Channeling my inner Jewel - 19 days to 35 - Writing a song

I absolutely love music. All kinds. To look at my CD collection (oh, that sounds so dated...to look at my iTunes playlist) you would think I had multiple personalities. I have everything from Dr. Dre to Garth Brooks to Limp Bizkit to Colby Callait. I pretty much like anything with a decent beat, but I am especially partial to songs with great lyrics. Give me a great story in song form and I will give you a concert. Not a good one, mind you, because I don’t really think that I sing very well, but dammit I try! In chasing my music making dream I learned to play the guitar a couple of years ago. Well, let me amend that. I took a guitar class. And for a couple of months, I practiced, developed wicked calluses on my fingers and could actually play what started to sound like music. Then the class ended, I moved to California and my guitar has been on its stand on display in my living room ever since. I am pretty sure the dust mites have played it more than I have.



Since I was about 11 or 12, another great love of mine has been writing. I started writing what I realize now to be HORRIBLE pubescent angst-filled poetry when I was in 5th grade. Each night I poured my soul out to my journal in iambic pentameter, fancying myself the next Maya Angelou. (Going through some old boxes I recently found the first collection of poetry that I wrote. It was bad. Laughably bad. But what the hell, I was 12!). As I got older, I had this idea in the back of my head to combine my loves of words and music. Inspired by the Lilith Fair generation of guitar toting, tortured artist-type, female musicians, I have harbored this fantasy of writing a song. Something smooth and soulful. Melancholy yet beautiful. How hard could it be, right?


So, I set about my activity for today hopeful and inspired. I didn’t want to be tempted (consciously or subconsciously) to plagiarize so I didn’t really listen to any music for a couple of days. Which is REALLY hard, especially if you spend any time in the car. But I had ideas bubbling in my head. I was quickly convincing myself that I was about to write the next Grammy winning hit. After I put the baby down for his nap (and knowing that might only give me an uninterrupted hour, two if I was really lucky), I dragged out my most recent (albeit several years old) notebooks of poetry. Flipping through the pages, I thought to myself, some of this ain't half bad. BUT...none of it sounded like a song. My original thought was to take something I had already written and change it a bit to put it in "song form" (whatever the hell that means). Half an hour of browsing my work led me to the conclusion that that particular strategy may not work. OK, I can do this. I decided to start from scratch. One idea for a song that I had been toying with was inspired by Facebook and all of the people that I have reunited with through the site. You know, something about people coming back into your life, life coming full circle, that kinda shit. That could be a good song right? Well if it is, it never made its way out of my (apparently non-musical) head.

After a day of toiling away in front of a (relatively) blank piece of paper, I now understand why Diane Warren is so special (if you don’t know who she is, Google her. My guess is that you know her, you just don’t KNOW that you do...) I realized that part of the problem is that I have no musical ability whatsoever. My aforementioned guitar lessons only taught me to play other people's already written songs. I know nothing about putting together melodies. Which makes songwriting a nearly impossible task! So the end of the day arrives and I have a couple of new poems (pretty good ones I think!) but I am no closer to that award winning song I know is lurking inside me. I can’t begin to express how disappointed I was. Part of me wants to just slap some new lyrics on an old tune and say I wrote a song. But that’s kind of cheating isn’t it? And I guess the whole point of this 35 day thing isn’t necessarily to totally succeed at everything you try (but dammit I HATE to lose). So I have decided that even though it wasn’t finished today, I will keep working on this song. I have a couple of friends who are pretty musical....and although they don’t know it yet, they WILL be helping me with this one! So maybe you will see me get that Grammy by the time I am 36.....

Mommy's Day Out - 20 Days to 35 - Getting my first facial (and leaving the baby for the first time)

I am a lover of all things spa related. I mean, who doesn’t love being pampered? Manicures, pedicures, massages...I love it all. So it was kind of strange to realize that I have never had a facial. And while it seems like something small, my current life circumstances make it oh so appealing. Just two months ago I had a baby. And yes he's fabulous, and, of course, the cutest baby ever. But the reality of pregnancy, childbirth and taking care of a newborn is not all cute baby clothes and the wonderful smell of baby powder. No the truth of the matter is that (until the last week or two) I haven’t gotten more than 3 hours of sleep at a time in almost 4 months. My life is a constant stream of dirty diapers, breastfeeding and sleep deprivation. So the idea of doing something, ANYTHING, that is designed to be relaxing and is all for me, was too good to pass up. I knew I had to include some form of pampering on my list.




As I found when trying to schedule my bikini wax (the memory of which still HURTS by the way), there aren’t too many spas in Bakersfield. Besides the site of my wax, which I was none too anxious to revisit, I know of one other spa in the area. Last year when Darlene was visiting we decided to get massages. That was the first time I realized that "spa" wasn’t big business in this area. Anyway, I found this place, La Petite Poullet, where I had a massage that was basically the best 30 minutes of my life up to that point. I was so relaxed after that massage I practically fell down when I tried to get up off the table. And it was only 40 bucks!! So I figured that if they could do that great of a job on the massage, a facial would be a piece of cake.


So I made my appointment, and after a morning of running errands (which included watching my baby boy get THREE SHOTS!!), I was more than ready for some pampering. As I prepared for my three o'clock appointment (you are supposed to wash your make-up off first, right? I don’t know facial etiquette), I realize that in planning this activity I have inadvertently scheduled myself for TWO new activities today. In going to the spa I was going to have to leave Aiden. For the first time....with someone who is NOT me. Now yes, I realize, I would be leaving him with his father. And, sure, that shouldn’t make me nervous. But it did. It REALLY did. This is the same man who changes diapers so slowly that Aiden pees all over everything...every single time! As my anxiety builds I try to talk myself down. I am going to have to leave the baby at some point....and Darin is his dad...I am sure they will be fine. Yeah right!! As I prepare to leave for my facial, I mentally check off everything Darin will need while I am gone. Now granted, I am only going to be gone for about an hour and a half but who knows what could happen in that time. "Ok...here are the diapers, wipes and some extra clothes in case there is an accident. I have a bottle already warmed and ready in case he gets hungry. If he starts to cry try walking with him. And do the sway not the bounce, he doesn’t like the bounce sometimes...." Listening to myself I knew I sounded like a neurotic freak. Never mind that I was supposed to be going to do something relaxing....Finally, after Darin practically pushes me out the door, I make my way to the spa. It only takes me about 8 minutes to get there and before walking in I just can’t help myself. I have to call and check on things. Darin answers the phone laughing "We're fine, the baby is fine, go enjoy your facial." Ok, we'll see about that.....


