock, but fine and never barked at a seal again.

The harbor gave the seals an old working dock, but they are ignoring it and choosing to take over the sailboats. On Monday morning, around 6 AM, the Harbor patrol called and told us there was 20-30 seals on our boat and it was going to sink. He had scared them off, but they just got right back on. We had an hour to get to the boat and fix our seal problem. They had already sunk six boats in the harbor.

We grabbed our dingy and went out to sea to save our sailboat. We brought an unsuspecting friend who thought that a day on the ocean might be more fun than work. As we approached the boat, 20 seals greeted us. Our job was to get them off one at a time, because if they all went at once, the boat would tip and sink. We poked with broom handles and made big noises. They were not frightened or even inconvenienced. Finally, the slingshot Gary has been dying to use came in handy and we pinged them off one at a time. As I grabbed the side of my boat to come on board, I placed it in a 4-inch deep pile of seal shit. Our friend was ready to leave then.

Harbor patrol gave us the run down. We had to clean all evidence of the seals off the boat, move it to another mooring, and put construction fencing around it to keep them off. Meanwhile, keep them from coming on board and eating us. He expalined that this is not a job for harbor patrol to do.

The only way to keep them off is to wash off all their smell (a snot like substance that went 4-feet up my mast and covered my boom), hair (who knew seals had hair?), and mountains of seal dodo. To clean, we had to dunk a bucket into the ocean that is tied to a rope, pull up the heavy ass water around 12 feet, then spread it around with brooms. All the while, the boat is rocking in the ocean. We did this around 500 times.

We were advised we should round up all the seal hair (that is a fine small hair that attaches to everything) and shit. Then we were to take it to the seal dock. This was to try persuading them to sleep, fight, defecate, and make baby seals there. The hair stuck in every crevice and did not come off easily, if at all.

After the first round of cleaning, we had to move the boat to another mooring (at a cost of $16 per day) because even clean they would get back on it, and then surround it in construction fencing.

Harbor patrol has a great little pamphlet on how to get and keep seals off your boat, it is mostly bullshit. The gory details are that my boat was completely ruined with seal shit (imagine rotten fish in a broth of baby puke)and seal hair. They broke all our stainless steel rails and cables and most of our rigging. One was kind enough to projectile shit into my bathroom thru a broken window (which he did with his flipper).

The only way to get the seal smell and shit off the boat is with bleach, which is illegal, so we had to hide the 20 bottles of bleach we used. It burned holes in the top or our feet and I am sure Gary and I will not have finger prints for a while.

After 6 hours of moving around bleach and seal shit (and did I mention the hair?) we tried to move the boat to the working dock to spray her down with fresh water. Half way there, our motor quit (here’s the funny part) as it was clogged with seal shit. As we drifted thru the harbor, dinging off other boats because our sails were stowed and the anchor was not attached. We speared the bow sprite of a fishing boat, tangling our new mast and rigging with his boat. Lots of screaming and cussing occurred. At this point my husband quit, gave me the boat and began to pout.

The Sea Taxi came and towed us to the guest mooring; where we spent four more hours hauling seawater up with a bucket and killed an entire reef with bleach (don't tell anyone). We put the orange construction fencing around our boat, a very attractive look, which means it is unusable until the seals leave, no date yet on when that will happen. Then we watched the seals climb aboard a million dollar yacht and destroy it.

The smell was so bad; we had to throw away everything we were wearing. Even the shoes.

I had dreams of clubbing seals all night. My husband still won’t talk to me, even after I serviced him in the shower. We had to take three showers to feel clean and now all I smell is bleach.

Did I mention that the dingy had to be slung in and out with a crane over the ocean into a surging surf? Did I mention that our van died on the way out of the harbor and we had to replace the dead battery? Did I mention that I had to repeatedly fight 1500-pound seals off while we cleaned? They are like bears, nothing scares them. Did I mention that if a seal bites you, they have bacteria in their mouth that we have no known cure for and the limb must be amputated? Did I mention that I am giving the boat away?

Harbor patrol are doing everything they can, we just need a seal-hunting season. I didn’t get pictures, but should have. The best part is during all this, my producer from Hollywood called me, and I couldn’t take the call or my IPhone would always smell like seal shit. Yes, this is my life.

55 Word Fiction Contest

2009-06-03T15:41:00.009-07:00

Each year I enter the 55 Word Fiction Contest that is held by the local paper. I won a couple of years ago, but haven't placed since. This year I have two entries so far. I used to toil at these stories for hours, but after "Twittering" for the past two months, getting my thoughts concise was not as hard. Here are my entries:

Boy Lost

by Teri Bayus

I raised him to be a good boy, but the Judge says he isn’t.
I cheered at baseball, gymnastics, spelling bees.
Drugs won.
What is a mother to do, her job done – yet, not?
I guided for 25 years, now it’s called enabling.
Ala-non says one day at a time.
A son is lost.

Disconnected
By Teri Bayus

Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Chat, IM, Email, Blog, Telephone, Voice Messages.
Many ways Not to connect with each other.
We keep in touch and do not touch.
When was the last time you:
Invited the neighbor over for coffee?
Took your daughter for lunch to talk?
Looked in your mothers’ eyes to state, I love you?

Wish me luck!

Find New Maids

2009-05-27T11:06:00.005-07:00

WARNING!! THIS POST IS OFFENSIVE TO ALMOST EVERYONE.
Read at your own peril.

Here’s how the conversation went:

“Mrs. Teri, when we vacuum your room, we sucked up big black straps that were attached to bed. Vacuum no like, so we turn over and pull straps out.”
Me: AuuuHoooo
“Then my wife, good Christian lady, get down on floor to help pull straps out. Under bed she reach and pull out pink plastic missile. She scream.”
Me: “Ummm, let me explain.”
“No Mrs. Teri, no needing to splain. We can’t clean your house no more. Games you and Mr. play, my wife no like. Glass vase with hoses and holes down sides, we not like either.”
Me: “But you clean my toilets better than anyone! What will I do?”
“Find new maids with big brush, and open mind.”

So I am looking for new maids that don’t mind the Hookah collection or the relaxation techniques empty-nesters employ.

Life Backwards

2009-05-25T12:18:00.004-07:00

The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough.
It takes up a lot of your time. And then you die. What's that? A bonus? I think the life-cycle is all backwards.

You should die first and get it all over with.
Then you live in an old age home.
You get kicked out when you're too young.
You get a gold watch.
You go to work.
You work forty years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement.
You do drugs, alcohol and party.
You get ready for high school.
You go to grade school and become a kid.
You play. You have no responsibilities.
You become a little baby & go back into the womb.
You spend your last nine months floating...
Then, you finish off as an orgasm.

My Lessons

2009-05-22T21:14:00.004-07:00

21 Rules for Living:

ONE. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.

TWO. Marry a man/woman you love to talk to. As you get older, their conversational skills will be as important as any other.

THREE. Don't believe all you hear, or spend all you have.

FOUR. When you say, "I love you," mean it.

FIVE. When you say, "I'm sorry," look the person in the eye and mean it.

SIX. Be engaged at least one year before you get married.

SEVEN. Believe in love at first sight.

EIGHT. Never laugh at anyone's dreams. People who don't have dreams
don't have much.

NINE. Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt but it's the only
way to live life completely.

TEN.. In disagreements, fight fairly. No name calling.

ELEVEN. Don't judge people by their relatives.

TWELVE. Talk slowly but think quickly.

THIRTEEN. When someone asks you a question you don't want to answer,
smile and ask, "Why do you want to know?"

FOURTEEN. Remember that great love and great achievements involve great
risk.

FIFTEEN. Say "bless you" when you hear someone sneeze.

SIXTEEN. When you lose, don't LOSE the lesson

SEVENTEEN. Remember the three R's: Respect for self; Respect for others;
and responsibility for all your actions.

EIGHTEEN. Don't let a little dispute injure a great friendship.

NINETEEN. When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps
to correct it.

TWENTY. Smile when picking up the phone. The caller will hear it in your
voice.

TWENTY-ONE. Spend some time alone and write. Someone will find it one day and be inspired.

The Mile High Club

2009-05-19T16:34:00.003-07:00

Traveling can be the best part of the trip if you are married and looking for romance on the road. Traveling can give you precious time alone together with no phone ringing, interruptions, kids yelling, and cats screaming to be fed. With our busy lives, my husband and I had to schedule romantic time together (Tuesdays between 8:00 PM and 10:00 PM). However, when traveling, held hostage by the mercy of airlines, traffic, trains or buses, a magic time can happen between two consenting adults.

My husband and my first trip away together came as a surprise. We suddenly had two weeks off from our business and children (why is a whole other story). We found out on a Sunday. I combed the phone books looking for an open travel agent. I found a sweet older lady who had recently retired, got bored and opened her own travel agency. She went to work planning an impromptu vacation to the Caribbean. She was amazed at how easy the reservations went, everything I wanted was available at the price I could pay. She booked us to leave on Tuesday. As I was leaving, she snickered and said, “Don’t forget to join the Mile High Club.”
“What is that?”
She smiled over her computer and explained, “The Mile High Club is when married people make love on the plane while in the air.”
“How do they do that?” I asked, still in Mommy mode.
“You get creative.”
I left with tickets in hand, pondering the possibilities. I made the mistake of mentioning the Mile High Club to my husband, who soon became obsessed with it.
“No, not ever, no way, don’t even ask.” Was my response.
Off to the Caribbean we flew and had a great time. No mention of the Mile High Club on the way there.
On the second to last day of the vacation, with too much blood in his rum stream, my husband decided it was a great idea to jump off a local waterfall. He stripped naked like the native boys and launched off a 150-foot waterfall. His spine connected with a rock on the way down breaking his two bottom vertebrae. With only a M.A.S.H. unit available and nothing stronger than an aspirin anywhere in site, we booked a flight home and dosed him with natural painkillers and more rum. I thought the Mile High Club idea was gone for good when he couldn’t even put his seat and tray in an upright position at take-off.
The last leg of the flight was overbooked, so we sat five rows apart from each other. After the captain turned off the seat belt sign, I was passed a note from my injured Hubby, instructing me to meet him in the back bathroom for my induction in the Mile High Club. Knowing I was truly dealing with an insane person, I ventured back for this impossible task. He convinced me it was the only painkiller that would work. We got creative.
Suddenly there was a knock on the bathroom door. I panicked and told him to leave first, and that I would follow five minutes later. He left, I counted to 60 five times and opened the door. To my horror, there were around thirty people standing in line for this bathroom. Thirty people who saw my husband come out first. Thirty people I had to pass and say, “Excuse me” to get back to my seat. Thirty people who gave me the hairy eyeball. With my face beet red and about to die from embarrassment, I passed my husband’s seat. He looked up, smiled and shouted, “Thanks, Mam!

He had a ball telling my sweet little travel agent the story. I will never fly that airline again as I am sure my picture is on each plane labeled as deviant.

So now, I consider myself an expert on romantic tryst while traveling. Here are some tips:

If you’re flying and in need of privacy, go to the back of the wide body plane, use the center row and lots of little blue blankets. On the other hand, if you can afford it, buy up the entire first class section. If the restroom is your only option, it will require gymnastic like maneuvers. The bathrooms for handicapped and mothers changing tables have the most room.
I have a friend who was a stewardess for Pam Am that used to fly between Japan and Hawaii. She tells of half the flight being full of honeymooners with no patience to wait for over threshold traditions. She would move them to the back and give the stodgy passenger up front headsets in which she played the movie at maximum volume.

If you are stuck in the airport for a long time and the romantic bug hits, I would suggest finding the Admiral’s Club. This will not only drive those dot com executives crazy, but will give you a break from the crowds. If that is not a possibility, go to the last gate in those long corridors. Make sure that no flight is expected for at least three hours. Go behind the airline check-in counter, as they are empty between arrivals and departures. My last suggestion is the most comfortable. Take the shuttle to the local Hilton, find the pool and have a great time. At least there he can buy you a drink and a sandwich at the bar afterwards.

If you are driving in the car, please pull over. No matter how exciting the idea may be, driving and loving is worse than drinking and driving. There should be a law. Rest stops usually have park like settings with proper trees and big bushes for cover. If you can’t wait, “30 miles to the next rest stop” then try a truck stop. Wedge the Honda between 18-wheelers and have at it. The truckers won’t mind, it gives them road stories.

Everything you ever needed to rekindle the romance in your marriage is on the road. So have fun, be creative and love well. Just remember you will have to explain to your daughter when she turns 18 why her name is “Lavatory”.

Martini Contest

2009-05-18T16:57:00.007-07:00

I appeal to a small, select group of confused & disoriented and mostly drunk people. I dig that.

I was asked to be a judge in the Second Annual Central Coast Vodka Martini Shakedown contest for charity. This event was held last year at my favorite restaurant, Rosa’s and I had a ball…………….and a hangover for three days. It is held on a Sunday at noon, so I didn’t eat much before. This year, I got smart and loaded up on pancakes and eggs, to absorb all the alcohol. Here is how the contest works:
Ten of the areas best bartenders are brought in and given portable bars. They each make their own unique martini. The guests can drink as many martinis as they want and there is a huge spread of gourmet food and jazz music playing. There are silent auctions, raffles, and giveaways. It is a blast. It raised over $6,000 for the food banks. Drunks for food, how poetic. Charities benefactors were the Food Bank’s Back Pack Program and St. Patrick’s Outreach open cupboard food program.

As a judge, I am whisked into a sequestered room with 10 other people (this year there was only 8) and the waitresses bring us one martini at a time. We don’t know which bar is making which martini. With each martini, we have a recipe card, and we taste and judge them on creativity, presentation, tastes and aroma.
After four martinis we are all soused. We become our own private club, we argue and joke and have an enormously excellent time. Then we have to pick top three. Problem is that there is regular martinis, sweet ones and desert ones and they are hard to judge against each other. I put them into these categories for the drunken debacle the judges became:
1. This is what you would drink after having a bitch of a day and you just wanted to get hammered and forget it all.
2. This is what you would drink on a hot day or a Sunday brunch. It tastes like Kool-Aid but will totally fuck you up.
3. This is a drink you would have after dinner instead of chocolate cake.

The comments are hilarious, judges bit each other, spilled on each other and the photographer got some incriminating photos. We became instant friends, and friends like that last a lifetime or until the ice melts. We didn’t care, we were bound together with vodka and the awesome responsibility of picking the best drink.

Here are some of the recipes we tried:
*Charlie and the Chocolate Orange: made with Level Vodka, Cravella Orangecello, and Godiva Liqueur.
*Absolut Tropic-Tini: made with Absolut Raspberri, Hpnotiq, Champagne, Chambord and orange.
*Das Strawtini: made with Absolut Vodka, Cointreau, strawberry, lemon and sugar
*This-is-itini: made with Absolut Raspberri, Grand Marnier, Champagne, rasberries and sweet & sour.
*Ginger Moscato Martini: made with Absolut vodka, late harvest wine, ginger juice, ginger sugar, grapes, toasted almonds and grape juice. (this one was the most creative, it would have won if not for the ginger being too strong)
*Prickly Pear: made with Absolut Pear, Malibu rum, apple pucker, sweet & sour and pineapple juice. It had a sliced pear floating in it, a phallic looking fruit. The drink became known as the “vagi-tini”.