After getting all checked in, my esthetician, Kayle, led me to a darkened room. She questioned me about my skin care (who knew it was THAT complicated??) then asked if I had any skin related issues or questions. My mouth said "No" but my brain said "Seriously, can we just get on with it! I need some relaxation!" I lay back onto a pillow and the pampering began. She didn’t talk the whole time, so I have no idea what kinds of things she was rubbing into my face but the sensation was heavenly. First of all, she had the softest hands in the world. Seriously, I am talking like baby skin soft. And I didn’t realize that one could actually have their face massaged, but I realized pretty quickly that this was the magic of the facial. Within about 5 minutes I could feel the tension floating away. I felt like I was melting into the table.....That is, until I woke myself up with a loud snore. Yep, that’s right, I woke myself up snoring. Not once. Not even twice...five times. FIVE TIMES!!! And each time I laid there wondering "was that the first snore, or one in a series of snores and that last one was the only one loud enough to wake me?" I was mortified, but honestly, too relaxed to care. I figure, I can’t be the first person to ever fall asleep and snore during a facial. And besides it was her fault. Her and her damn soft hands!!
About 45 minutes later and my trip to spa heaven was over. I floated out of the spa and as I reached my car I remembered. Baby...home alone with Daddy...OH HELL!!! I raced back home to find the baby swinging contentedly and Darin folding laundry (seriously, he really was!!). Wow, smooth skin, a quiet baby, and a house chore-doing husband.....a girl could get used to this!

Take that Rachel Ray!! - 21 days to 35 - Cooking a brand new meal from a cookbook

I come from a long line of cooking women. Women who put Rachel Ray's perky ass to shame. My mother and grandmother taught me to cook. And our type of cooking doesn’t really have recipes and measurements. I pretty much just know the ingredient list then I have at it. This is the reason that every batch of homemade chili that I make tastes different. I once made a huge batch that was so hot I had to throw it out because everyone was sweating while eating it (guess I overdid it on one cayenne pepper). So when creating my list, I thought it would be pretty cool to actually get a cookbook and follow a real recipe. Even better, I wanted to cook something totally new. Something I had never cooked before. Which is how I found myself standing in front of my husband's bookshelf browsing cookbooks (yeah, I know, something so wrong with him having more cookbooks than I have). Ironically, as much as I don’t like her overly happy ass, I settled on a Rachel Ray cookbook (it was the best one he had!!). Leafing through "Cooking 'Round the Clock" I found a variety of meals that looked appealing. I settled on Barbeque Saucy Salmon on Romaine Salad with Orange Vinaigrette. One, I LOVE seafood, I figured I wouldn’t screw up salmon too badly. Two, reading through the recipe I realize that I would have to make a glaze for the salmon as well as salad dressing. There is something pretty damn cool about making your own salad dressing. If I actually pulled this off I would feel like a real chef.

So I load up the baby and the husband and we head to the grocery store. Before we left I went through the recipe and my pantry, looking to see what I would need. The list was long. Really long. I hadn’t anticipated this. So later, browsing the aisles and doing some mental calculations, I started to come to the conclusion that this "30 minute meal" was about to be a sixty dollar meal. Hell, we should have just gone to Red Lobster.

Forty five minutes later, I am home, ingredients are spread out on the counter, and the hubby and baby have left me in the kitchen. I look skeptically from the counter full of ingredients to the recipe. This could be bad. I suddenly get nervous. It is a bug part of my self-identity that I tend to be good at things. And cooking has pretty much been a no brainer for me. I started frying French fries when I was in the fourth grade. Seriously! And I have never understood these people who say they can’t cook. But at this moment, in the face of making my own salmon glaze with such unknowns as curry powder and Worchester sauce, I am really nervous. What if it's bad? What if I have to sit through a dinner with Darin smiling politely while trying to choke down a disgusting disaster of a dinner? Well, we are never gonna know 'til I do it so I strap on an apron (I figured if I am gonna be a chef I might as well go all out!) and get to it.

I start making the glaze (who knew maple syrup, curry powder and liquid smoke could make such yumminess?), and realize that I am going to have to be a serious multitasker. I need to start grilling the salmon while stirring the glaze. I contemplate asking Darin for help, but then I realize that defeats the whole purpose of this. This is supposed to be MY meal. OK, I can do these....Ten minutes later and things are starting to smell really good, salmon is grilling and glazed and I am whisking my own salad dressing. (There was a small hiccup when I had to figure out exactly what "orange zest" was, but I bounced back nicely.) I break out the plates and get ready to serve it up. Unlike when I normally cook, I resisted the urge to taste along the way. I have NO IDEA what any of this tastes like. It smells great but I have been fooled by that before. (I once had dinner at this supposedly awesome steakhouse and they brought me a plate of some seafood concoction that smelled awesome and tasted like something the cat threw up!) One thing was sure of, presentation is everything! Even if it tastes like shit, at least I can make it look pretty.

Barbeque Saucy Salmon on Romaine Salad with Orange Vinagrette

So I serve it up, pour the wine and set the plates on the table. I watch Darin nervously. Because I haven’t tasted anything I really have no idea what kind of reaction to expect. He spears the forkful of the romaine lettuce then starts to chew. "It's good!" he says, smiling. I want to believe him but I am not too sure. "Try the salmon." I want to dig in too, but honestly, if it’s bad I want someone else to eat it first. He tries the fish and smiles. YES!! He didn’t keel over and he actually looked genuine when he says "Wow! It’s REALLY good!" Finally, I take a forkful myself. And he's right, it IS good!! See, even within the confines of a recipe I can still work it!! DAMN, I'm GOOD!!

NOT a public school casualty - 22 days to 35 - Writing a letter to my most influential teacher

Following my dreams of becoming a pilot (see yesterday's blog), I finally settled on the idea that I would be a lawyer. Credit my many hours watching LA Law (probably not the most appropriate show for a kid my age, but whatever). I could just see myself as a high powered attorney in my designer suits, and high heeled shoes, making all the guy lawyers look like idiots. It was my dream job, to get paid to argue! So I went through high school and most of college with that career path in mind. Then, one afternoon, my whole world changed. I stopped in to see the professor of my summer school class. As a transfer student, he wasn't familiar with me and my background. He invited me to sit down as he pulled up my transcripts. When he asked what I planned to do after graduation I told him law school. "Oh no," he said, "There are way too many lawyers in the world. Have you ever thought about graduate school?" So, three hours later, head spinning, I walked out of his office with a whole new life plan. That afternoon, my professor changed my life. He was one in a long line of teachers to do so.



I took that professor's advice and went to graduate school. Several years later I became a professor myself. I never thought in a million years that I would be a teacher. But that is my life. I spend my days lecturing to a (sometimes) captive audience and my nights grading endless papers. And while I don’t spend as much time in the classroom as grade school or high school teacher, I definitely live the teacher's life. One characteristic of that life is that you very rarely get to hear "good job," or God forbid, "thank you." It happened to me once. A student from my very first research methods class (which is a notoriously hated course) is now in graduate school at my alma mater. After she graduated, before leaving town, she came by my office and dropped off a card thanking me for all I had done for her. I cried. Seriously. And her card is hanging on my refrigerator. Two years later. So in reflecting on my almost 35 years to create this list, I thought it would be a good idea to reach out and express those sentiments to a teacher who has influenced my life. I know how rare it is to hear that kind of thing.


The hardest thing about this particular project was deciding who should get this letter. I have been supremely blessed in my education. The Anchorage School District, unlike many other public school systems (I have since learned) was fantastic. I had a stream of wonderful teachers; from Mr. Schmidt, my fourth grade teacher who I thought was an angel, to Mrs. Whitmore my seventh grade math teacher who showed me that I really wasn’t bad at math, to Mr. Berkow, my nutty twelfth grade psychology teacher who taught me that thinking was fun, to Mrs. Terry, my twelfth grade English/social studies teacher who taught me to look at my world through different eyes. And those are just a few. That doesn’t even include the college professors who helped shape me and my view of life. So picking just one person was really hard. I could write a stack of thank you letters.....but there are only so many hours in the day!! So I decided to write a letter to my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Coulter. I will get to her teaching in a second, but from the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I would like her. She was SO COOL!!. She wore the greatest clothes (long flowing skirts and beaded necklaces) and had a trendy haircut. She was so much fun. She was the first really cool grown-up I had even met. And as a teacher, she was remarkable. Even though she was fun, she commanded respect and we all knew not to cross her. She was a great model of the kind of woman I wanted to grow up to be.


There isn't one particular incident that sticks out to me and really illustrates the impact that Mrs. Coulter made on me. But I know this: when I walked out of her classroom at the end of fifth grade I was not only more educated, but I was more confident, more self-assured, and more willing to take chances than ever before. Other teachers had told me I was smart. Mrs. Coulter made me believe it. She laid the groundwork for me becoming the kind of person who would change my career path junior year of college. The kind who would take a senior philosophy class as a freshman and believe that I could pass. Who would apply to two of the best graduate programs in the country with no back up school. More than an education, she gave me a belief in myself that has pushed me to reach for some awesome goals.


I have spent numerous hours counseling students on class selection, occupational choices, and life in general. I don’t know if most of them, when they leave me, remember what I said. But I think about the few times I have been lucky enough to hear "thank you" from my students and I remember the pride that those simple words elicit. And if I can do that for someone else, someone who inspired me and changed my life, well, that's a gift that I just have to give.

Look Ma, No engine!! - 23 days to 35 - Glider ride

As a kid I wanted to be a bunch of different things. When I was about 4 I just KNEW I was going to be a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader (cut me some slack, I was a child). Then I wanted to be a teacher, a cop, a lawyer. And after watching Top Gun I wanted to be a pilot (yes, I let Tom Cruise influence my life choices). Beyond the day dreams of watching hot oiled men play volleyball on our off days, the thought of flying appealed to me for so many reasons. I loved the idea of the freedom of floating high above everything. I mean, who DOESN'T want to fly right? So when coming up with my list of 35 things, I wanted to put some sort of flying experience on the list. My choices: skydiving (which I would REALLY like to do but honestly, am not sure I would be able to actually step out of the plane and jump), helicopter rider (which carries with it the distinct possibility of making me airsick given how choppy the rides are), and a glider ride (fun. adventurous, and which carries the added benefit of being available like 5 miles from the house). As I weighed the options, the glider ride sounded better and better. I called to make my appointment, not really knowing what I was getting myself into but seriously excited. Seriously.

On Saturday afternoon, we drove to the Santa Ynez Gliderport and pulling up, I started to get a little nervous. First off, the "gliderport" consisted of a small, shack-like building. Not exactly the fancy digs I was expecting, although, I didn't really know what to expect.

We get out of the car and look around. And I see, up close and personal, my fist glider. I am struck by the wing span of the tiny plane. Very. Tiny. Plane. We aren’t supposed to walk out to the airfield until it’s my turn to fly so I strain to see, trying to get an idea of exactly how much space is inside that thing. I watch the guy before peel himself out of it and conclude that it’s pretty tight quarters. (I'm 5'10", there isn’t enough leg room for me in coach on a regular flight. I was starting to think that this might get a little uncomfortable). It is while examining the little glider that it first hits me: this plane has no engine. NO ENGINE!! I mean, I think I knew that somewhere in my head (that's why it's called a glider, right). But it starts to hit me that I will be floating several THOUSAND feet above the ground without power to help out if the wind decides to send us into a nose dive. You would think that this realization would make me sacred, nervous even. Not so much. My dumb ass just got more excited. Talk about a rush!!

The 30 minutes before my flight, as I watch a guy and his girlfriend take their turns, seemed to take forever. Just get me in the air already!! At last it was my turn. I follow Shawn, the gliderport assistant, out to the plane. He says "You are between 115 and 235 pounds, right?" Laughing, I say "No, don’t I look like I'm 110?" But I am guessing this is the wrong situation in which to lie about your weight. (I was actually faced with a similar situation when I went bungee jumping. When your life depends on a rubber band, probably important to not let vanity take over!) Confident that I am within the weight limits, Shawn begins to explain how everything works. I will get aboard the glider with my pilot, Gary (I get to sit in the front...AWESOME!) We will be pulled up to our gliding altitude of about 3200 feet by another small plane, and then I - yes I - get to pull the cord. Anticipation fills my chest....I can’t believe I am really going to do this! I climb in and Shawn straps the very complicated safety harness around my body. (I can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing...I want to be strapped in nice and tight, but if we start to take a tumble and I decide to jump for it, I won’t be able to get out!! Ok, I need to stop thinking like this!)