First place was Paula Nichols from The Quarterdeck (same girl that won last year, she cried, it was sweet). Her drink was a Toes In The Grass, made with Level vodka, cucumber, honeydew, simple syrup, and green tea. Garnished with a slice of cucumber.

Second place was a PedroTini made by Cathleen Moore of Gardens of Avila (a tribute to Pedro who just passed away) it was made of Absolut vanilla, Bodegas Dios Baco “Pedro Ximenez” Sherry, Frangelico and orange juice. The rim was covered in Cinnamon.

Third place was made by Stacey Ciordanengo and Kristina Evans of the Corner View Restaurant and Bar. It was a Wicked Wahini Martini made with Absolut mango, orange juice, sweet and sour, guava nectar, orange, and jalapeno. It had a candied lemon rind, dipped in chocolate as a garnish.

People’s choice was from Steamers of Pismo, Bartenders Jared Moore and Jay Britton. It was called an Apple Coconut Mojito Martini and was made with Absolut vodka, Malibu rum, apple pucker, lime, mint, 7-up and soda. It was garnished with peeled lime and mint. (This was my favorite)

The judges were Me (Teri Bayus, Food and Film Critic), Mary Ann Reiss, Mayor of Pismo Beach, Raine Ross, with St. Patrick’s Outreach, John Shoals, Mayor of Grover Beach, Evan Treadwell, Executive Chef from Lido and Steve Watson from Absolute (who passed out after trying all 10 martinis never to be found again HA-HA). Judges had too much fun and we were planning on all flying to Vegas together, but that was forgotten once the vodka wore off.

Rosa’s Rocks http://www.rosasrestaurant.com/ with amazing food like scallop Florentine, pesto pot stickers, shrimp, salmon and the most amazing stuffed and dipped strawberries (Gary ate 12). Delectable cheese and fruit plates complimented the martinis. The food was impressive and there was plenty to go around.

We stayed too long, I started mixing martinis and pretty sure I accepted a marriage proposal. But I pray that I am invited back next year to be a judge.

My Pismo Beach Quiz

2009-05-14T15:42:00.002-07:00

See if your personality matches with those that dwell at the beach. Are you really a beach bum or pretending to be one while basking in our warm weather and unfettered beaches. Just because you have a Pismo Beach California address does not mean you have a California State of Mind.

1. What is a Bako
a. Tourist that needs to be shot
b. Someone who wears Uggs and Daisy Duke Shorts
c. A person who lives in the Central Valley
d. All apply

2. What do you do at Splash?
a. Swim
b. Eat award winning clam chowder
c. Use squirt guns
d. Watch tide pools

3. What is Kook?
a. Someone who can’t surf but is out there in the waves any way
b. A comedian
c. A tide pool creature
d. An escapee from Atascadero Mental Hospital

4. What is decorated each holiday in a different outfit?
a. Our mayor
b. The local post office
c. Huge clams residing on the side of the road
d. Our dogs

5. What is a set time?
a. What time the band starts
b. Time between waves
c. Time that all hairdressers start work
d. A movie term

6. What do you do at Comp Hill?
a. Compliment each other
b. Plant trees
c. Race ATV’s and lifted trucks
d. A competition on a wave

7. What is sand highway?
a. The sand trail that follows you after walking on the beach
b. A highway that leads to the beach
c. A road in the sand dunes that you drive on
d. A beach toy

8. Who is Giuseppe?
a. Gepetto’s Dad
b. Owner of the Italian eatery in Pismo
c. Guy who makes surf boards
d. A surf term that means your boards too cheesy

9. How do you say goodbye in Pismo?
a. Audi-5000
b. See ya
c. See ya
d. Bah-bye

10. What is Yogi-Bearen?
a. Barring your bottom at the beach
b. Stealing whole ice chests from RVer’s
c. Name of bear that is Pismo Mascot
d. A baseball coach

11. What is a Dunite?
a. A bunch of people who lived in the Dunes in 1920’s
b. A person who comes with ATV’s to ride in the Pismo Dunes
c. A local who regularly has bonfires at the beach
d. all of the above

12. What is the name of the Annual Festival?
a. The beers so good here we Piz-mo
b. Pismo Beach, home of Bugs Bunnies the right turn
c. The Clam Festival
d. Surf Days

13. What is a Grommet?
a. Hole that keeps banners in place
b. Young Surfer
c. A part of your jeans
d. All of the above

14. What is Harry’s?
a. Beach Bar
b. Tide Pool
c. Cool T-shirt shop
d. A kind of taffy

15. What is surfer butt?
a. A cigarette smoking beach bum
b. A mean surfer
c. That peak of a behind that is seen when surfer is removing wetsuit while towel is wrapped around their waist
d. A seaside creature

16. What is a snowy plover?
a. Stupid little bird that makes nest in tire tracks
b. An endangered bird that is afraid of kites
c. A huge battle with environmentalist vs. dunites
d. All of the above

17. What is “Mobbin’ it”
a. Joining the Pismo Mob
b. Eating at the Mob restaurant
c. Driving your car into the Dunes
d. Throwing kisses to the mobs on the beach

18. What is Pirates Cove?
a. A place where pirate treasure was found
b. A shell shop
c. Barring your smile at the beach
d. A nude beach

19. What is blown out?
a. A hairstyle technique
b. When the winds take the top off the waves
c. A way to get ushered out of town
d. A sea creature

20. What is a paddle tire?
a. A way to paddle thru waves
b. A bulging mid-drift from too tight jeans
c. A special tire used on ATV’s and Motorcycles to ride in the sand dunes
d. A way to dig in the sand

21. What is Mail Plus?
a. The best place to buy stamps
b. Home of a mean red head
c. Gossip central of Pismo Beach
d. All of the above

Answer Key:

1. D
2. B
3. A
4. C
5. B
6. C
7. C
8. B
9. A
10. B
11. D
12. C
13. D
14. A
15. C
16. D
17. C
18. D
19. B
20. C
21. D

If you got more than 15 right:
You not only live here in body, but also in mind. You are an indisputable Beach Bum who uses and enjoys living in paradise. More than likely you where “Miss Clam” when you where 13 years old and learned to drive on the beach in your Dad’s old truck. You worked at Old West Cinnamon Roll’s or Splash at one point in your life. Your senior pictures were done at the beach and your child learned to paddle a surf board before he walked.

If you got more than 9 right:
You spend weekends and summers in Pismo Beach, but haven’t absorbed the lifestyle. You need to rent an ATV and spend every night watching the sunset on the pier and take some surfing or boogie boarding lessons. Move from the big city and come live the good life!

Less than 5 right:
You are a Poser! You may live here or visit here, but you don’t get it!

Happiness is a Choice

2009-05-12T17:10:00.003-07:00

A person just asked me why I always seemed to be so happy. It's true, I am almost always in a good mood, and when sorrow or tragedy does set in, it doesn't take me long to get over it. First, I am like a raging fire, then I accept the consequences and move on.

I'm cheery because when I get up out of bed, I have two choices. I can be in a good mood or I can let circumstances, biochemistry, or any number of other things affect the quality of the day. I choose to be in a pleasant frame of mind, it's that simple.

When I was 18 my best friend Kim was killed. It was two days after finding out she was pregnant. She was hit by a UPS Truck driving too fast in the rain. In her car she had five dogs and was pulling a trailer with her two horses in it. Her new husband was following in his car. Everything but one dog was killed instantly.

From that horrible phone call in the middle of the night, I developed two habits:
1. I never answer my phone after midnight. If it is terrible news, it will still be there in the morning.
2. Live each day like it is my last.

Kim didn't get to experience her dream of owning her own horse ranch, which she was waiting for until "the time was right." She didn't get to do a lot of things she wanted to do. I'm sure she would have traded all her dreams to see her daughter grow up, but she didn't get to see that happen either.

Sometimes, someday never comes. I don't know how much time I have left in this lifetime, but I'm not going to waste it by being unhappy. I don't wait until the timing feels right before trying something new. I just do it.

Don’t wait to charge for your dreams, buy that business, open a new store, start your dream charity, write your story, dance on stage. Don't wait until a holiday to eat off the good china. Don't wait until your kid does something great to tell him how great he is, tell your daughter how happy she makes you just by being herself. Don't wait for a birthday to buy your spouse a present, surprise them no reason other than love. Ladies, don't save that expensive perfume for special occasions, the mailman and girl at the copy center have noses too. Wear it when you want to feel special - every day if you want. Don't wear uncomfortable clothes, ever.

In short, don't wait for your ship to come in before celebrating life, celebrate life now. Life is a mystery to marvel about and unravel, an exciting realization of little triumphs when we learn to appreciate them, and a bounty of glorious moments when we have the attitude to recognize them.

Experience the thrill of trying something new. Make someone's day by surprising them with an unexpected act of kindness - even a stranger. Choose to be happy, each morning. Choose to revere each day just because you're alive and you have another chance to make someone happy. You'll be surprised at how contented that makes you, but when you've done your good deed, throw away the scorecard. It only diminishes your own happiness to keep score.

Don't put off life waiting for the right conditions, the right moment, the right feelings, the right person, the right anything...don't stall, live. Just live. Throw off the shackles of fear and the illusion of security. You don't have to realize your dream world of tomorrow to enjoy life today.

Windows to the soul

2009-05-12T10:52:00.005-07:00

Why are all window washers crazy?

I have been through two different window washers at my store in the last month. The windows do not need washing more than once a month and my original guy charged $15 each time. My pane launder quit to go be a professional game show contestant. The employees tried to wash the windows, but according to them, “I didn’t have the right equipment.” Buying the supplies was going to cost me over $50.00.

Streaks and spots make the store look dirty so I acquiesced when a man with a heavy Dutch accent came into the store. His pitch included the fact that the Dutch are the cleanest people on the earth, thus the best window swabbers. He seemed weird, but harmless, as are most my customers. We agreed on a $30 price, because of the desperation of my windowsills. He came back the next day, which just happen to be the hottest day in Pismo history. 105-degree winds blew thru my back window from the ocean. It was so hot, the computers just shut off. He sweated and grunted. He dripped on my copy machine. He also spent a lot of time on his cell phone arguing loudly in that clean Dutch language. He was over 60 and hitting on my 20-year-old employees. He broke my neon “Fax and Copy” sign.

My other washer took all of 15 minutes to do all my windows, in and out; this guy was on his second hour when I finally left to go have lunch somewhere air-conditioned. My employee called my phone while I was gone. She said he finished and demanded to be paid $90. I was not there, so he threw a fit, scared some customers, so she paid him out of the register, and told him to take off. He said he would be back every month. I was pissed.

Having just taken a bath from this guy, I called and told him NEVER to return. He didn’t understand. We argued and argued. I hung up on him. He still comes into my store and tries to get us to let him wash the windows. I have had to throw him out four times. He sends me emails, offers to do windows free. He calls, I hang up.

So while out fighting with City Hall the other day (yes, I won again! Long live the Red Head who will fight parking meters to the death) a new window washer comes in. He tells my new manager he can do all the windows for $30. In and out. She agrees, half way thru the first window, she realizes he is talking to himself. Not in a mumbling way, actually having an argument with himself. Then he says the owner across the street has murder in her eyes. What? She is a sweet girl. Then he talks about the aliens. When I walk in, he has his stuff strung out all over the store. There are streaks on windows he just finished, there are screens lying in the middle of the store.

I immediatly fire him, but he will not leave either. He keeps writing his name on a piece of paper and telling me to check. Check what? We finally deploy the BIG DOG, Mr. Bayus and he chases him out.
I told the employees to buy a kit and learn to wash the damn windows. I think the ammonia has rotted all the “professional” brains.

Social Conscience

2009-05-08T19:12:00.003-07:00

This is a real commercial. It so insulting and backwards, it's almost genuine. I wish I would have made it. In California it would have to be like 10 different cultures, six different sexual orientations, and a couple of animal species, now that would be funny.

Adding to Camp Run-a-mock.

2009-05-07T10:34:00.010-07:00

Puppies. The definition brings to mind delight, joy, and elation. Cute floppy-eared, big-eyed babies traipsing through the daises. In reality, it is a biting, shitting, peeing and sleeping machine. Same with babies, cute in design, a whole other level in practicality.

Our dear departed Dakota had been with God and not howling at our table for a year and it was time to get a puppy. We have discovered through the years, that the old dog teaches the puppy its most valuable assists. Being practical people who have seen the value a well-trained dog, we decided to to let Tripper, our current genius, pass on his wisdom to a new puppy. Our current dog can open doors, thus never requiring us to get up at ungodly hours like 9:00 am to let him out. He can surf, chase shore birds, but not hurt them. Bark when a bad guy is at the door, but squeal with delight when it is a friend. He also stops us from fighting. For a raised voiced or an initial insult will result in a bitten ankle. He takes himself for a walk when we are too injured, drunk or lazy to attach his leash and is always back at our front door within 30 minutes. These traits have been handed down by three generations of dogs, and not of the same breed. It is a miracle of training, instinct, and determination.

We ventured to a residence that housed eight puppies that we were sure one would capture our hearts. When we came upon the front year, our first thoughts were chaos. Big wheels and bikes littered the yard, cat houses with fringe, food bowls and catnip lined the front porch. Upon entering the house, we saw three fish tanks, one boa constrictor, a rabbit cage in the kitchen and two parrots. There were also five assorted children from a bawling toddler to 9-year-olds with eyeliner and too much attitude on. Five adult dogs scratched at the back door. The puppies were housed in the laundry room with a baby gate keeping them from the general population.

We hopped the gate and squatted Indian style with the puppies. They were sleepy, but easy to wake. Huskie, Malamute and Rottweiler mixes with icy blue eyes. The epitome of cute. They nipped at our lips, chewed on our hair and sleeves, and won our hearts. Then they begin to pee, a shocking thing to me, they stopped eating our shoes to squat and pee. Then the poop started. Next thing I knew I was covered in puppy pee and poop. It was on my key chain, in my hair, soaked into my pants and covering my sweater. Gary was covered in more shit and looked worse.
We escaped the puppy prison and all but ran like we were on fire out of the house, thanking the nice people for their hospitality. When we got to the car, I made us both change, right there in the street. No puppy shit was going to soil my Jag. All I had for Gary was a tie-dye mu mu, but he dawned it without too much fuss. While giggling and changing, we agreed that anything that sat in its own shit was not welcome in our house.
Here is the funny part, we were these people not five years ago. I had 4 fish tanks, three dogs, two cats, 15 birds, 2 rats, 2 lizards and uncountable amount of children. In the midst of it, we never thought to be bothered. Picking up shit of many species was a daily event. Now it is not even an option, no matter how cute the depositor is.
We are going to the pound to find a nice, potty trained dog for Tripper to train. He will be grateful and good because we saved his life. Or maybe we will just let Tripper live out his life as the king of the castle.
When the Grand babies come, the shit rule will stay in effect. I will keep them until they are soiled and then call their parents. I am out of the shit game.... forever.