I hear the engine of out tug plane start. THIS IS IT! The glider begins to rumble across the grass and onto the runway. I can tell we are picking up speed. As I look around, anxious not to miss the moment we leave the ground, Gary the pilot says "We're up!" Holy crap! This feels great. We ascend slowly as I crane my neck every which way trying to take in the view. The mountains are in front of us and the Santa Ynez Valley spreads below. It is an unbelievably beautiful sight! I totally got my money's worth and we've barely been in the air for 2 minutes. From behind me I hear instructions, "You see that yellow t-bar in front of you? Go ahead and pull it." The moment of truth...I pull the bar and suddenly...silence. Blissful, peaceful, floating silence. I feel like a paper airplane, not the crappy ones that you throw up and they immediately nose dive (like the ones I made), but like the one that cool guy in grade school would make that could soar smoothly across the classroom (before hitting the nerdy kid in the head). The sensation was exactly what I imagined flying would feel like. Amazing! "You wanna fly it?" Gary asks. Do I? DO I?? Abso-friggin-lutely I wanna fly this thing!! He guides me through taking the controls and making a left hand, then a right hand turn. Dude! I'm doing it!! I'm a pilot!!

My 15 minutes is up way too soon and we make our descent. I can’t control the smile on my face! The funniest part is that at no point while up there, 3200 feet going 40 miles an hour, did it ever occur to me that there was no engine. NO ENGINE!! I'm such a crazy dumbass!! But, feeling the exhilaration beating in my chest and the smile splitting my face, I realize, I am a HAPPY crazy dumbass!!

Shawn getting me strapped in

Tug plane pulling us...i think we are off the ground!

Beautiful sunset over the valley

Wall Street, Vegas...same difference - 24 days to 35 - Buying stock

I have a confession to make. I am not good with money. And this is hard for me to admit given that I am usually at least marginally good at most things I try to do. And, classic overachiever that I am, those things that I am not good at, I keep working at until I am. This has not been the case when it comes to managing my finances. My idea of budgeting has typically been spending money until it run out. More than once the calendar has rolled to the 27 or 28th and I've checked my checking account balance like a gambler rolling the dice with his last twenty, hoping for the jackpot. Needless to say I am not much of a saver either. I have opened three savings accounts in my lifetime....all of which were eventually closed for low balance and/or inactivity. I like to think of my savings account as my purse collection (after all, I could theoretically sell one of my Coach or Dooney and Bourke bags, not that I ever would, but the possibility of getting back some cash is there!).



Like most Generation Xers, I blame my problems (for me. my lack of financial skills) on my parents. We never really talked about money in our house. As far as we kids were concerned it was just there. Mom and Dad's philosophy was that as long as we went to school and got good grades (nothing less than a B was acceptable and only one or two of those would slide by without raising eyebrows) we could pretty much have anything we wanted. So like trained seals at Sea World Darlene and I got near perfect grades throughout school. So yes, we were a bit spoiled. When we left for college we really didn’t get much financial advice either. "Don’t spend all your money and don’t get any credit cards." Yep, that about summed it up. Not a whole lot of direction for two kids on their own trying to figure out how to pay the electric bill AND buy new shoes. Something had to give and too often it wasn’t the shoes.


So, recognizing my fiscal handicaps, I knew that I wanted to put something financial on my list. Since I had already tried (unsuccessfully) to keep a savings account, I thought that perhaps I needed something a little more adventurous, a little more fun. Now I know next to nothing about the stock market. In fact, what I DONT know could just about fill the Grand Canyon. But I decided that indeed stocks were the way to go. I like the idea of putting my money somewhere and checking back every day to see what happened. Sort of like my own private soap opera. But since I would only be playing with a little bit of money (not enough to ruin my life if I lost it) it would be a soap opera without all the drama. A little low stakes gambling, just what I need to spice things up.

After some conversation with friends, and several conversations with Darin explaining that I was buy stock for FUN (he has actual real investments), I decided to buy 5 shares of Mattel. I figured, people are always gonna buy toys. Plus in a recession, more people are staying in, spending time at home, so we are looking at an inevitable baby boom in the next couple of years. Barbie will be hotter than ever! And maybe my "fun" stock will have me laughing all the way to the bank.

It's not all about me - 25 days to 35 - Donating to a relief effort

Let’s be honest, the act of even writing a blog is pretty self-centered. Why would I think people would want to read about me?? But truth be told, I think we are all a bit self-centered. We get wrapped up in our own problems, forgetting how small and inconsequential we really are in the grand scheme of things. Until something like the Haiti earthquake happens. And then we remember. .


So today, for my activity, rather than thinking about how awful it is and how badly I feel for those victims (like I did with Hurricane Katrina), I wanted to do something. For the first time in my life, I wanted to actually DO something for people suffering in a situation so traumatic, so devastating. So I made my first charitable contribution today. I'm not rich by any means so I gave what I could. Because I just wanted to do SOMETHING....something to show that, even though I am in my own little world, I remember.

The taste of the sea - 26 days to 35 - Eating raw oysters

I love food. All kinds. There are few things that give me as much pleasure as a good meal shared with good friends. Seafood ranks high on my list of favorites. Crab, shrimp, lobster, just about anything with fins...I love it all! Except oysters. And I shouldn't say that I don’t like them because, to be fair, I have never actually even attempted to partake in this "delicacy." Until today. My problem with oysters has nothing to do with them being raw. I love sushi. I eat my steak almost rare. Raw doesn't bother me. It’s the slimy. It’s the thought of eating the ooey, gooey, squishiness that makes me want to staple my lips shut. My aversion, no outright disgust, made this a perfect choice for one of my 35 things.



Part of the challenge of doing this activity (before I even got to the eating) was finding a place that sells oysters in Santa Maria. (Everyone has heard of Santa Barbara? Well, drive about an hour and 15 minutes north on Hwy 101 and you run into a small, not so cool town among the strawberry fields. Yes, THIS is where I am stuck eating raw fish!). Scouring the phone book, Darin finally finds a new seafood joint in town, the Crab Cove. We are driving up Broadway, trying to locate address, when Darin yells "There it is!" I burst out laughing. The new, cool seafood joint in town was a Denny's in its former life (a former life that ended just a couple of months ago!!). I can’t help but laugh at the thought of shooting an oyster in the same booth where I ate my last Grand Slam. Needless to say, I am not feeling too confident about the quality of the food.

As we peruse the menu, I notice, to my dismay, that you can’t order just one oyster. No, the management at the Crab Cove expects me to gulp down at least six of those gooey goodies. I DONT THINK SO! So, after a little coaxing, I convince the waitress to bring me just one. As she approaches the table, oyster in hand, I can already feel my stomach beginning to lurch. My friend Suzette's advice runs through my head. "Don't chew it, just swallow. Gulp it like a shot." But what if (like my one and only shot of Jaeger) I gulp it down and it comes right back up. And after looking at it up close and personal, I was seriously afraid that this was a distinct possibility.

So there it is. The lone oyster, slightly chilled and ready for my culinary enjoyment. I look down, waiting for the nausea to pass. I can’t do it. I CAN'T do it! But it I have to. I pick up the lemon and squeeze it on top of the oyster. Ok, now it just looks even more slimy. I feel beads of sweat prickling on my forehead. Eating should NOT be this hard!! I dab some cocktail sauce on it. And then I dab some more. Then some more. I slide it around in its half shell, stalling. Darin is staring at me anxiously across the table, trying to hold back his laughter and I see our waitress peeking over the lobster tank smirking at me. Yeah really funny....keep it up and you won’t be smiling when you see your tip!! Ok, this is it. Hand shaking, I pick up the oyster and bring it slowly up to my face. Is it possible to hold your breath and swallow at the same time, I wonder. I know without a doubt that if I watch the squishy mess approach my face there is no way I will be able to pry my lips apart to eat it. I clench my fist, squeez my eyes closed, and toss it down my throat. SWALLOW!! SWALLOW!! FOR GOD'S SAKE, JUST SWALLOW!!!

 
I feel the oyster squish between my tongue and the roof of my mouth on the way down. Ewwww.....It tastes like the inside of a sea shell smells. Cold, salty, and just a bit too fishy. And I swear I can still feel it squirming down my throat. A few seconds pass while I struggle to keep it down and I open my eyes. Reaching for my wine, I am filled with triumph! I did it! The still smirking waitress comes back to the table. "How was it?" she asks, WAY too perky. As I search my mind for an appropriate answer, I imagine puking it back up and having it land on her shoe looking exactly like it did when she brought it to the table....'How was it?' You tell me....

Not even cheese?? - 27 days to 35 - Going vegan

8:45am and an empty, growling stomach wakes me up. This was SO not the day to go vegan!


I didn’t even know what "vegan" was before I moved to Portland. Oregon, the land of retired hippies and Birkenstock wearing tree huggers. Needless to say, a large proportion of the people I met there were vegetarian or vegan (no animal or animal products). Which, as you can imagine, made for some interesting dinners out. Because I am a carnivore. I LOVE meat. I love everything about meat. And I love animal products, particularly cheese. In fact, in my mind, heaven is full of meat....with cheese on it!! So I knew this whole idea of going vegan for 24 hours was going to be tough. I had no idea how tough!

So lying in bed, stomach growling, I started to review my menu options for the day. Ok breakfast...I usually have eggs and bacon, that is clearly not an option. Ok, bagel with cream cheese...nope...pancakes, made with eggs. DAMN! After racking my brain I settled for toast with jelly (no butter!!!) and an all fruit smoothie from Jamba Juice. By this point it was 10:30 and it hit me...this was going to be a LONG day!

Two bites into my wholly unsatisfying toast and I was already thinking about lunch. I didn’t even need to go to my pantry to know that there was probably nothing in there that would fit within my diet parameters for the day. I knew I was going to have to go to the store...But I needed a plan. I sat there, still chewing my toast (trying with all my might to make it taste like bacon), trying to brainstorm food that I actually like that is not from an animal. Like a beacon of light I came up with the answer...Spaghetti Os!! Yes, I know, they're for kids...whatever. I still eat them (and quite enjoy them as a matter of fact). I was convinced this would get me through the day. Jumping into some sweats and loading the baby into the car seat, I drove to Target, smug smile on my face. This vegan thing may not be so bad after all. I could do this.

In the grocery section of Target, I hunted for Spaghetti Os like a hungry lioness. Of course they were on the LAST aisle I looked down. I spotted them and, triumphantly, reached for the can. SCREEEECHHH! My hand stopped in mid air. Right there on the can was my nightmare "pasta in tomato and CHEESE SAUCE." NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! I grabbed the can and turned it over to read the ingredients just to be sure. My heart fell. Shit...NOW what was I supposed to eat! Time to go home and regroup.

As I drive home, smoothie in hand and stomach still growling, I suddenly remember my one and only trip down vegetarian lane. A few years ago I unwittingly wandered into a vegetarian restaurant in Santa Cruz for lunch. I sat, bewildered as to why I couldn't find a hamburger-or any burger for that matter-on the menu. After about ten minutes, I finally figured out that I was in the land of tofu and sprouts. So I did what any other died in the wool carnivore would do....I got the hell out of there!! Back to today, I was bewildered. What the HELL was I going to eat for the rest of the day? If this were pre-baby, I might have just spent the day drinking....that’s vegan right?? And once you are a little toasted you forget about food. But that wouldn’t be responsible (although I would kill for a glass of wine to go with my steak right now!).

Back at the apartment, I scour the pantry for something-anything-that I can eat. Mac and cheese, out of the question. Rice...ok, but with what. Evaluating my canned goods, I decide on some green beans and cream of mushroom soup to go over my rice (yeah, you know where this is going). So I cook my rice and am warming up the soup while talking to my friend Suzette on the phone. I was telling her about my 35 day project and being vegan for the day. When I told her what I was eating she started to laugh. "You know you can't eat the cream of mushroom soup right?? Cream??" Dammit!! I fish the can out of the trash and read the ingredients....sure enough, milk products. So lunch today consisted of green beans....and green beans. This whole vegan thing was proving harder than I thought.