Hostage

2009-05-03T18:00:00.004-07:00

Hostage. A word and state that can inspire fear or lust. I like being held hostage by a horny husband with a new toy and a couple of hours sans clothing. I like being held detainee at a party when the tequila, great food, friends, and hysterical conversation make it seem like you are never going to leave. I like being held, as an inmate by a sales lady at Nordstrom’s who satisfies your every retail need while using the husbands’ credit card.

I don’t like being a retail hostage. Where the blaring Open sign screams to the world that you are at the customers beck and call until the close sign drops. Although I have a great sign I put on the door that reads “Gone to fight with my husband, back in 10 minutes” works wonders. However, I’m a capitalist pig that wants every nickel I can squeeze out of the world, so I have to be sure I am going to win a fight before I close the store during regular hours.

I detest being a cable hostage. For three days now, the internet/cable company has made an appointment with me to come and fix the snow the permeates my TV and “Sorry, Internet Explorer” is all I am surfing. Three days, each with three-hour windows, I have been held captive. Computers call me to confirm and then nothing. No knock on the door, no dog barking uncontrollably, no cable butt crack showing as he climbs behind my TV. Today after the fourth hour of waiting and doing chores I fully intended on avoiding, a computer called me to have me take a survey on how I felt about the cable company’s service. I scared the computer with my profanities. The deadline has past and we are on tomorrow as any hope of being hooked back up to the 21-century technology.

Here’s the funniest part, each time I talk to a rep, they have to try and up sell my on more products I should buy from their company that won’t work. I have officially abused over 10 telephone operators so far.

So I am tying my husband to the bed, bringing out the new toys and going to be the master over a hostage. Today. Who knows how I will deal with it tomorrow.

Twitter ADD

2009-04-27T20:45:00.005-07:00

I find myself ADD- writing- impaired. I have embraced Facebook, Twitter, and the blogging to the point where all my free time and creative, witty comments are reduced to 140 characters or less. I like the challenge and find myself honing smart ass comments and sharing private intimate moments that I wouldn't have dreamed of before Twitter.

It is like an addiction. I want to shock, entertain and make the world see me. Kind of like cocaine was in the 80's. With the powerful powder I was convinced I was the smartest, funniest person in the world and everyone wanted to know how I felt about everything. Those not on coke, found me drool and narcissistic. They were right. I am drool and narcissistic. Show me an author who isn't. Without our delusions of grandeur we would never tap out our tomes. We would work for someone else and talk about how we always wanted to tell stories.

So all this ADD checking threads on my IPhone while trying to shock and impress is making me neglect my writing and yet at the same time making me more succinct. What a concept, a succinct narcissist with no personal boundaries. I might just make it as an author. Thanks Twitter for bringing out the real Teri without sending her to jail or the hospital. To hell with the circus, I'm running away to join the world.

Follow me at twitter at teribayus.

Battling The Bank, the joy of a small business!

2009-04-22T12:49:00.004-07:00

I own a small business. Translated,that means it makes no money. It is a Mail and Parcel store, so everything I sell, you can get somewhere else cheaper. We keep the doors open by offering Extremely Good Customer Service.

We have resolved ourselves to the fact the business exists only for:
1. To keep me entertained with the Pismo Beach native happenings.
2. Keep my children employed.
3. To house my husbands business, keeping his office expenses down.
4. The doggie treats and toy box for kids (every child gets a toy and every dog a treat). I get a chance to oodle them both.

There is no profit, nor has there been since I bought it in 2000. But I enjoy it and as long as it doesn't cost me money, we will keep it.

Sometimes the frustration factor of dealing with the business outweighs the small benefits.

Like when my employees all called in "stoned" for 4/20 (a national stoner holiday) so I was forced to deal with cranky non-stoned people all day.
UPS claims drive me nearly insane. Some guy brings in a box full of liquor (that he packed with one hand towel) insures it for $300. The UPS man juggled it and dropped it all the way to Arizona and when the potent liquid came oozing out, threw the whole thing away. It is illegal to ship alcohol. Now this man wants his $300 insurance. I try calmly to explain that he could have a SWAT visit from the ATF if he persists, but he doesn't care, he wants his money.

I had a man sue me once for $40.00 (the filing costs him $30.00) because I was mean to him. I hauled my ass to court with 200 pages of facts, only to have the judge rule in his favor, because he didn't feel businesses like mine should exist. What??

Now I am in a heated battle with the bank. They are idiots, Worldwide idiots who bought the small local bank that is next door to me. Same employees, who I call my friends, but with new BIG bank rules. They changed the rules and do not show you what is posting (being taken from the account)until midnight. But you only have to 7:00 pm to deposit money. In a normal world I would know what is presenting, but I don't live in a normal world and have 8 different shipping companies dipping into my account daily.

I thought I had put in place overdraft protection, but they are not honoring it. Bottom line, they have over $300 of my hard earned money in Overdraft charges. So I called the man I was told was the only one who could erase these ridiculous fees. Mid conversation, I realized that I had just told on my friends next door to their boss. I tried to back peddle and tell him I only called to have the charges reversed. He wanted a full report on his employees.
SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!
I cried and begged him not to call and "discuss me" with my friends (who are powerless and trying like crazy to help). I hate snitches now I was one.
SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!

Today is not a good day to own a small business. I am going to start selling liquor to elementary schools.

Random Act of Kindness

2009-04-21T11:26:00.005-07:00

The weather is here and I wish I was beautiful. It is 85 degrees with no wind and I should feel joyous. I live in paradise. Last night we watched the most amazing sunset over the ocean after a spectacular Italian meal.
I am feeling blue nonetheless.
Maybe it is the miserable, sexually confused woman who keeps dragging us into court on worthless and pathetic charges.
Maybe it is the fact that the bank just raised our mortgage, with no more explanation besides they can?
Maybe its because I have to take my son to court AGAIN today.
Maybe its because my husband is SUPER grumpy with his gimpiness and quite ready to be riding in the ocean and not hobbling.

But I am picking up my chin, and going to go out there with a positive attitude. I am going to practice One Random Act of Kindness to someone who doesn't expect it. I'm going to hug the mailman or feed the meter for someone or buy groceries for a starving family. Not sure what yet, I'm going let the moment take me and surprise all.

You should do the same: One Random Act of Kindness and report back here. I dare you.

Empty Nest Joy

2009-04-20T17:17:00.009-07:00

WARNING!!!!******ADULT CONTENT**************
DO NOT READ (ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE A CHILD OF MY MINE OR MY MOTHER) IF YOUR ARE A PRUDE.

My husband and I had a grown-up weekend that involved nudity and getting to know each other in the most intimate of ways. We are empty nesters now and this is what we dreamed of for 25 years. We locked the dog outside, turned up the radio, and brought out pleasure enhancement accruements. I like this new period in our life, it is like we are dating, yet know each other very well. We also can use things to enhance our pleasure that are not prohibited but not a good idea to have when you have minors in the house. A mothers biggest fear is to hear “What is the big pink thing under your bed?”

When the kids were younger, a long Disney movie meant some snuggle time, that was usually interrupted by an errant child looking for a spoon. When we locked the door, we told them we were reading. Then my daughter told her teacher that she didn't get her homework done, because her parents were "reading in their room" all weekend. It inspired us to tell her we were making love. She would never share that with the teacher. Instead she said her homework wasn’t done because her parents were too playful and loud when naked.

When my son jumped off the couch and broke his arm, I had double trouble, because I had just decided to tie up my husband using new knots and old scarves. I had to get the kitchen scissors out so we could go to the hospital.

One time the kids weren’t home and we tried making it on the hammock. It was attached under the eves of the house. While we frolicked and giggled, the swing gave way and we fell to the hard concrete. The eves came crashing after us, crushing and breaking two of my fingers. As I bled enroute to the hospital, I begged him to come up with a better story than the truth.

We had to sneak to have sex all over the place and their wasn’t a safe phone booth or closet in our hometown. We even made love in a public swimming pool (do not tell me about the germs involved, I was horny). My husband practices spontaneous chivalry, which meant if we were consummating our relationship outside, I was the one with pine needles in my back or sand in places I couldn’t reach.

Now we are older, our bodies have grown, but our passion has not faltered. We have time to enjoy each other and experiment. Well, I like too…… husband is not fond of buzzing, pinching, or whirling things. As the dog howled at the back door, the neighbors turned up their stereos and we had a loud and libelous weekend! Empty Nest is better than it sounds.

Acholi Beads

2009-04-17T18:44:00.007-07:00

The cool thing about living in a beach town is the people who are attracted to the sea. Millionaires, free spirited abode challenged peeps, artistic hopefuls, surfers and beach bums all grace this hamlet by the sea and we all get along. One particular couple I adored from the first visit was Jessica and Clayton Connolly. They moved to Shell Beach and didn't know anyone, so they put together a dog show called "Best in Shell". The concept was to bring your mutt and his unique genius and win a prize. Beach running pooches all came to show off. They met new people and started their tribe.

Then they started a business (or started working with a family member, I'm not clear of the particulars) called Acholi Beads. They distributed beads necklaces, bracelets and earrings all made with paper by the Acholi Tribe in Uganda. Last year they poured over $50,000 into the Acholi tribe, a feat that would have taken the tribe working in the rock corry 25 years to match.

Acholi Beads is a company I do business with, we do their boxing and shipping to their distributors. I give them the boxes for free and my cost on the shipping. I will do anything to help this great cause. The jewelry is beautiful and helps so many people that we would be unable to reach out to otherwise. It is a global wish come true and I am proud to be associated with the company and the Connolly's. They put the cool in cool.

Here is a video showing the company and its purpose. Website is http://acholibeads.com/

Acholi Beads Glimpse: Stepping Stones from James Pearson on Vimeo.

Estate Sale Heaven!

2009-04-16T17:42:00.009-07:00

Estate sale Heaven today- a Lady who died at 98 and had a serious shopping problem and no husband -left us 6 rooms of clothes, shoes, purses and girly goodies for me to paw thru (there was even a fine selection of vibrators). She shopped mainly at Nordstrom's. I filled my trunk with clothes, shoes and purses and plan to go back tomorrow. This was a woman possessed with fashion. Each outfit was labeled when she wore it, what shoes and jewelry went with it and where she bought it. Impressive organization. Mostly it was all new with the tags. Gorgeous beaded dresses, female tuxes, Jimmy Choo matching purses and shoes, wigs, jewelry, furs and it all was tasteful and beautiful. The clothes spanned the years and her sizes, going from petite to 18 wide, as a woman's body is ot to do.

In the garage she had 12 tables of vintage Christmas items, and over 100 Santa dolls. One room had 300 dolls. Chrystal wear, 4 full sets of dishes and 6 tables of silver serving items. My favorite items was a sign that read "Don't let life get you down, that is what men are for."

This was a woman who lived life on her own terms without the guide or nuisance of a husband. I dig that about her. Some people were appalled by the gluttony of her shopping. I was impressed. How many of us fall into the false hope that a man will complete us? When really all they are good for is taking out the trash?

Most bad things that happened to me were because of men. By that I mean, my obsession with men- made bad events emerge. A designer suit from Nordstroms wouldn't ever hurt me, leave me or steal my heart. She died with more money than she could spend and now a charity is taking the proceeds from the estate sale and the house. I see a full life -lived well. Thanks Silvia for the Treasures.

What to do with Junk Mail and Annoyance

2009-04-15T21:03:00.003-07:00

I took the What kind of Wine are you? On FaceBook quiz and the result is Puligny Montrachet
stating: “You are the ultimate, sophisticated wine lover. You enjoy the elegance of what wine delivers and will pay money for the beautiful notes of a special glass of wine. Wine to you is an experience and not one to be taken lightly.”

How is this possible to sum up my wine personality in six questions? Why do they do this? Is it the ultimate marketing investigation? They have hundreds of quizzes and ask you to group your favorite movies, songs, TV shows, dogs, etc. I can't believe I fell for this insipid time waster.
These lists are then sold so we can be spam, junked mailed and faxed to death. Creative and vindictive girl that I am, I found a solution to these pesky paper problems.

Everyone knows about the famous Burning Man event. People go to the desert and experience elevated art, liberated love, and freedom. My friends that have gone worship it. They are sisters of Perpetual Self-Indulgence. My best friend has a business catering to the costumes and the accruements needed to survive in the painted-desert for 10 days it’s called Prism Magic. She sells petty coats, tie-die, costumes, solar ovens, survival kits, and an array of Modern Hippie Clothing. I will go to Burning Man someday, but husband hates crowds. I fear naked people.

Meanwhile we have a smaller version with a specific purpose we do in our Dunes every year. We call it Burning Mail. It amazes me how much printed material we have.
We make a huge pile of junk mail that we have all collected during the year (last years was over 20 feet tall and 6 feet wide) and we burn it. We drink wine, dance around the flames and watch two for one offers burn, burn, burn. We Run from the burning ash and go home after 11:00 with our hair smelling of campfire.

It feels good, even vindictive to the companies who consistently fill our mailboxes with junk we will never read or use. Now if we could just come up with the same cathartic answer to email spam. I would love to see “Want to show her your man stick, click her for Viagra” …….burn, burn, burn.

A couple of weeks away from the Blog give you deep thoughts

2009-04-14T22:40:00.002-07:00

Now that is has been two weeks since I gave myself permission to sit down and blog, because I had to finish my “serious” writing. My brain feels rusted. It doesn’t help that I am NEVER alone. From the 6 AM contractors banging in my kitchen, to the gimpy-sprained ankles husband, to the retail hostage that must stand up in the middle of a brilliant tome to sell a stamp to an asshole that wants to know why its .42 cents, I am surrounded day and night. I am having a hard time with complete sentences. So I am going to impart little pieces of unfinished wisdom's that I’ve been jotting down.

Dog's will always love you more than any human, enjoy and appreciate that.

The first half of our lives is ruined by our parents, the second, buy our children.
The third by the neighbors barking chi-wawa

I base my fashion choices of what doesn’t itch or bind.

Having children is like have a bowling alley installed in your brain.

I’ve never been drunk, but often over served.

If you look good and dress well you don’t need a purpose in life

Two best sellers at the book store: Cookbooks and diet books. Cookbooks tell you how to prepare and the diet books tell you how to not eat any of it.

A gourmet who thinks of calories is like a whore who looks at her watch.

50-year-old men should not jump 20-foot dirt ramps on a motorcycle. If they do, they should not be surprised that they need to be carried up the stairs for three weeks.

People who hire their daughters boyfriend to paint the house should not be flabbergasted when she breaks his heart, the painting declines.

Dogs who eat painters putty have problems shitting for weeks.

Wine and Xanax is a good mix for stressed out natives as long as they have a ride.

I love people who are 100 percent authentic, even if that means they are assholes.

Marriage, Work and Remodeling

2009-03-28T17:29:00.001-08:00

It destroys one’s nerves to be amiable every day to the same human being. It makes it harder when one is married to their business partner. Thrice as bad when you are remodeling. He screams: “We are out of money and I am sick of these guys! Do something!” His birthday (50th, but he only looks 30) is coming and he is suffering a major breakdown in personality, patience, and sense of humor.