By dinner time I am about ready to gnaw my arm off (but even that would be cheating since I am pretty sure human flesh counts as "meat"). After the Spaghetti Os debacle I realized that I could make pasta and marinara sauce and that would count. That was my ace in the hole....my "big" dinner. Now I love pasta as much as the next person, but I have to say, this was the worst spaghetti dinner ever. I sat in front of the TV, chewing on the veggies in the sauce wishing they were meatballs and counting the hours until midnight. This whole experiment was designed to make me look at things a little differently. I don’t know that I understand vegans or vegetarians any more than I did before. One thing I know for sure...as soon as the baby wakes up I'm going to get a double cheeseburger!!

"You can write that s*&% on a napkin" - 28 days to 35 - My last will and testament

This was one thing on my list that sounded a little daunting....my LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT (in my head this is always spoken in a deep scary voice...maybe that's just me...). I have thought for some time that this is something that I wanted to do. Not becasue I have a whole lot to leave people (my net worth consists of a 2006 Jeep Grand Cherokee and a bunch of sentimental crap no one cares about but me.) But now that I have a child, I knew it was something that I NEEDED to do. Not because I'm morbid and planning to die, but I should probably be prepared right? That's the responsible, adult thing to do. So, having made the decision to do this, I set about trying to figure out how. I mean, this isn't something they teach you in school (there is no Planning For Your Death 101 in the course catalog).

So as I set about trying to do this whole "will" thing, I first started asking around. FYI, friends and family are not always the best source of information. What I gathered was this: 1) where/how you write the information doesnt have to be formal (as my sister said "You can write that shit on a napkin.), the important thing is to get it notarized; 2) there are a variety of ways to plan for what happens after your death (will, living trust, etc), most of which assume that your worldly possessions consist of more than high school yearbooks and Biggest Loser workout DVDs.  So after a little research, I decided to use one of the many websites that walks you through completing all of the necessary items in a will (I know I will have to revise this later on, but for the sake of starting the process I decided to go this route).

Soooo, courtesy of partingwishes.com, the first draft of my will is done. It was kind of funny actually, realizing how little I had to leave.  But kind of sobering too. In deciding on a beneficiary to my  vast estate (LOL) I had to think about who would still be around after I was gone. Not a very pleasant line of thought for sure....but I know I will rest a little easier knowing that if something were to happen to me (and Darin) our wishes will be carried out as far as who will take care of Aiden. So everything is planned for after I die....now, if I could just figure out the plan for the rest of my life.....

Why can't my birthday be in August?? - 29 days to 35 - Skinny dipping!

It would seem to me that skinny dipping is supposed to be a pleasurable experience. When people tell stories about it, they are usually funny, sometimes sexy, and almost always involve warm water. This is NOT one of those stories.

I should start by saying that I cant swim. Yep, you read that right. (Which begs the question, why isn't learning to swim on my list? I'm Black, we are not a buoyant people! If we could swim we wouldn't be here...we'd have just jumped off the boat and swam back home!) So the idea of "skinny dipping" for me really just means getting naked and jumping into and frolicking around in water...as long as it doesn't go past my shoulders! Even with my lack of swimming skills, this is always something that I wanted to do. Not sure why, maybe just for the story...or to give me one more thing to drink to when playing "I never...." At any rate, when coming up with this list, I thought skinny dipping would be a great one to include. Had I thought through the planning involved, or the fact that I would be doing this in the dead of winter I may have reconsidered! (Yes, I know this is a California winter, but cold is cold!!)

As I started planning this adventure I figured it would be pretty easy. I live in an apartment complex that has a pool. I live very close to said pool. I figured I would just sneak into the pool in the middle of the night, disrobe, jump in, frolic, and mission accomplished, right?? Not exactly! I forgot to factor in a 1) newborn baby, 2) a locked pool, and 3) the fact that it would be 42 degrees out. (See, I told you this wouldn't be one of those fun/sexy skinny dipping stories.)

So the plan was set. In order to minimize the chances of being seen we would sneak into the pool around 2am. I set me alarm for 1:00am and drifted off into dreamland, still happily anticipating my dip. Alarm goes off. Problem number one: getting myself out of bed. As I lay there, all warm and cozy under my down comforter, it hit me....it COLD outside. My eyes popped open, and for the first time the ridiculousness of skinny dipping in JANUARY hit me. I realized at that moment that I would rather drive a pencil into my eye than get out of bed and jump into what was sure to be a frigid pool. But that's what this is all about right? Testing my limits, pushing the boundaries...yada yada yada. I knew if I didn't drag my ass out of the bed right then, this wasn't going to happen. "Darin," I whispered. "Get up.....HEY..GET UP! Its time to do the thing." He rolled over and said "Seriously? You're really gonna do this?"

So I am out of bed and the next dilemma....what exactly does one wear skinny dipping?? The obvious answer was not possible, given that I would need to get from my apartment building and back (and I didn't want the whole world, or anybody who might see me, getting a glimpse of all my naked glory). I decided to go with something easily removable (shorts and a t-shirt) with nothing underneath. This detail is important given what Darin wore. Shorts and a t-shirt...with a fleece jacket! Yes, the irony of him adding layers before going out to take a picture of me skinny dipping was not lost.

Dressed and ready, towel and camera in hand, Darin asks "What about the baby?" Uh oh. Again, poor planning on my part. The baby was starting to wake up a little and taking him with us wasn't an option (can't really run back home naked AND holding a baby now can I?). I decided to put him in his swing. We strapped him in, cranked it up, and headed for the door. The blast of cold air that hit my legs was, shall we say, shocking. I turned to Darin with a look of horror. He laughed. HARD. And in between giggles he kept saying "I can't believe you are really gonna do this."

Once inside the gated and locked pool area (courtesy of a handle pull McGuyver-ed out of Darin's flip-flop) the sheer stupidity of this really sinks in. I am standing there, clothed and shivering, about to get naked and jump into an unheated pool. Not one of my brightest ideas. The longer I stand there, the less I want to do this....and the higher the likelihood of someone seeing me. I realize its Go Time. I inch over to the pool to test the water, Darin, giggling like a schoolgirl behind me. I dip my hand in. HOLY SHIT ITS COLD!!! By this point Darin is about in tears laughing at me. I soooooooo don't want to do this. I quickly lose the t-shirt and shorts and jump in. The water hits me like a bunch of icicles. Have you ever gotten up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and your ass hits that cold toilet water because SOMEONE forgot to put the seat down. Yeah, it was kind of like that. Except a hundred times colder. And all over my body. "Take a picture!" I whisper-yell, making my way back to the edge of the pool. I HAD too get out of that water! I wrap the towel around me and we both haul ass back to the apartment laughing the whole way. Back inside Darin says "You know since you didn't swim that it doesn't really count, right?" I've got toes like ice cubes, nipples that could cut glass, and a mild case of PTSD from the shock of my "polar dip"...oh yeah, it counts!