We are ignoring the whole event and going to a business broker convention in San Francisco. He will hang out with the suits and pocket protector guys teaching them the nuances of escrow, I will explore thrift shops and restaurants in the Castro district.

House is a week (meaning a month) away from done. We are in the home stretch and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel without half the house in the driveway.

Do you want to know what color we painted our house? Look at our dog. He has linen white on his tail, burgundy on his withers, toasted pecan on his head, and barn red on his feet. As the painters spread the new colors -the dog rubs wags and bumps his way to being a calico.

When the house is done, what will I find to complain/write about? It is down to the kids and the husband.

How to Support My Blog

2009-03-28T14:13:00.002-08:00

Dear Supporters, If you like or relate to my writing, blog, twitter, facebook musings......................

Here's what you can do:

Link my blog to your blog

Bookmark me

Subscribe to me, (see how under by clicking Post)

Send my blog to your friends

Ask me to join your Facebook or follow my Twitter

Send me buckets of money

Send my blog to your publisher spouse and tell them no more sex until my book becomes a best seller.

Send me an email telling me to just keep trying.

The Sound Of Children

2009-03-25T19:09:00.007-08:00

We live across the street from an elementary school. I chose this house because of its proximity to the ocean shore (10 blocks) and the assured scheme that I would hear children laughing, screaming, and playing from dusk till dawn. I love the sound of children. The cacophony of the sounds of their interactions always brings joy to my heart. Plus the playground is a huge grassy “backyard” for my dogs to romp around every day. I sit mid morning and listen for the bell to ring. The children charge with delight out of their rooms and then the orchestra of fighting, playing, laughing, running and earsplitting joy that is children at play. I love every decibel . Besides the sounds of the waves on the shore, I’m sure there is no better sound.

When my children were little, I took them to the park every day. In the midst of motherhood/exhaustion/fear, I always felt I should be somewhere else. I should have been working or making them read the classics, or learning to play an instrument. I thought the park was a waste of time. I loathed chasing them thru the jungle gym and pushing them HIGHER on the swings. Now that they are grown, it is my one wish. That someone would ask me to the park, to run and tag them, to do an “under-doggie.”

I also miss bedtime stories. After I had read a book at thousand times, I would make up my own stories, staring my children as the brave prince or the damsel in distress. Every night they were different and ongoing. They loved it; I thought it a waste of time. Now I miss every second and long to have my husband take out his earplugs and beg me for a story.

I guess that is what Grand kids are all about. You finally slow down enough to witness joy.

Remodeling TOOOOOO Long

2009-03-25T09:47:00.003-08:00

So the water heater committed appliance suicide and then a week later, the heater did the same. Gary took his first shower down stairs in the NEW bathroom and the water leaked out of the shower so bad, it ruined the new floor and moulding. When we replaced the glass doors with a new novelty shower curtain they (College Nincompoop) neglected to tell us that splash guards are required. Husband is now obsessive compulsive about every change, color and the fact we are running out of money. He is a joy to be around.

You know you’ve been remodeling too long when:

All my bookmarks are color swatches from endless trips to the paint store.

Everyone at Home Depot knows me by name.

I refuse a dinner invitation because all my shoes are in a garbage bag in the garage.

I become used to locking the bedroom door before I leave every day so the workers won’t find the Bong or prescription drugs.

I’ve grown fond of the brown paper covering the floor, and have come to accept it as my primary flooring.

I’m accepted that are no cupboard doors, you can see all the food and I like that.

The dog is excited for me to leave, because that means he has a crew of 5 men to beg from that will be here all day. He will be accidentally let out so he can roam the neighborhood getting in trash cans and eating cat shit at least twice.

I welcome the sound of men in my house at 6:30 AM and like the smell of paint.

I wish I was back living on the Sailboat.

Drunken Rain Musings

2009-03-21T16:17:00.005-08:00

New musings from a twisted mind full of nachos and wine on a raining day by the beach.

I have a new philosophy- I’m only going to dread one day at a time.

Who, besides strippers, wears a Yellow Feather Boa to a Rotary event?

I would get pregnant again if I knew I would have puppies.

I have found if I really want something, it appears at a garage sale on Saturday. This week I wanted a new husband. Didn’t like what I found on the .25 cent table.

Kids only call to talk to you if they want money or food.

I am trying to rearrange my life so I don't have to even be present.

Why at conventions (mass people events) the chicken always tastes like rubber and the fish is over cooked?

I hate name tags.

The uterus is a tracking device.

If a contractor says a job will take about two weeks, figure three months.

Is it morally wrong to let suckers keep their money?

(Should be across my husbands forehead) A sure sign of a nervous breakdown is thinking that your work is terribly important.

Why do writers write? Because it is there.

There is no thief like a bad book.

Do You Know Who I Almost Am?

Twitter'holic

2009-03-20T14:18:00.005-08:00

I am abusively Facebooking, Twittering and Bloging. Each Morning, before I pee, I check four email addresses, Facebook, Twitter and see if I have any new comments on my blog on my Iphone. Then I get to the office and check it all on the computer over and over during the day. After work I am on my laptop until midnight, sitting in my chair, drinking wine where I make Facebook comments and misspell every other word. I think about Twitter more than Sex.

I'm obsessed. It could be a stupid and insipid waist of time, but I am digging it and the possibilities. What possibilities I'm not sure. I am searching for interesting, old pictures to make my point. I'm carrying a notebook and jotting down interesting events. I'm reading a book on comedy, to sharpen my sarcasm. My girlfriend Twittered that they had college classes on how to market businesses with Social Marketing.

People I have lived without for 20 years are now back in my life and I know their every move. Old boyfriends and unwelcome family members have found me. It is a transparent life, I'm not sure why I am doing it. I initially started, to jump start and promote my writing. Which it has, but I am so exhausted from writing on all the apps all day long, I'm not working as long on the real stuff (maybe this is the real stuff)!

My children make fun of me, my husband is irritated. Even the dog is pissed. At the beach last night, I Twittered instead of throwing sticks. But I know what Ryan Seacrest, Joss Whedon and the Redneck Mommy are doing at all times. This is valuable - right?!??

Funny Video-

http://current.com/items/89891774/supernews_twouble_with_twitters.htm

Color Crisis

2009-03-19T11:29:00.006-08:00

I’m having a color crisis. We are down to the wire with the bottom half of the house; everything is done but two walls painted and the doors hung. I might even get my bathroom back this weekend.

We had two colors picked out for the hall walls. A Burgundy accent wall and a tan coming up the stairs. At 11:00 PM the other night, husband said the tan was to dark. That two of the stairway walls had to be lighter. We sifted threw color books for hours and came up with a green/gold. Got up at the crack of dawn and ran to the paint store to buy it (I never know when the painters will show up- sometimes is 7:30- sometimes not until after noon- they have seen me in my robe with coffee in hand more than my husband has.)

Brought it home, painted a test patch on the wall. It looks like baby poop. That special color that shows up in their diapers when they first start eating solid food. We tried it at dusk, under the chandelier light; it still looks like infant shit.

So up again when the birds are still nesting looking for a new color. This time we went with a sea blue. Husband painted a swatch. I hate it. Looks like a babies room. Not at all the warm atmosphere I’m going for.

You can’t take paint back. We had them add more black to the baby shit, so we could use it in the garage (now it is a camo flavor). The painters are supposed to finish today, I don’t want to hold them up, but I hate the blue. I don’t want to survive this entire remodel to have a color that makes my eyes bleed every time I see it.

Husband now refuses to deal with it; throwing a hissy fit, “I’m too busy to deal with paint, it must wait until tonight. He trusts me, make a decision", he barks. Fine, the colorblind girl will decide what color is best to stare at for the next 10 years!

My Favorite Ducks

2009-03-18T18:07:00.006-08:00

It’s tough to know when it is spring in California. The weather is consistently 75 degrees with warm days (80-90) happening in January. It rains for only two weeks every year, sometimes gets windy, but other than an occasion fog bank, the weather is always the same. The vegetable fields have four yearly growing seasons; Farmers Markets are every week, all year. We only wear Uggs after being in the ocean (or your feet sweat offensively). Schools purchase mountains of ice to simulate snow for beach bum kids to playing for an hour until it melts for Christmas.

But at my Store, I have a sure sign of spring in two wild Mallard Ducks. For the past 8 years, they show up as my springtime revelation. They come for an hour everyday, flying in from marshes unknown. They announce their arrival by waddling in the store and quacking “ciao.” This event supersedes all work, clients, or appointments, for I must stop and smell the ducks. I love these ducks.

They let me pet them (the girl more than the boy) and eat right from my hand. They stand in the door and quack until I produce food, so after their first visit, I always have a loaf of bread standing by. I have been feeding them the gourmet Italian bread from the bakery across the street since their first visit. I tried duck food purchased at Farm Supply, but they turned up their beaks and refused to eat it.

They splash, drink and play in the water bowl I have out for them. But they also shit all over the front of the store. A stopover requires at least four wash downs with the hose, to keep my customers from tracking it in the store. Duck poo is a slimmy version of seagull feces. It’s watery and messy and they drop copious amounts around and in the store. My husband hates this and has tried to discourage me claiming “A non-professional” environment. Fuck him and his suits, I love the ducks. He almost fired an assistant once for feeding them crackers from her desk. I put duck slime in his sandwich.

One year the girl duck came alone and then after a week brought two scraggly looking boy ducks that she wouldn’t let eat. She ended up with Bachelor #1 and 6 ducklings. They do stop traffic as they waddle across the street (and always in the cross walk). It is the joy of a diminutive city, to stop and enjoy the Ducks.

This year, I squealed with delight at their return, but only had pita bread fresh and homemade by a mastermind lady from Jordan. They didn’t like it, so I ran to the bakery to get a loaf of bread. The owner of the bakery was in the middle of the street talking to my car detailer (It is a small town and we spend a lot of time in the middle of the road gossiping) as I exited the bakery with the white bag in hand. They both knew it was for the Ducks and asked excitedly if they were back. Just then, the girl duck flew to meet me in the middle of the street, quacking an octave higher. I yelled at her to get outta of the street and ran towards the store so she would follow; she did, as did the boy. The Baker and Washer laughed at my trained duck act and came over to scatter crumbs for them.

In a couple of weeks, she will have hatchlings that follow her thru the bank parking lot (next door) to my store to bathe in my water and eat crumbs. All the business owners will watch the streets, slowing traffic so they will not get hit. They are the characterization of cute. All conversations surround the ducks. We talk about the adorable curlyq’s of the boys’ feathers and the weird lump on the girls’ front throat. We grow very fond of them and worry when they are an hour late. Then they all fly away and we miss every part of them except the duck slime on the ground.

As everyone who comes in the store wants to know:
Yes, they are the same ducks
Mallards live up to 30 years and mate for life
No, I haven’t named them
Yes, my husband hates them
No, I don’t care!

No Water Heater! I'm scheduled for Implosion!

2009-03-15T19:36:00.006-08:00

The world is a mess and I just need to rule it.

I woke up Sunday morning to the sound of water running downstairs. I was so excited that my husband had moved back into his bathroom (it is almost done) and was washing his balls and long tresses downstairs. But when I sauntered down the stairs, he was sitting at his desk, watching Internet porn and not bathing (or waxing).

We went to investigate the running water sound. We went out in the back yard and pouring from the hot water heater closet (which most importantly houses my husbands collection of every watercraft, and dirt bike magazine EVER MADE), was gushing hot water. The water heater had imploded, broke, and seemed destined to not exist. It was the rats fault. They chewed threw the bottom. We cursed the rodents, but really it was my husbands fault, because after both the cats died, he refused to get another. We saved the extraordinary magazines, but determined I would not be bathing at home, for a long while.

Sundays are the most expensive day to call a plumber, but we had no choice. $3300 later with three-week achievement estimation, we nodded our dirty heads in conformity. I am dirty, cold, and pissed. My husband suggested we go dirk bike riding, since I looked and smelled like a pig.

What better time for a trip to find an obelisk of a dirk bike track. We loaded the dog in the Geo and headed for dirt roads, sharp turns, and scary white guys with guns. With the motor head always comes the search for the perfect track. A well-seasoned track in the middle of nowhere with burms, jumps and whoopedees is paradise. We turned at the first dirt road – only to be chased off by a barking dog and gun totting toothless guy. Several turns and a bubbling radiator later, we got out and hiked. There was a fire pit; two old used condoms and a great vista, but no track.

We let the dog run into the tick-infested woods and I wondered why I follow this man anywhere.

As I clung to the handle of the car over the bumps and sharp edges of the track, I asked my self:

Why do people set out 15 signs directing you to a house for a sale, only to have the owner point a gun and have dogs charge with canines displayed?

Why does the plumbing always break on a Sunday when its time and a half?

Why when a computer/I Phone is crashing, it shows the manufactures logo? (Shouldn’t they be showing the competition in a crash?)

Why do they never have “full bars” when you really need them?

Why do dogs roll in any rotting shit pile of decaying animal?

Why do people only invite you to come and party with them only after they have been drinking?

Why can’t you get out of Costco without spending $100.00?

Why do contractors always take three times longer and five times more expensive then they proposed?

Why do tourists wonder aimlessly thru strange beach streets?

Why do you have to go Start to turn off the computer?

Sorry, I’m dirty (leaning on seasoned) and angry. My house is still unfinished, filled with boxes, half-painted walls, no hot water, and no end in sight. The cash flow is killing me!

Put A Cap On It!!

2009-03-11T20:12:00.002-08:00

I’m many things but I am not a cap person. The minute I unfasten something with a lid, it goes missing. I mean --nano seconds after it breaths its first taste on plastic-free air, its gone. Like little gnomes follow me around stealing tops off stuff. Toothpaste, hair spray, water bottles, vitamin bottles, wine corks, and bread ties, all vanished. I wonder around with things open and spilling, leaking and leaving stains. I try, but they just bounce out of my hands and go the way of that sock in the dryer.

My husband is not this way. He has the cap on hairspray he bought 8 months ago. Water bottles that he refills with our filtered water, that go back on repeatedly. He is a Folder too. I can’t fold a towel to save my life. He folds fitted sheets. Perfectly, with no wrinkles.

I don’t know if this is a genetic trait, done with training or just fear from childhood. His mother was scary; in that kind of way that sends people to therapy for years. Mine was scary but in the way of jumping out from behind a door with ratted hair and screaming scary. She was fun, but unpredictable. I think his intimidating mom is where he learned his cap keeping, towel-folding skills.

With the remodel (yes, it is still going on) we are sharing a bathroom. His stuff is large in quantity, but very neat and has all the caps. My toothpaste oozes, my shampoo leaks and my deodorant is all over the place, caps are all gone. I used his hairspray today and tried to put the cap back on and it lept out of my hand. I wrangled it from behind the toilet and placed it back, only to have it jump suicidal into the toilet pool. I fished it out and washed it off.