A Prost: To fat guys in little coats - 30 days to 35 - Drinking my first beer

I do not drink beer. I have uttered that statement and defended it countless times. But in all fairness, I never really gave beer a fair shake. I think its the smell. My dad has been a beer drinker for as long as I can remember. And when I was a kid he used to let us go to the fridge and bring him his beer after work. (I know, I know, that would probably be enough for someone to call child services on him these days, but it was the late 70s/early 80s, what do you expect?) I vividly remember trekking to the kitchen, lugging open the door and grabbing Dad's beer. On the walk to his corner recliner, I would try with all my might to twist open the cap to that bottle of Michelob. By the time I reached him, my dad would just laugh at my little straining face and grab the beer, twisting off the top easily. Then he would kiss my cheek....and the skunky, rank smell of beer always made me turn up my little nose. Needless to say, beer left an early nasty impression on me.

Even when I started drinking socially in grad school, I could never get beyond my initial impression. This led to some VERY expensive bar nights. I cant remember how many times I watched with envy as my friends drank themselves stupid on dollar beers while I sipped on my overpriced Amaretto sour (my only one of the night because it was all I could afford). So it would have been easy, or at least economical, to acquire a taste for beer. (Which, by the way, I always thought was the worst argument my friends gave me for drinking beer...if I have to LEARN to like something, that means I don't really like it!!) But I could never do it...which is how a red-blooded American woman arrives at the age of 34 never having had a beer.

So I decided this MUST make my list....but now the bigger question....on which beer wagon do I take my maiden voyage?? I enlisted suggestions and got a wide range of advice ("If you're going to do it, suck it up and do it right? Go for a stout!", "Be ghetto and drink of 40 of Old E!", "Stay away from commercial domestic, go with quality!"). The decision was a tough one...in the end, I went with a throwback from my days in Portland. Widmer Hefeweizen. The whole time I lived there, that was all my friends drank. I figure if its good enough for them, I can try it! (For those of you who have never had one of these from a bottle, there is a pleasant surprise inside....the underside of the bottlecap contains a "prost" (German for toast). They are usally really funny...at least, mine was!)


I buy the twelve pack (I wasn't thinking I would like it THAT much, my husband drinks it so I figured it wouldn't go to waste) and frost a glass in my freezer in anticipation (I have seen other people do that and always wanted a reason to do it myself. I felt so cool!!) I pour the beer, add the lemon, and then...the moment of truth. I tried not to flinch as the cold amber liquid hit my lips, I swallowed....and it wasn't bad. It wasn't GOOD, but it wasn't bad. I took another drink...and then another...by this time the beer was hitting my stomach and didn't seem to be sitting well. I felt slightly nauseated and not the least bit buzzed. Realizing I would have to finish at least this beer and probably another before I felt anything....and weighing the bubbling in my stomach AND the bottle of wine in the fridge, I tapped out.... Screw beer...somebody mix me a cosmo!!

HOOAH! 31 days to 35 - Write a letter to a soldier

So when I decided to do this 35 days project, I knew I wanted to have a variety of things on my list. Some fun, some funny, some challenging. And I knew that there were going to be a couple that would be emotional for me. This is one of them.

I am an Army brat. Not the typical Army brat that was forced to move all over the country from one duty station to the next. But my father was a lifer in the Army. I grew up on and around Army and Air Force bases. I didn't realize until very recently exactly how much this affected my perception of the world and even simple things. The fact that I know what the PX is and what they sell. The fact that I woke up to a bugle every morning for YEARS. And the fact that growing up entrenched in the military lifestyle has implanted in my soul a certain love and respect for the military and the sense of honor and duty that it represents. When I see people in uniform, especially now, it makes me smile. Even though I wasn't involved in ROTC in school, and always told my father there was NO WAY I would ever join the army, there is a small part of me that would have been really proud to wear that uniform and serve my country in that manner. There is an honor in that unlike anything else.

My father served 20 years in the Army. So did my brother in law. And countless friends from high school have joined all branches of the military. And several of them have served and are currently serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. I am not even going to touch the politics of whether we should even be in this war (in general, I don't like to talk politics). But politics aside, I can support the men and women who sacrifice themselves, potentially their lives, in service to their country. I want them to know just how much those sacrifices are appreciated.

In deciding to write this letter, I considered picking one of the various high school friends that I know currently serving. But I know that there are a lot of soldiers who don't have much in the way of family or friends. They are spending time over there with little or no lifeline back home. So I wanted to send a letter to someone who may not otherwise get one. There are lots of programs set up to see that soldiers who get little or no mail get letters and care packages that supporters send. I don't know who will get my letter, but I can only hope that he or she receives it exactly when they need a little pick me up from home. I hope it brings a little warmth, and lets them know that somebody back here is thinking of them.

If you want to send a letter of your own, these are two of the programs I found that seem pretty cool.
http://www.anysoldier.com/index.cfm
http://www.letterstosoldiers.org/index.html

Its like torture that I'm paying for! - 32 Days til 35 - My first bikini wax

As I lay on the table with a strange woman wielding hot wax over my private parts, I had the first of what I am sure will be several moments during this project when I ask myself...."What the HELL am I doing?" But wait...I should start at the beginning...

This whole experience began in a less than ideal manner, with my alarm going off at 7:30am. Given that the baby has been waking me up early, I should be used to it...but no. The only appointment I could manage to get at the local day spa was 9:00am. But I figured that would give me the rest of the day to recuperate....So I drag myself out of bed and try to get mentally ready for what is about to occur. And I start thinking....is getting a bikini wax like getting a maid? Everyone i know that has a maid cleans their house a least a little BEFORE the maid comes.(Kind of defeats the purpose but whatever). So I looked down and wondered, should I be doing some pre-grooming before dropping my drawers this morning? But there was no time...plus I wanted to make sure I would get my money's worth, and give her something to work with.

So at 9:00am on the dot I walk into a surprisingly swanky day spa (swanky for Bako anyway). I get all checked in and an overly chipper blonde leads me back to the "private area." Laura, my friendly waxer, leads me into the waxing room. She gives me instructions (apparently if you are not getting a Brazilian wax, you do have the option of leaving your undies on...thank you for that!) and waits outside while I get all settled. As I pull off my jeans, I have to remind myself to breathe. The self talk goes a little something like this "Come on..how bad could it be?? Its just a little wax right? You get your eyebrows done all the time! And come on, you just had a baby cut out of you for God's sake! If you can take 17 staples you can probably handle a little bikini wax!!" So, by the time Laura returns I am pumped! I'm ready!!

"So, this is my first bikini wax," I tell her. I don't know why (and ladies, you can attest to this), but whenever there is someone doing some kind of "procedure" on your lady bits (medical or otherwise), there always seems to be small talk involved. So as I begin to explain my little "35 til 35" experiment, I am keenly aware of the sensation of warm wax hitting my bikini line. We continue to chat as she places the strip. I am mid sentence when she RIIIIIPPPPPSSSS the strip off and I lose my breath. I see spots...and then...I start laughing! When I open my eyes she is looking at me strangely, "Are you ok?" "yeah," I say. "I always laugh when stuff hurts. Keep going." I look down, fully expecting to see a large swath of clear, hairless skin. Imagine my surprise to realize that for all that blinding pain, she barely cleared off anything. Some rapid calculations led me to the conclusion that I was going to have to endure the same wax-rip-seeing spots-laughing process about 12 more times before this ordeal was over. I can finally understand and appreciate why when Darlene attempted to have this done she stopped after one side. Symmetry be damned!! Ha-Ha! All I can say is that I am glad that it was early and the spa wasn't busy because I can only imagine what I sounded like through the door. The alternating screams of "oh my GOD that hurts" and hyena laughter was surely comical.

Fifteen minutes later and she is finished. Looking embarrassed she kept saying "I'm sorry, but you did really great. And it wont hurt so much next time." Next time, MY ASS!!

Paying it "backward" - 33 Days til 35

So today's "activity"....paying for the order of the person behind me in the drive thru. I was actually really looking forward to this activity. I got the idea a few months ago when it happened to me. I was driving on my way out of town and, for once, was not in a hurry and overcome with road rage. As I sat in the Sonic drive thru, a woman came from the wrong direction wanting to get in the line and, of course, blocked the entrance from the road. I went ahead and let her slip in before me, no big deal. So I ordered my strawberry limeade (FYI if you havent had it, you MUST try it...DIVINE!!) and pulled up to pay, and the confused teenager at the window said "The lady in front of you paid for your order." I was so pleasantly surprised! No one does that kind of thing anymore! So when I decided to do this 35 to 35 thing, I knew I wanted add this to my list.

So today, I decided on Wendy's for lunch (NOT on my diet, but whatever). I pulled into the drive thru and an SUV with two teenage girls in it pulled behind me. I paid for my order and theirs and pulled out. As I was sitting at the exit waiting to pull back on the road, the girls pulled out and i saw the passenger straining to see my face...I'm sure wondering who in the world would pay for a stranger's meal...and I have to say, it made me feel REALLY good. They will never know who I am, and may never pass the favor on to someone else, but for today, I got to put some good "juju" out in the world. :-)

"Make way for the bad man." - 34 days til 35 - Watch Scarface

OK.....so I have FINALLY seen it. And my response....I cant really put my finger on it...so what is to follow is a stream of consciousness reflection on my day two activity....

First of all, Michelle Pfieffer looks like she is 12! But I gotta say she ages WELL!

And Al Pacino's accent...if it hadn't been so endlessly imitated in the last 20 years it wouldn't have been funny...but it has been....so it was!

Which brings me to my bottom line impression of the film...i liked it...but i would have liked it SO much better if it had not been referenced, imitated, and flat out copied so shamelessly in all manners of media. If I didn't listen to so much rap music i might not have already known the lines from every memorable scene ("Say hello to my little friend!" "Another Quaalude, she love me again." etc. etc.). Its difficult to objectively watch a movie like Scarface with all of the build up and hype. Reminds me of how i felt about the very first Batman movie. Remember all the hype? in the months leading up to the debut of the movie there were commercials, happy meals and souvenir cups and McDonald's, and every kind of Batman schwag you can imagine. And Darlene and I devoured it all. In what can only be described as a painful memory, I can recall the two of us showing up at the theater on the opening night decked in Batman t-shirts, earrings, necklaces, and yes, even shoelaces (hey, i never said we were cool!). So we get our overpriced popcorn and soda and wait with bated breath for one of the biggest cinematic disappointments i have ever personally experienced. Now Scarface wasn't THAT bad, but its tough to live up to 20 years of hype. Yet and still, I gotta say...I liked it. Al Pacino is the man...and I can see how a generation of borderline antisocial boys could use him as a role model for their "entrepreneurial spirit." LOL

Oh and one last thing....the clothes!! And "Gina's" hair?!! Seriously....even in 1980, WTF is that all about!!! HAHAHAHAHA

Me?? A blogger?? - 35 til 35 - DAY ONE

OK...so a few months ago a friend of mine started this really cool project. In the 30 days coming up to his 30th birthday he did something each day that he had never done before (Thank you Brian Ford!). Since I am always looking for ways to make my life more exciting (like I need something else to do!!) and since my 35th birthday is approaching, I decided to steal his idea to mark this milestone. Of course, I told Darlene, and she is doing it too. So for the next 35 days I will be embarking on one new adventure a day. Some of them are pretty minor, some pretty major, some will make me uncomfortable, some will be really exciting, but all will be things I have never done before.

So this is day one, and my "thing" for today is starting a blog. I have always wanted to do this....but I was worried I wouldn't have anything to say that other people would want to read...plus I doubted my ability to keep being witty every day in a blog! But therein lies the challenge! Not only do i have to document this adventure, but do so in a way that people really want to read! I feel the pressure mounting already! LOL Anyway, for the next 35 days, I will journal my adventures in pushing my own boundaries. When I am able I will include pictures, maybe even video (and looking at my list there are some things that i KNOW people are gonna wanna see!!)

I cant tell you whats on my list....but to keep you coming back here are a few teasers.....money, nudity, farm animals, needles, surf, gangsters....and the list goes on! Stay tuned!