I teased him about the cap thing. Then he saw the price tags on the bottom of my shampoo (I loose the caps, but cannot pry a price tag off to save my life) and he fainted. “$100.00 for shampoo? Who pays that for soap on hair? What is it laced with gold? 'Splain lady”.

I have thick hair, like a horse’s tail hair. Its red, its curly and left to its on devices would resemble a dead possum on my head. It needs organic shampoo so it doesn’t strike up like a rats nest. It needs to be tamed. Daily. Or I look like I just crawled thru the jungle. This takes good hair products and good hair products cost BUNCHES of money. He wants me to look nice, right? I’m only doing it for him?

“For that price, you could at least keep the cap on it!” Thus, the genetics conversation began.

Gluttony and Heaven- The Cass House

2009-03-10T19:09:00.009-08:00

Okay- so one of my jobs is writing about restaurants, finding new adjectives’ for delicious, and wonderful and fresh. I have to do it every week; some times, I have to eat at three shitty restaurants to get one good one to recommend to my readers. But some restaurants are SO FUCKING GOOD- that in my spare time I can’t NOT write about the meal. Plus in my papers, I can’t say FUCK and it feels good just to type it.

I had the most amazing meal last night at the Cass House in Cayucos. I have eaten there many times, reviewed them twice, blogged about them and worshipped them. Last night they out did even my expectations. It is hard to describe the food (except for this is what heaven must taste like) as it is complicated, yet simple. In season and yet influences from all over the world. You can taste every element of the dishes, even if it is a two-pronged sprig of mustard greens. I have reviewed restaurants all over the world and found none better.

We took our friend and Master Tress Architect, Robert. He has been wanting to join us in this culinary adventure since we started waxing poetically about this restaurant. The waiter Daniel- a master wine expert and nicest guy in the world suggested we should try everything on the menu, so we did. Everything except the soup and one salad--- and all with wine parings. We rolled out of there full and so happy, I was sure I was going to burst. At the end of the meal, we were talking wine and I showed Daniel my picture of the $700 bottle of wine and he said he would cut off a pinky for a taste of that wine-- wrong on that call (see earlier post).

We started with a bubble treat of a Spanish Cuvee, with an amuse bush (for those not foodies, it means a first “one bite treat” so loaded with flavor it opens up your tastes buds). A puff pastry filled with Spanish blue cheese, smoked duck breast, and a sprig of micro greens. This was an explosion of flavor and would open up even a smoker’s palette. Next, we had six Humboldt Bay Kumamoto Oysters, freshly plucked from the sea and oozing with flavor. So delectable that I cut my lip sucking them out of the shell. We put ponzo granita and a Satsuma mignonette on them. The sauce was so succulent the Boys kept it for bread dip.

Next dish was Veal Marrow and Toast- Yeah--just the big leg bone from a cow with the marrow inside cooked down to a consistence of gravy, spread on a hard toast with three different kinds of salt. A black salt from Maui, a red salt from Kona and a Polynesian white sea salt. The sprinkling of the salt did make a difference in the flavor and it was so good the Boys were sucking the marrow out of the bones to get every morsel. Next was a dish of braised pig trotters. The superior taste resembled the best pulled pork, only richer. We had a platter of four different cheeses, all mouth plummeting worthy of the Tempornilla that paired with them.
Next, Baranof Island troll caught King Salmon
Chicken Cordon Bleu
Portuguese Fisherman’s stew with chorizo, clams, mussels, and lingcod
Colorado Lamb Loin (done with a West Indian flavor)
Kobe Beef tamarind glazed shoulder
Seared prime strip loins with pomme puree (fancy mashed potatoes) with wild truffles
And Foie Gras and Sonoma Moulard duck.

We ate every bite, drank every pairing, and reveled in the gluttony of it all. We were the happiest diners on the planet. Then he brought desert.
Apple bourbon cake
Butterscotch toffee
Chocolate stout milk shake
Mocha pot de crème
Angel food ginger bread pudding with Clementine ice cream
And…… angel food cake with strawberry sorbet, and crème fraiche.

We ate for over 4 hours. The setting was serene, the staff fantastic, the food, none better in the world, I would take any bet on that. It was heaven; I don’t want to ever eat again for fear of cheating on this amazing chef. Nothing was made anywhere else. Everything that came out of the kitchen was prepared there. All the sauces, dishes, even desserts were done on premise. He must not sleep and prep 24/7.

If you live on the Central Coast, you owe it yourself to try the Cass House. Robert agreed and we walked down the pier to stave off undulating home. The crash of the waves and the full moon sealed the point that we had just experienced heaven.

Here’s the thing, the price point is not that high. One of the local specials was $35 for three amazing dishes. You can afford it.

Rant done. Bottom line, it was so F* %^&%^&%^$(##$%^%&*^*() good, my fingers would not write about anything else today.

Writers Love Lust for Joss Whedon

2009-03-08T13:00:00.008-08:00

If I could meet and have lunch with anyone in Hollywood, it would be Joss Whedon. I am awed by him, fascinated by him, want to be him, and especially want to jump inside his head and see how it works. I met Brad Pitt and was not fazed, (he is truly beautiful), but for Joss- I would sell my children. He is the genius behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, Dollhouse, and my new favorite- Dr. Horrible's Musical Blog. He also wrote Toy Story, Alien Resurrection, episodes of Roseanne, The Office, and The Tick. He has a new twisted movie coming out that is a Horror/comedy called A Cabin in the Woods. I own every episode of Buffy, Angel and Firefly. They are the material I study when I am have trouble with dialog. Even though his emphasis is on Sci Fi, Joss's writing is brilliant, fully realized and inspiring.

This guy can twist a phrase and plot a scene better than anyone. He is our modern day Shakespeare. If you are not a Buffy fan, you have never witnessed the genius of his writing. Start with Firefly- Netflix "The Firefly" series and then the movie.

I LOVE Dr. Horrible’s Musical Blog. It was written and produced during the writer strike, so it must stay as a blog. Starring Neil Patrick Harris (Doogie Houser) and Nathan Fillion it is a musical, superhero, comic, blog that is bizarre and wonderful. I love Joss Whedon (Platonic love...not crush love, I'll save crush love for Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Fillion). Dr. Horrible is fun. It's outside the box. It's quirky and adorable and several more synonyms for zany. Here's how my friend (who's never heard of Whedon) described it "Cute...but than kinda depressing."

The man has never done wrong by me, never made anything that was even slightly sub-par. Few of my favorite writers/directors can claim that (In fact...I think Joss is the only writer/director I have not been disappointed by even once!)

Here’s what he does. He invents a universe and all the rules of said universe. Then he makes his main characters with all their traits, quirks, goals. He knows what they eat for breakfast, what they would do in a fight, what drives them, how they feel about their mothers', even what kind of underwear they sport. From this he lets the characters draw him. His turn of a phrase is perfection. All who have worked with him adore him. This man can write a full season plan with plot twists and character arcs that rival Hitchcock.

I want to be him. I want to write with an open spirit and be damned the laws of the universe. First I would like to meet him.

Period Post (not for the sqeemish).

2009-03-08T12:13:00.006-08:00

The GIRL SCOUT COOKIES ARE HERE!

Little doe eyed wenches dressed in green standing out side the grocery store trying to ruin my life.

I caved in, bought three boxes and ate a whole box of Thin Mints in the car! Body prepare for a breakdown. I am going to be sick and it is the Girl Scouts fault.
Who taught these little tarts to solicit outside a store? Doesn’t this behavior lead to a life of prostitution, dancing on bars or drug sales? Pushing their wares on unsuspecting dieters and allergens, Little Bitches!!

Maybe it’s the period talking. After over 30 years of monthly bleeding, it still takes over my life. I’m bloated, grumpy, hungry, and bleeding. I have 15 kinds of pads and tampons in my cupboard, yet none of them does what the commercial promises. They do not make my life happier; they don’t keep my sheets clean at night or my underwear safe. AND THEY ARE NOT COMFORTABLE!!

I going back to the cookies, take a pain pill, drink a bottle of wine, soak in the tub, and then watch movies that make me cry.

Bad Singers Ruin A Good Day

2009-03-07T15:58:00.004-08:00

Puppy Shopping!!

Every week we go to Saturday Farmer’s Market. We see friends, artist, and customers and buy our produce for the week. The highlight is the farmers, they are all so helpful, and we get advice on how to cook their wares. It is a joy and we always say if we were traveling and found a market like this, we would talk about it for decades.

We buy a couple of freshly made tamales (Husband gets the one with Molé), fresh made chips, and pico de gallo. We buy a bottle of Coke that is bottled in Mexico, so it is loaded with sugar and tastes completely different from American version. For desert, we eat a basket of freshly picked strawberries. We sit on a bench and eat our treasures, surrounded by artwork, puppies, and people getting outdoor massages. It is heaven. Until it starts.

The Music. It is a guy with the synthesizer, a drum machine and a microphone and no rhythm. He is also tone death- but that doesn’t stop him from belting out old pop songs, mellow rock songs and classic country. Today he was destroying Green Day. He always covers Charlie Rich and Jimmy Buffett. Each reverberation is like a cat getting a bath. Everyone jokes about how bad he is, yet each week, the organizer of the market hands him a check. I want this job. To be horrible at your work and still be paid? I thought that was just for government workers.

Were are all the American Idol contestants? A loud radio would be better or a string quartet. Dogs howling, children screaming, anything would be easier on our ears.

We left and went to try a new BBQ joint in town. As we pulled up to park, a loud screeching sound came from the front of the restaurant. They had hired a “Blues” musician to play out front. AND HE WAS TERRIBLE. Doesn’t anyone audition these guys? We drove away never to try the BBQ.

If the writing thing doesn’t pan out I am buying a guitar and a sound system and I am going on the circuit playing nothing buy Carpenter’s and John Denver.

God and His Sense Of Humor

2009-03-04T11:17:00.006-08:00

Bad day, queen-of-the-fucking-universe bad day. My manager called in sick, then my son became ensconced in the circle jerk they call the Justice System. I cried at my desk, blew my nose on people’s faxes, and washed all my Bare Minerals from my face with tears.

My husband took note and escorted me to the beach. The best thing about living here is when times gets tough, we go to the shore and let the waves wash our cares away. The beach is two blocks from my retail jail, so I have no excuse not to go there everyday. Hell --people travel for hours for this, I get it everyday.

Wallowing in my pity party, a bushy tail up in the ice plants caught my eye. It was a Malamute and she looked exactly like my dear departed Takoda. I blink my tears, ask if my husband saw it too and we held our breath as this beautiful creature looped over to us. Angus (he was a boy) let us love him up, pet his soft-as-satin ears, rub his belly, and marvel at the size of his paws. No one could be sad in the presence of such a wonderful animal. He wagged my sorrow away. His owner came over to chat and we shared stories of Malamutes. Angus dug in the sand and filled my shoes with errant beach particles. Moreover, he wagged, and rubbed and loved me- the way only a Northern Breed could (that is if they choose too). It was almost like God saying lighten up, it will be okay. Angus sealed the deal that we would be getting a Malamute puppy.

Feeling better, we went back to my store.
In a small town, people don’t feel the need to lock their cars or even turn them off when going to the ATM. Our friend (The Listener) Lexus was running just outside my store and he was nowhere to be seen. My Husband decided to scare him. This is a regular occurrence and The Listener has not figured out that Gary will not stop fucking with his unattended car. So Gary hopped inside the SUV.
I went into the store to find The Listener shipping something. I helped and held in my giggle. Which was funnier, that the man was about to shit himself as Gary jumped up from his back seat or that Gary the busiest man on the universe was sticking to his joke, no matter how long it took?

The Listener went on his way; I walked him to the car, anticipating his hysteria. But he saw Gary’s car and asked where he was. I lied and said the bank. So The Listener went looking for him in the bank. Meanwhile all my employees are in on the joke and watching out the window, while The Listener walks away. Gary calls the store from his cell phone in the car. “Where is he?”

The Listener leaves the bank and we all duck behind the curtains so our eavesdropping doesn’t destroy the surprise.
He goes to his car, pauses, and then comes again in to my store. I am having a hard time keeping a straight face knowing that Gary is cramped in the front passenger seat up under the dashboard, now going on 15 minutes.
The Listener hands me a poster and asks about the up-coming music festival. I yeah, yeah, yeah him and hang up the poster.
The Listener leaves, heads for his car, just as Gary calls again, I scream “He’s coming,” and hang up.
The Listener walks passed his car and strolls down the street. We are laughing so hard in the office; no one can get anything done until this joke plays out. Gary calls again and says he has moved to the back seat, he was loosing all feeling in his legs under the dash. He tells me to find him.

I call The Listener’s wife to tell her what is happening, after she checks that his life insurance policy is current, she says proceed. But she wants to talk to The Listener, he doesn’t have his phone and she has an urgent need to talk to him. The Listener strolls again past his car and goes across the street and I yell that I have his wife on the phone and that she needs to talk to him. He gives me an Italian salute and enters the Mortgage Company.
Gary calls the store for an update and moves to the back of the car to stretch out and take a nap. When The Listener comes out of the office, I give him my phone so the wife can take a swipe at his brain. He hands me the phone and heads towards his car.
We have given up hiding at this point and are sitting on the swing in front of my store.
The Listener opens the car door, gets inside, puts on his seatbelt, starts the car, and adjusts the mirror (that Gary has knocked with his head) and then “RAAAAWWWWWW”!!!!! Gary jumps from the back seat and grabs The Listener’s head. I must say that he screamed like a girl. I nearly wet my pants.

Gary jumped out of the back seat and The Listener came after him. After a cacophony of screaming, laughing, and yelling, he hears that Gary has been hiding in the car for over 30 minutes. I don’t know which is funnier, the busiest man in the world taking 30 minutes out of prime selling time to scare the shit out of his friend or The Listener’s scream that is seared in my brain.

Back in the store and reflecting how God (and Gary) was trying to make my sorrow lighter by these two events, I get a call from my boy and there was a mistake and he is not in the hands of the Justice System. I’m relieved and amazed. Not such a bad day after all. Giggled until my stomach hurt.

Poking The Tiger

2009-03-03T21:11:00.005-08:00

I was stood-up, forgotten, passed on again by my clown (husband) who feels that clients are much more important than promises to his wife. This is the fourth week that we had set a date to make up for our VD dinner at The Cass House. At the last minute, he cancelled sighting an emergency meeting with a client. Four times!! Is this man stupid or just poking the tiger?

I think I’m going to leave him. OR BETTER YET, I think I will stay and be a raving bitch! Maybe a more sinister plan is to become a passive aggressive hag. I will wash his white shirts with my red towels. I will scrub the toilet with his toothbrush and then but it back in the holder. I will burn his tator-tots. I will give the dog diarrhea (which translates into a DISASTER in the backyard). I will talk in my sleep about other men. I will make Quiche every night for dinner.

Normally it wouldn’t bother me, but the faithful Jag would not start, so I had two choices:
1. Stay home with the painting/carpentry gang and try to write while they blasted rap/reggae music all with the tap, tap, tap of their hammering.
2. Have an employee pick me up and be a retail hostage all day.

I went for retail, spent the day wrestling software, arguing with little old ladies about the price their returns to QVC was going to cost and finding the biggest potato bug in history the back of a cupboard as I pulled out a ream of paper. When they restarted my heart, I had to notarize two divorces. These are always bad. Someone is forever pissed. One man cried as he signed every paper. The other let the children obliterate my store while the Plaintiff and him threw insults at each other.

I got a ride home at 6:30 hungry for this menu:

The Cass House

Bistro salad

Fried green tomatoes, frisee, baby radicchio, Nueske bacon lardons, green garlic dijon vinaigrette, farm egg

Maine lobster pot pie

Arborio rice, market vegetables, herb puff pastry

Chicken leg confit

Balsamic roasted spring onions, pomme puree, sherry jus

Angel food ginger bread pudding with clementine ice cream, sesame brittle

What I ate was sliced cheese and crackers. I did treat myself to a bottle of Foxen Syrah, to lessen the pain.

One of the newly single guys asked me out on a date after the ink had dried on his divorce papers, if I don’t get my rendezvous at the Cass House soon; I’m taking him up on it.

Garage Sales Tell A Lot About A Person

2009-03-02T19:01:00.006-08:00

You learn a lot about a person when you scrooge through their scrap. In my quest for matching bond books this weekend for a commercial, I am shooting on Thursday; I visited over 30 people’s driveways, lawns, and garages. I found that the stuff they were bequeathing to us treasure hunters told volumes about their past and presents lives.

Where else do you find a grown man Winnie The Pooh Costume?

At a sale where the woman used to be a seamstress.

Tell Tale Signs:
Born again Christians were throwing away all their old romance novels, wine decanters and ashtrays.
Newly married people had newly emptied out photo books, tons short skirts, and all the old mismatching dishes. The regeristing concept clearly works.
Mommies with three children screaming while circling the items on display yelling “Mine!” were selling all the baby items, hoping that they would never catch this horrible human condition again.
People who were moving into their first home were selling everything. With a fresh house comes fresh credit cards, and that old stuff was not making into the new abode.
People who were downsizing threw away everything of their grown children.
If a woman had a garage full of tools, toys and cars, she had clearly thrown the husband out.
If the man had candles, decorative pillows and many copies of “Mars and Venus,” he had thrown her out.
Crack heads with no teeth who sat under dark glasses even in the over cast conditions were selling everything that was not nailed down. When asked about the items they would say it was their roommate who was away at work.
College kids sold IKEA furniture so they could eat a good meal, happy to sit on the beanbag chairs and use concrete blocks and pressed wood for a table. They also had a ton of schoolbooks (which I got them to donate to my Boaters For Books charity).

The expedition was a blast and I was successful. I found two volumes of encyclopedia’s that the people were more than happy to GIVE me. Plants, Book shelves and frames to decorate the set, and a few guilty pleasures of my own. I look for books, movies, and interesting house wares. I found a couple of first editions that are slated to go on EBay once I recover from my last bout of on-line nonsense. I found over 10 DVD’s that are classic and hard to find (Best in Show, original Ocean’s 11 and Ally McBeal) and a stunning Moreno Glass Vase that was worth around $500 and I paid $2.00.
It was a good pirate day.

Thirft Store Treasures and the demise of Binded Information

2009-02-26T20:51:00.005-08:00

Another one of my income streams (or better known as a way to keep Teri busy so she doesn’t lose her mind, us ADD people make very productive adults) is video production. I specialize in non-profit videos that educate, entertain, and drive a point home. My best masterpiece to date was a video regarding teen children talking to their parents about sex. It is a one-hour homage to the generation gap and the inability of teens to speak in complete sentences or start any sentences with anything buy “He’s like…..” It ran on the local public access station for a year and because my Narrator did not show up, I was the talking head. People would come into my store and scream, “Aren’t you that lady that talks about sex on TV?” Yes a proud moment indeed.

I have been wrangled into a new production that includes a talking head trying to explain something that no one understands. All this without benefit of special effects or music. The subject is so serious; he insists that I have a whole wall of matching books behind him at all times. So guess what I’ve been doing for the last three weeks? Trying to locate an entire set of Encyclopedia Britannica. I originally wanted two sets, but I would be overjoyed just to find one. This is the one item that EVERY thrift store refuses to take. Garage sales have been known to pay you to take them away. With Google, who needs it? So these dusty vestiges of our past --are my ambition.

I spent four hours today in thrift stores, bought myself a beautiful hand made pot, my husband a camel hair jacket, my employee a pink matching storage units, the dog a new toy (he loves to rip the eyes out of stuffed animals and then take out all the stuffing. He loves it even more when it cries while he does it). No books, but lots of laughs when I asked the staff if they had encyclopedias, but no Britannica’s for my o’ so anal obsessive client.

My best friend and I entered a contest once to buy each other the tackiest thing we could find for under a dollar at a thrift store. She clearly won with her “Pancreatic Coffee Mug.” This ugly vessel was shaped like a pancreas and lemon yellow. It even came with a tag telling the virtues of the pancreas. I got her a corncob dressed like a cowboy. She even found a mate that was a pituitary gland. I was impressed and am still trying to out do her.

This weekend, I am up at the crack of dawn and off to every garage sale within 50 miles, because the client wants it, I love a good treasure hunt and Britannic deserves it. Fuck Google!

Self-Depreciating? Me? No Way!

2009-02-25T20:59:00.007-08:00

Husband says my writing is too self-depreciating. After trying to explain I was using irony to make a good story, he still did not get it. He doesn’t get the whole blog thing and is sure I am writing every day about his penis size (not that he reads the blog, but in case this is the one time he does, IT IS HUGE).

Here is me tooting my horn:

I’m a nutritional guru, juicing organic spinach, bok choy, collard greens, beets, mustard greens, apples, and oranges every morning (I feel I should be mooing instead of moaning during sex).
I buy only organic food visiting the farmers market twice a week (I also have secret runs to Taco Bell).

I try to bone up on nutrition. Here is irony. My latest trip to see a Doctor “talk” about nutrition and what you should be eating to live forever was hosted at the local IHOP. I had three orders of organic bacon.

I am a Food and film critic for three newspapers- but I am running out of adjectives for “spicy salsa.”

I was in the Circus for 6 years performing as a trapeze artist, an elephant rider, magician assistant and general pain-in-the-ass for all my South American brothers-in-law.

I have owned over 15 businesses, my first bar came with a dead body that had been parked in a van in the parking lot for 3 months (it’s cold in Reno).

I am now running three and trying to open another business(all the while trying not to kill my husband as our pillow talk almost always involves him bitching about an employee).

I raised my own kids and several fosters to become reasonable adults.

I drink an expensive bottle of wine every night trying to help my palette along. (Okay that was said just to piss him off).

BUT- my house is being remodeled and I feel completely discombobulated. My shoe rack was left out back and all leather items were ruined. Pink clogs now go with everything. Plus every item I own that resides on my bottom floor is in now my driveway. No end in sight. Screaming at the painters made them paint slower.

My house Cleaners haven’t been here in a month, they usually come once a week. This is the one luxury I have always found a way to afford. I feel like I’m swimming in my own filth.

I am out of sorts and a little down. Who wouldn’t be? Well the circus folks, but they live with elephant shit and roaring lions.

This is my son at 6 months with five baby tigers. Aren't I a great Mom!

Sushi on Food Stamps, Only in America!

2009-02-24T20:52:00.008-08:00

My oldest son has had a hard time for the last few years. The story is in my book, but is really his to tell. He was a talented motocross/Supercross rider and gave it all up for a different adrenaline rush. Bottom line, he is clean and sober taking it very seriously. However, with a felony still to be worked out (a crime he committed to only himself) and this wonderful economy, finding a job is almost impossible. Guys with PhD’s are not being hired at Wendy’s. He has reduced his enormous ego to wave signs on the road while dressed in a turquoise robe illuminating people where the best place is to hand over what’s left of their savings (otherwise known at getting taxes done). He’s done day labor, pulled weeds at mental hospitals, worked for Doggy Doo-doo business. He was hired for the census and starts in three weeks.

Now he is helping to paint and remodel our house. He refuses to take money from us, because he says he did all the damage (which is true, but a huge leap in his recovery to admit that). He reminds us that we don’t have to be alcoholic to go to 12-step meetings and maybe I should attend to deal with my anger at UPS. He is peaceful, gracious, and happy. Really happy, a Ray of Fucking Sunshine.

I love it, but in his blissful, calm, sober state, he is hungry. Ravenously hungry. He now weighs more than my husband does. I showed him how to use the food bank, the local church outreach that offers one hot meal a day and the Dollar store. Part of MY recovery is to show him how to help himself and not enable him by filling up his cupboards. When you have an addict in the family, everyone must learn to recover.

His probation officer told him to apply for food stamps. He asked if that was the right thing to do. “Wasn’t that system set up for Moms with three kids that were starving,” he asked. Probation guy told him that it was just as important to feed him and to get him back on track with nutrition. Restoring his health was part of the recovery. They gave him a small amount of stamps for the month and the first day he went to Von’s and shopped like a king. Hand rolled sushi, fresh potato salad, brand name chips with Pace. This was his loot and he was ecstatic. He ate every bite, all before 10 am and promised that his next visit would offer more restraint. Our government at work, making people happy, one at a time.

I know my republican friends will get pissed off at this story, but that food and the food stamps built some kind of respect that the drugs had taken away. He is not getting any more than I spend in one night out for dinner and it is the habit of picking out, purchasing and preparing his dinner that will help to make him heal. Then I promise he will make millions of dollars and pay it all back in taxes and helping the poor.

How to support my Blog

2009-02-24T14:10:00.005-08:00

Dear Supporters, If you support my Blog,

Here's what you can do:

Link my blog to your blog

Bookmark me

Subscribe to me, (see how under by clicking Post)

Send my blog to your friends

Explain to me how Facebook promotes this blog

Send me buckets of money

Send my blog to your publisher spouse and tell them no more sex until my book becomes a best seller.

Send me an email telling me to just keep trying.

The New Elite Drug- Expensive Wine

2009-02-24T11:47:00.002-08:00

Remember back in the 80’s when you were at a party and a buzz would go thru the room? People whispering to each other and then disappearing. This usually meant that someone had cocaine, if you could get a secret nod, you too could embark on the white power smart-fest. Now when a buzz like that goes through a room, it means someone has brought a VERY expensive bottle of wine, wants to impress and share but there is not enough for everyone. I want to be on that short list, but I don’t posses enough clout. Being a red head gets me some leeway in the “ballzy” category and people are not surprised when I wriggle my way into a situation I have not been invited too.

I followed the buzz to the garage, where there were 5 men, sitting in a Rolls Royce. Only the drivers door was open and I was not sure what they were all doing smooched in this elegant auto. “CDR” was the whisper I heard and had no idea what that meant. So I bullied my way into the car (I think they let me in so they wouldn’t seem gay being that it was all men in a small space). Once inside I experienced the supple leather of the Rolls, the amazing elegance of this hand made machine, that still sported an 8-track, but Boz Skaggs never sounded this good.

What they were hiding and doing in their “fort” was drinking a bottle of wine. A $700.00 bottle of wine. The main wine guy tried to explain to me what it was, but comments like French AOC and such bounced off my non-wine educated brain. He let me try a sip of the miraculous nectar. It was okay. Not as good as the hosts wine. I was an idiot and said this out loud. I was instantly kicked out of the Rolls and sworn to secrecy.

I had spoiled their party and they all tumbled out except one gentleman who couldn’t get his door to open. He hollered for help and I offered my assistance. The cover of the Rolls had been shut in the door, and it would not open. His only way out was to crawl to the other side. But first, he had to hand me the wine bottle. This he didn’t want to do. I was a stranger to him and could go running down the block swirling his treasure. I assured him not a drop would touch my lips. He released it slowly like it was his last drop of water in the desert. I set down the wine bottle and helped him shimmy out of the shining sedan. He dropped on to the garage floor like a stone. Half drunk and giggling like a school girl. For my part in the rescue, I was offered a sip of the illusive wine, I declined as was happy with the pinot that had rocked my core.

The party had settled around the bottle of CDR and all talked in hushed tones as if in the presence of a God. It was just how I remember the coke in the 80’s. I was thrown out of everyone of those parties too, because inevitably I would giggle and blow half the blow on to the avocado green carpet. Cool is just not one of my virtues.

Wine Dreams

2009-02-23T18:09:00.003-08:00

I went to a garden party filled with appealing people, wonderful bottles of wine and fabulous food. What I love most about living in wine country is meeting Wine Makers. These are the sprites of our time. Nearly make believe characters that are real in my dreams. They take a bit of fruit, a bit of chemistry, add magic and their heart and come up with a bottled piece of heaven. All winemakers I have met are very special people. They have a sense of life that others do not possess. They are magicians who laugh often and much and live well. That doesn’t mean that they are all affluent, just rich with life.

I was surround by dream makers and their products, thirty bottles of the best of the best was there for me to sample. In addition, a chef from Kansas City was BBQing in the back yard, wild salmon on a wooden plank, spicy shrimp, and pork ribs. He also made the best rum cake these Caribbean driven lips had ever sampled. The light drizzle of California rain only added to the ambiance of people coming together to eat, drink, tell stories, but mainly to laugh. Laughter with this group comes fast and often. I am an outsider, with no knowledge of wine except of what I like to drink. My palette not my pocket book is my chief. They gratefully let me in their circle because of circus stories I offer and my cute husband.

Parties are funny entities, usually starting in the kitchen and then swelling to the other parts of the house as the wine loosens inhibitions and people want to see the intimate details of the host’s lives. Is that where she sits and reads? Was the stuffed bird shot by him? How did she talk him into a pink bathroom? I wanted to know the story of every mineral aggregate on the mantel and our host was kind enough to enlighten.

The wine was overwhelmingly good; the food was out of this world. The company perfection. These are the parties you remember and talk about when you are old and attempting to explain to your children what life was like “back then.” I had to leave for my yearly vestige to the Academy Awards, armchair referring every frock and suit.

I am so excited to be part of this special group and hope they don’t grow tired of my stories or my husbands’ cuteness.

You Know You Are The Business Owner When.......

2009-02-19T19:55:00.005-08:00

It occurs to me that all my best friends are self-employed. It takes a defiant personality type. My one friend has a hand painted plaque on her front counter that reads “Natural Child Birth and Owning Your Own Business Are The Two Most Overrated Ventures.”

When I walk into a business and an overdressed person is taking out the trash, I know instantly it is the owner. Business ownership is challenging, hard and rewarding. One day I did the math and figured I was consistently making $4.00 an hour. With no one to call in sick too (or no sick pay), vacation time a joke, I still can’t work for anyone else.

Therefore, I complied my own list of business owner rewards:

You know you’re a business owner when:
Scanning documents at 10:30 pm to email them to the client because you know your assistant will not be in until 10 AM, then spend an hour fixing her makeup, getting coffee, a bagel and bitching about her boyfriend, so she won’t get the job until around noon.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You clean and take out the garbage can with the maggots growing on the bottom of it because it is where everyone throws the half-full coffee cups.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You are the only one to File that one large group of papers that grows and grows and no one knows where it goes.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You let three employees go home sick at the same time and run two business by yourself (quite grumpily, I might add.)

You know you’re a business owner when:
You clean the spider dung out of the windowsill, the corners of extraordinary cobwebs, and piles of unknown bug parts in the packing peanuts.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You have no hesitation of calling and yelling at UPS for overcharging you, EVERY week.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You seek and find just where THAT SMELL is coming from and deal with it.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You will be nice to smelly-barefooted-whack-jobs that come in only to get out of the rain. They never buy anything, but eat all your free candy.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You will fight software until it bends to your will and does what the sales guy promised.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You also will fight with lying purveyors that randomly change their prices and attempt to screw you.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You have to cut back F'way (Fucking Half Way) employees by telling them their energy just doesn’t work well with the others.

You know you’re a business owner when:
To avoid a $500 charge, unplug the toilet because employees flush tampons (did you know the plumbers call them “Mice” because they see the tails when they look in the pipes).

You know you’re a business owner when:
You don’t think twice about picking up piles of termite larva that has fallen from the ceiling, same goes for dead rats that you and your customers hear being caught in the trap in the attic.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You take time to read the entire 500 page manual for the new digital copy machine so it works like it is supposed too.

You know you’re a business owner when:
You throw away that open umbrella that has been sitting outside your store for a month. Same goes for sweeping up the cigarette butts.

Believe me, I’m not complaining, just stating the facts. For those you like me, that are unemployable, you know I’m not lying.

Ebay isn't for the light of heart

2009-02-19T17:21:00.007-08:00

This fight with the crazy old watch guy was just to bizarre not to share. Read this before you decided to sell things on ebay.

This is how is started. Crazy guy bought a $20 watch from me. Then I got this email:
just received this item.....very bad packing as it seperated from that piece of plastic youm nwrapped it up in and rattled around in that oversized box! I assumed it ran prior to getting to me as that was my assumption by your ad wording. It is damaged in transport or...? It isn't worth a fraction of the $500 you said it is valued at. Please let me know mhow to return it and have my funds put back on my pay pal account. Thank You.
12 hours later I got this email:

Since it's the weekend and assuming you just work your shop m-f I'll give you the benefit of respect/fairness and wait until noon of the 9th of Feb to act upon this...after all, you have a 100% rating and must have been doing something right? I would get with 'your professional shippers' as the watch rattling around it that oversized container reflected badly upon you
So I sent him my address on Monday morning. I told him to send it back in the orginal packaging so I could see what happened. Didn’t mention nuthin about surgery (should have been my first clue)

Then I got:
teri...thank you for the quick response. I live out in the country w/garbage service but I burn burnables and I think I just burnt a bunch of paper/boxes so the box is no longer available. The proper way would have been a bubble wrap enclosed envelope rather than that 4"x6"x12" approx. cardboard box with just a chunk of heavy plastic wrap that was so stiff it wouldn't secure the watch. Plus, you paid more for the package/shipping that you had too...in my opinion. I hope your surgery went well unless your a doctor and perform them? I'll get it out Mon.

Five days later I got the watch. It was not damaged and worked fine. I refunded his money anyway.

Then I got this:
you must not care about negative feedback as your going to get some...told you I want to return watch and not reply w/your addre4ss...been over 48 hours...this isn't a thread, it's a promise!!!
Then he sent:
Thank You Teri!! Sometime I wonder if my retired life is so shallow that I tend to dwell on the trivial? Sorry to be so petty.....Need to sent the watch back. Please enclose your address. Ed For what it's worth, leaving you feedback....5 star!!

My Answer:
Yes, you should examine your temper and procedures. I got the watch on Thursday, that is why I refunded your money. So clearly you got my address. There is nothing wrong with it (I took it to the jeweler and they wound it and it worked fine). So what I see is that you just didn't like it, so you lied about it being broken. Maybe You should join Rotary, Mason's, Lion's and do something with retirement to help mankind instead of buying stupid watches.

His Reply:
Teri----did I send you the wrong watch? I swear the reason I asked for your address was the watch I got from you is sitting right here on my end table! I tried to verify the watch by your ad but no picture. I looked through by bought items and can't find a match either. Is that your watch that you had in the ad? Please accept my humble apology.
I'm 58 years old and it's not about the money.....it's about mutual respect. Are you the one that was away due a surgery and had someone pack your stuff? When the package arrived, it was in a very over sized box rattling around loose. This watch I have here is a piece of crap and looks like it came out of a cracker jack box that was driven over!
When I sent numerous e mails and you didn't reply, that's where the disrespect came from. You have to realize, if the roles were reversed, a buyer has no recourse except by feedback. When you returned my money, I left you 5 star feedback....only to leaving myself now open to your wrath. If this was a mistake (the watch), I again apologize.
Then I got this from Paypal:
Dear Teri, (STUPID OLD MAN) has opened a dispute for the payment made on Jan 30, 2009 indicating that the item they received did not match the originald escription
Disputed Amount:
· $33.00 USD
Not as described:
· Vintage Sheffield Pocket Watch-Swiss with Aluminum Case

2/16/2009 16:17 PST - Buyer: bought watch with a value of 500 dollars and by item description assumed it was working. received a piece of junk that was cracker jack quality and definetly not working. Was packed in an oversized box wrapped in a hunk of plastic unsecured. During shipping, item became dislodged and rattled around in box. These facts can be verified by Mother-in Law and my wife. Opened the box and tried to wind watch and it would not run. After numerous tries, seller ignored my E-mails. The amount of money wasn't important...it was the disrespect asnd total unprofessional manner in which this person does business. I received my money back after she received watch back. I was so totally surprised that I left her 5 star feedback and even lied that the item was described truthfully. Now I get e mail from her in a threating manner about how I basically a lier and that she filed a complaint against me.....no where admitting her part in this manner. There is my story, her story, and the truth.....I do not want to have this go any farther. I got my money back. She got her junk back.....All done.

My Not So Calm Reply:
Ed- Just what do you expect me to do? I refunded your money, even though you lied about the watch being broken. I gave you my address, I have received the watch back from you. What the hell are you disputing now? I think you are just plain crazy and you need to close this claim IMMEDIATELY .You are out of your mind. This deal is done!
His reply:
it was/is closed as far as I was concerned.....I apologized to you TWICE!! Then I got that message in RED saying what a piece of crap I was and how you bad mouthed me to e bay.....Who lied to who? The watch was not valued at 500 dollars and it did not work...my mother in law and wife will attest to that....The only lie I did was giving you a 5 Star feedback rating. Please Teri...I am again sorry about this whole thing. Whatever it takes to cfose this claim I will do.....How do I go about retracting my claim?
My response to Paypal (which had now put a hold on my account)
2/16/2009 17:07 PST - Seller: This crazy man has me confused with another seller. When I refunded his money, he told me that was impossible and that he still had my watch, all though he mailed it to me with a delivery confirmation of #03082040000066967560 from the USPS. I refunded his money, even though THERE IS NOTHING WRONG with the watch and I had the jeweler verify it. Now he is disputing it, even though he got ALL his money back. This is a gross miss use of this process. I have answered everyone of his emails in a timely and professional manner. HE does not know who or what he bought OR who he is talking to. I want this claim closed and to never hear from this crazy person again.
His Answer to me in an email:
I have contacted the dispute center and retracted my claim.......if that isn't good enough, I stated whatever it would take I'd do it.....Stated it was a mutual agreement? Ok with that? AGAIN>>>>OK?
What he sent to Paypal:
2/16/2009 17:29 PST - Buyer: I retract my dispute with Teri Bayus on item #?? Have resolved my issue and wish to cancel my claim. If this is not formal enough I will do whatever to make it so.
2/17/2009 14:50 PST - Seller: This is not formal enough. You must retract the claim with Paypal
My Email to Him:
You need to cancel the claim. Just talking to me in the dialog box does not cancel the claim. At this point you have FROZEN my Paypal account and I am not pleased about it at all. If you do not know how to CANCEL OR FINISH the claim, I suggest you call Paypal and have them walk you though it. I have been patient, but I am running low of good will to you. Please fix this problem. Teri

Now I am laughing so hard, this is ridiculous, except Stupid Old Man has somehow fumbled through and frozen my Ebay and Paypal accounts.

His Response:
Do I pull their number out of the air....I have done what I know how...I'm a senior citizen and I don't know or versed in E Bay...why don't you get the number as my dog is dying and I have diabetic problems.....I thought I was talking to them....
Then his pleas became more hysterical:
I DO NOT KNOW WHO OR WHERE TO CALL>>>>>PLEASE HELP ME AS I THOUGHT I WAS DOING THE RIGHT THING>>>>>I said I would and will
At Midnight I got:
been looking for a number to contact e bay...keep getting into a loop that takes me back to the start....even created a telephone pin no but looped back.....maybe in a.m.?
At 6:50 AM I got:
been on here since 6 a.m. can't figure out how to talk to someone or even get a telephone number to cancel the claim. You were also under the assumption that the dialog box was talking to e bay also. Doesn't the e mail your getting have a resolution person to contact?

I was starting to feel bad for the guy, Then I got:

Subj:
Your Dispute Has Been Escalated to a Claim
Date:
2/19/2009 3:20:23 PM Pacific Standard Time
So I sent him:
Ed- You need to go to your Paypal account at Paypal.com, go to Resolution Center Cases. Our case is number ???##?? You need to CLOSE the claim. They have a help button on the top left side if you need help.
The final communication:
PayPal has concluded our investigation of the following Buyer Complaint
HE FIGURED IT OUT!!! WHOOOO HOOOO

Status
The buyer cancelled this case and our investigation is now complete.

Fish Tales

2009-02-18T11:40:00.003-08:00

I have a fish problem. I have owned up to six HUGE tanks at one time, spending every minute of every weekend, tending to them. Didn’t matter if I had a hurt kid; the tank had algae and needed a scrubbing. I loved my Oscar (Al) so much that he moved his tank into my bedroom. This fish really loved me. He was visibly excited every time I walked into his room. He could play ball with me against the tank, eat worms out of my hand, and play dead when I changed his water. He started out small, and then grew gargantuan. As he grew, he needed bigger tanks, so I filled the smaller tanks with more fish.

After 10 years of surviving teenagers filing his tank with grape Kool-Aid, cats trying to catch them with a fast paw and several suicide attempts on to the shag carpet, Al got sick. When I called my vet and asked him what he knew about fish, his smart reply was "They taste good with butter?” I knew mine and Al’s fate hung in the balance with acned boys at the aquarium store. He had a ruptured swim bladder, from eating bad fish (that has to be the world’s biggest cosmic joke).

Al died and my husband planned the burial for him to join all the other critters in the back-yard graveyard (where bizarrely, the flowers bloomed brighter). I declared that Al was going to stay with me. I was going to have him stuffed and put on the mantel. Fishermen did it all the time with fish they only spent 15 minutes with, so why couldn’t I? Husband didn’t even try to talk me out of it, he got the butcher paper out, wrapped Al like a filet, and set him in the back of the freezer, with his name Sharpied on the outside. Five years went by and every time I prepared Tator Tots, I suffered an emotional blow as I revisited the fish in the back.

When I moved to the beach, I took four tanks with me. As we emptied the freezer, Gary held up Al in his frozen grave. I decided it was best to leave him in our Reno Graveyard.

All of our belongings were shmushed into a 28 foot U-Haul. The fish were the last thing loaded on the truck, all separated in big plastic bags with a battery-powered air pumps trying to keep them alive, I had 6 hours before they started to die. I also had a parrot, 2 cats, 12 finches, 2 lizards, and our new puppy. Gary drove the car with the Siberian Husky and the Malamute. The brakes on the Truck went out over the Sierra’s, after an extreme nervous breakdown, I found a brick wall to park the truck against. It took the portable repairman 3 hours to fix it, and then 200 miles later, they went out again. I was worried for the animals, but could not check on them or open the back of the truck as a hose had jammed it shut. It took me 13 hours to get to the new front door and my nerves were rattled. We unstuck the door, ushered the big tanks up our new winding staircase and filled it with Pismo water. Only three fish had not made it. We didn’t have the strength to bring the mattresses in, so we slept in the warm glow of the fish tanks on our new carpet.

I slowly began to resent the fish as every weekend was spent tending them. Plus the tadpoles, which were supposed to be small African frogs, grew into toads, and would croak so loud in the middle of the night, it would sit us straight up in bed. So I found them new homes and started writing about them. My first published story was about my fish.
When my daughter got her own house, she set up a tank. I was called over to meet my “Grand fish.” She now has four tanks, seems the problem is generic. I get to visit and not have to worry about the cleaning, maintenance or health, and I can spoil the Grand fish with expensive shrimp. She called her first Oscar, Al in my honor. I was so touched.

Ebay and Old People Don't Mix

2009-02-16T18:12:00.005-08:00

It's Monday and some obscure holiday where the banks and post office are closed, but the rest of us are in work-limbo-hell. We gotta be here, but no one thinks anyone else is working so nothing gets done, except lots of visits to You Tube and Facebook.

I am having a fight with a CRAZY old man on Ebay. It is another one of my income streams; I sell things for people on Ebay, taking a percentage of the selling price. It has been and continues to be a pain in the ass and no one knows why I continue to do it. The items are never as great as the people selling them feel they are worth. People also suffer under the illusion that Ebay equals riches. That stupid people will throw millions of dollars at their dusty old shit. Maybe it worked like that in the beginning, but not now. Ebay now has twice as many sellers, as buyers, thus it is a buyers market. My employees have boycotted the business and REFUSE to help me; because they have seen the turmoil it causes me.
I started selling my husbands old watercraft (jet ski) parts and made some good money. It was very specialized and for that guy with a 1996 Kawasaki 440 ski, my stuff was as good a gold. Then I started selling for people and the nightmares began. Gems that are actually glass, dolls that are knock offs, collectors who expect perfection, and NO ONE wants to pay for secure shipping. I still have 100% rating, but have worked my ass off for it.

Now an OLD FART WHO HAS NO BUSINESS NEAR A COMPUTER wants his money back for a pocket watch he bought from me. He sent it back, claiming it was damaged in transit and didn’t work. I refunded his money. I got the watch back, it works, nothing wrong with it. Then he starts sending me threatening emails that if I do not send him my address, he will do all sorts of bad things to me in cyber space. I told him, I have the watch. He has my address. I refunded his money. He is sure he still has my watch; he is sitting there looking at it. He admits he got my refund and gave me perfect feedback. Then sent me another threatening email. I told him he was OLD, STUPID, NEEDED A HOBBY HE UNDERSTOOD and to stop emailing me. Now he has reported me to PayPal, why? For disrespecting him! He is crazy and it is pissing me off. But only because I have too much time on my hands on Presidents Day.
I am going to drink 12 martini's tonight!

Valentines, the Pismo Way

2009-02-15T18:30:00.006-08:00

Its VD day and everyone wanted to know where the local food critic would be spending her special night. Truth is I don’t go out on holidays, as they are amateur night. Too many people who NEVER go out with unrealistic expectations make for a horrible mix with love and commitment.

The last time we went out for VD dinner, I had a whole romantic scheme planned. Watching the sunset over the dunes, listening to an authentic mariachi band and then dinner at a renowned steak house. The sun set before we got off work, the mariachi band called in sick, so we spent three hours waiting for our table at the bar. This is a small locals’ restaurant and they were intrigued with us. We told tales, they bought shots. The more shots came, the more wild our stories got. When we finally ate (and if you put a gun to my head, I couldn’t tell you what we ate) it was around 11:00 pm. We got the check and then couldn’t find a waiter to pay. We went to the front desk, the kitchen, but everyone seemed to be gone. So in my drunken state, I decided that I had always wanted to “dine and ditch.” I never had and this seemed to be the right time as these people clearly did not want our money. We tried one more time and then ran giggling to our car. When we began to drive away, we realized we had committed a crime and became extremely paranoid. Too scared to go back and sure that every head light behind us was the man ready to take us in, we slid home.

It was the next day, I realized that I had left my treasured leather coat in the booth at the restaurant. Leaving it there in lost and found was not a choice. Being the local food critic, crawling back after I “dined and ditched” was not an option. I was terrified and sure I was going to end up on the front page with a wretched mug shot. My knight in shining amour, drove to the eatery, explained our predicament, paid our tab, and got my coat. Funny thing was the restaurant had no idea we skipped on the check.

This year, I planned on locking out the contractors, turning up the heat (it is a balmy 50 degrees here) and running naked on my new floors and have wild monkey sex with my husband. I was planning to serve bacon wrapped scallops, shrimp scampi, raw oysters, seven different kinds of chocolate and champagne.

I was foiled when a dear friend (Sunshine) called on Friday and said he would be passing thru on Saturday. Crashing on our couch is what he does best, along with sharing startling comical stories, so no is never an option. I live for his stories, his happy presence, and a chance to catch up on his adventures. So plans changed, clothes were put on, romantic movies and accruements were hid and we welcomed our visitor. We also were sure to ply with enough Hennessey to have him soundly sleeping so the monkey part of the day could go on.

My husband began the day with covering all the clocks with enduring sentiments like “My love for you is timeless…….” On every clock, I had no idea what time it was all day, but I did know that I was loved passionately.

We had estate sales to go to, looking for strange and atypical furnishings for my husbands cave (his room), and our guest bathroom. Sunshine loves our piratical adventures, so he came along. We bought him vintage bean pots.

We ate at Jocko’s, known as the best steak house in the US (according to GQ) and savored eating in the bar where the locals gossiped, argued, and romanced each other. The steaks were huge, delicious (they age their meat and then grill it over an oak open pit flame) and it is worth the wait.

At home, the kids came by for their Valentines, and to spend some time with Sunshine, as they love him as much as we do. We shared stories and as usual, his where the most astonishing and comical, although I did impress him with current drama’s facing the fine people of Pismo Beach. We feed him our romantic meal, cognac and other California treasures. He was asleep by 9:00, we left the Blues on satellite radio and had our grown up fun. It was a good VD.

My Own Bucket List

2009-02-12T19:16:00.011-08:00

I am cleaning out every nook and cranny in my house because of the remodel, and finding interesting matter. In a box tucked way toward the back in my closet, I find my most precious treasures.

My blown glass container that was supposed to hold my sister’s ashes that we picked out together when she was alive. It is empty because my half brother decided to steal her ashes (it’s a long story and in my book). Love notes written on sugar packets promising eternal love from my husband, my children’s teeth now in hundreds of pieces. My Nana’s favorite broach and the Yahtzee pencil we used to keep score with, my grandpa’s pocket watch (not as precious as the one from Pulp Fiction), my uncles stick that he used to beat a bird with (it was a mean bird) and a check from my daughter for five million dollars. The most important find was written in red ink on the back of a business card (I was a sales manager for three radio stations at the time) labeled my DBID List.

My DBID List (Do Before I Die otherwise known as a Bucket List from the popular movie staring my friend, Morgan Freeman), was written in 1989. At that point I had already spent 5 years traveling on the road as a trapeze artist with the Flying Valencia’s, given birth to two beautiful children, ruined a marriage, lost my best friend to a Hydro-planning UPS truck, been a cocktail waitress and then the first woman bartender at a casino, bought a house from a guy that didn’t own it, adopted a foster child, was in extensive therapy and a single mom. I didn’t have time for much, but I still wanted more. More adventure, intrigue, and excitement. I made a list of seemly impossible things that I had to do before I die. Now looking at it 20 years later, I am surprised and quite pleased at what I have done. Here is the list:

Meet Jimmy Buffett
Sky Dive
Go inside a volcano
Be in and write a movie
Buy an island
Own a race horse
Take a year off work
Go to Greece
Take a trip around the world
Become a pilot
Swim with dolphins
Swim with whales
Own a radio station
Go on an exotic cruise
Own a sea plane
Read the whole bible
Stay at the Beverly Hills Hotel
Spend a month in New York, seeing a play every night
Spend 3 months on a sailboat
Live at the beach

I feel happy and sated that so much has been unconsciously accomplished. I going to make a new list and get going!

Big Relationship Discussion

2009-02-11T20:16:00.006-08:00

Husband requested a BRD today (Big Relationship Discussion). I was is in no mood and there was a crew of painters, carpenters and other cover-all covered men on my bottom floor banging things. He took me to the bedroom and closed the door. Usually this means an afternoon delight, but it was his brain, not his fun part doing the thinking. BRD’s scare me because it usually means we are adding or subtracting from our family or that my role is about to make a polar ice shift in this relationship. He had yellow pads, calendars and florescent flags (which I am equally afraid of, they represent some kind of signing.).

He started with his usual explaining (which in our family means you ask him what time it is and he builds you a clock). I was not prepared and had no idea where this was going. It seems that his looming 50th birthday is giving him the willies and we must get things in order. This is a surprise to me, I feel that everything is in order. Except I have some weird food allergies threatening my primary income is as a food critic, the house is being remodeled by Neanderthals, and we are sharing a bathroom.

Here’s what an hour of not so patiently listening got me all the while deciding "I really do hate three of the artwork pieces in our room":

We are getting a puppy
We are starting a new bookkeeping business
He really wants to listen to me
He wants me to be healthily
He is afraid for the first time in his life of his mortality.

I agreed, took notes, signed flagged sections, and agreed to everything. I even agreed to type up notes of summation. My only comment, (and there was a lot I wanted to say) was that I was not willing to support another mid life crisis of his, it is clearly my time. I am the one so ensconced in Menopause I can barely get to work. I told him to get a therapist, tell it to them and just shower me with love and sex (and a diamond bangle every now and then. BRD’s scare me.

What is a Face Book?

2009-02-10T21:12:00.005-08:00

When I first started this blog, I was told that the way to promote my writing was to join Facebook. So my retarded-over-40 brain filled out all the required information and was up and running in around two hours, (I’m sure it would have taken a 16-year-old 10 minutes). After two weeks of checking and clicking I just do not get it. Everyone is doing it, but no one gets it, that’s pretty powerful.

I have asked everyone I know and they are all new to Facebook, (even my 19-year-old employee), no one seems to understand the significance of “poking”, “Flair”. “gifts” or “notes”.

I made major fauxpau the first day and talked about a restaurant experience that was not favorable on the “Wall” when I thought I was talking privately to my friend. The chef I was bagging on read it, and lots of pots and pan throwing ensued. Why do I need to see who friends with who? Why do I need to connect with people from school? Is it telling that I have more wineries as friends than real people?

A friend who I love dearly, but haven’t talked to in years is now on there and I know what she is doing every night. It’s kind of like marriage. It takes all the mystery out of everyone. No need to call, catch up or go to lunch, just see who and what they are doing on Facebook. I got on there to promote the blog, I blog to promote my writing. I am a self-promoting whore and openly admit that. However, I don’t see how Facebook and the cute pictures of my dogs will do that, make me money, or make me feel more connected.

But I am playing along. Here are two exercises I was forced to do and them pass them on to my limited list of friends ( I apologizes for the misery of reading or doing this exercise).

25 random things to Share

Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

Here is my list:

1 I live for the ocean
2 I want to live in Grenada
3 I want to be paid for writing (like swimming pools full of money)
4 I love to travel
5 I love to giggle with friends while our feet are rubbed
6 I was a trapeze artist for 6 years
7 I wish I could help every foster child out there
8 I love to read
9 Bad books by good authors piss me off
10 I am honored to say my husband is my best friend
12 I am very proud of the people I gave birth too.
13 My dog can speak English and knows my every thought
14 I want to get a female Giant malamute puppy, breed her and take off 8 weeks to spend every minute with the puppies.
15 Everything in my house was found second hand, and its beautiful
16 I LOVE Memphis
17 My jag is my greatest material thing I own
18 I drink too much wine
19 I am happy about the way I look at 45
20 I wish my husband and children were happier and could see just how blessed they are
21 I can spend hours in a bookstore (especially a used one)
22 I am a cult follower to several TV shows but would never admit that out loud
23 I wish I lived on a farm
24 Wild monkey sex with my husband still is my favorite thing
23 I buy fresh flowers or a blooming plant every week for my self
24 I burn candles every night (but I only buy them at garage sales)
25 I have a very green thumb (Some of my plants have been with me for 20 years)

Here is another exercise:

Teri Bayus
Today at 8:19pmThe Bucket List. Copy and paste the instructions and the list into a new note. Place an X by all the things you've done and remove the X from the ones you have not, then send it to your friends (including me).Things you have done during your lifetime:
(x ) Gone on a blind date

(X) Skipped school

(x) Watched someone die

(x) Been to Canada

(X) Been to Mexico

(x ) Been to Florida

(x) Been to Hawaii

(X) Been on a plane

( x) Been on a helicopter

(X) Been lost

( ) Gone to Washington, DC

(X) Swam in the ocean

(x ) Swam with Stingrays

(X) Cried yourself to sleep

(X) Played cops and robbers

(X) Recently colored with crayons

(x) Sang Karaoke

(X ) Paid for a meal with coins only

( x) Been to the top of the St. Louis Arch

(X) Done something you told yourself you wouldn't

(X) Made prank phone calls

( ) Been down Bourbon Street in New Orleans

(X) Laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose

(X) Caught a snowflake on your tongue

( x) Danced in the rain-naked

() Been to Europe

(X) Written a letter to Santa Claus

(x) Been kissed under the mistletoe

(X) Watched the sunrise with someone

(X) Blown bubbles

( ) Watched a Mardi Gras parade in person

(x) Gone ice-skating

(X) Gone to the movies

(x ) Been deep sea fishing

(x) Driven across the United States

( x) Been in a hot air balloon

( ) Been sky diving

( x) Gone snowmobiling

( ) Lived in more than one country

(X) Lay down outside at night and admired the stars while listening to the crickets

(X) Seen a falling star and made a wish

( ) Enjoyed the beauty of Old Faithful Geyser

(x) Seen the Grand Canyon

(x) Seen the Statue of Liberty

(x) Been to New York City

(x) Gone to the top of Seattle Space Needle

( ) Gone out with someone you met online

( x) Been on a cruise

( ) Traveled by train

(X) Traveled by motorcycle

(X) Been horse back riding

(x) Ridden on a San Francisco cable car

(X) Been to Disneyland OR Disney World

(X ) Truly believe in the power of prayer

( x) Been in a rain forest

(x) Seen whales in the ocean

(x) Been to Niagara Falls

( x) Ridden on an elephant

( x) Swam with dolphins

( ) Been to the Olympics

(X) Seen redwood trees

( ) Walked on the Great Wall of China

( ) Saw and heard a glacier calf (a piece breaks off)

( ) Been spinnaker flying

(x) Been water-skiing

(x) Been snow-skiing

() Caught fireflies in a jar

( ) Been to Westminster Abbey

( ) Been to the Louvre

( ) Swam in the Mediterranean

(X) Watched the fountains at the Bellagio in Las Vegas

(x) Been to a Major League Baseball game

( x) Been to a National Football League game

( x) Swam with sharks

(x ) Fed a giraffe

(X) Gone camping in a tent

(X) Seen both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans

( x) Been on a horse and buggy ride

( ) been to an NBA game (WNBA)

Grumpy Teri - Good Employees

2009-02-10T17:35:00.003-08:00

Grumpy, Grumpy, Grumpy and in soooo much pain I am ready to take off everyone’s head who comes within shooting distance. Could be the cleansing, the remodeling, sharing the bathroom with the husband or just the damn cold weather (I know that low 50’s is not chilly for most the world, but I’m freezing my ass off). My bones ache, my stomach gurgles and I can’t sleep. All I want to do is jump on a plain to the Caribbean.

I am blessed to have to extraordinary and talented young ladies who run my businesses. These young girls do the work of 8 people with a smile on their faces. They are mature, make good decisions about my businesses and treat my customers like royalty. As long as I let them get stoned on their break, they are fine. It used to make me uncomfortable --but now I see that it helps with certain types of work. I have had my share of rotten, self absorbed, shrouded in a sense of entitlement employees, but I threw their scrawny asses out.

Maybe that is what I should do to help my health, start smoking ganja everyday. It will certainly make me care less about the pain. But if memory serves me, it makes me really paranoid. When my sister was dying, she got a prescription for Mary Jane to help with her pain, appetite and attitude. Plus it was fun teaching my mom to load a bong. As we had to help her smoke, she was too weak to sit up. I hear they make the kind that doesn’t get you paranoid, but I have to get a prescription to get it from a pot store. Being in a data base, makes me paranoid. Pot is legal in California, but not with the Fed’s, I don’t want no G men breathing down my back. I going to take a pain pill, eat Taco Bell and drink a bottle of wine. If that doesn’t make me feel better, I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Feel Good.

What to do with a bad Novel?

2009-02-08T12:55:00.004-08:00

I’m a voracious reader, embracing 3-4 books a week. I alternate between my favorite authors, heavy books (the kind that require you to read every sentence twice, the prose is just that good) and mind candy (romance novels that always have a sentence like “his throbbing desire for her was only matched by her determination to enter him……..). Problem is that once I have started a book, I can’t not finish it. It’s like an obsessive-compulsive thing. No matter how much I hate it, how flat the characters are or stupid the prose is, I insist upon finishing it. My husband teases me, because I complain the whole time while torturing myself to the last page. The problem is worse when one of my favorite authors’ produces a turd.

I am currently reading a book from an author I have followed for years and adore. This one is the worst thing my mind has ever experienced. Like eating a sweet grapefruit and accidentally biting on the bitter seed. It takes all day to get the taste out of your mouth. Plus, I can only read one book at a time. This one is agony; I have been at it over a week and still am only half way thru the dreadful manuscript.

I have a stack of books waiting to be read, calling my name, and it is driving me crazy. I want to call the author and yell at him, “how dare you produce something just to fill a quota from your publisher?” I guess the problem is really mine. I should put it in the fireplace, use it as kindling, and move on the next book. At this point, my next book is going to have to be sexual mind candy to erase the taste out of my mind of this drivel. I’m thinking Nora Roberts or Daniele Steele.