Randomness

Thanksgiving four-day weekend flew by between dinners at my mom's, at Josie's, and finally at Diehard's dad's house. We started eating turkey and pie at the north end of the valley at 5 and had gobbled our way down to the south-east by 10. "Gobble" -- get it? Oh YES, lame word-play, I'm all about it!

And then on Sunday morning there was the small plumbing situation at the glorious villa apartments where I reside. The post-traumatic stress still lingers, so let's just say that glancing down as one showers and watching rust-colored water ooze up the freaking drain is hurl-inducing. At least I was not alone; a gaggle of dripping wet neighbors in robes and/or hastily thrown-on t-shirts and shorts were already outside the apartment manager's office when I got there.

I'm also post-Thanksgiving thankful that my weekend wasn't a blazing hell of a lot worse. Monday morning December 1st, one of Slick's client's arrived half an hour early for his appointment. He left his sunglasses on as he slumped into a chair. I cheerily offered him a cup of freshly brewed coffee with a smile and was about to launch into perky half-hour-killing chatter when he took off his sunglasses. His black-and-blue swollen-shut eye froze me mid-sentence. He smiled weakly, and I poured him some coffee without saying a word; the man needed some quiet time to blank out after most likely explaining the shiner more than once or twice and to various law enforcement personnel.

Slick didn't appear surprised by his client's appearance when he arrived, greeting the man with an "Oh, hi ... yeah, follow me." The client put down his cup, which he'd been clutching to chest like a disaster victim at a storm shelter, and meekly followed Slick into his office.

Besides that, nothing dramatically blog-worthy happened last week, but lots and lots, and lots, of holiday and post-election-volunteering work. I've been keeping my three-times a week two-mile track run commitment. Oh yeah, I'm aiming to run the Palm Springs half-marathon in February. And the Women Running Wild 5K in March is tempting, but I don't know if I can put my bowed legs through the abuse it would take to not be embarrassed by straggling waaaaaay behind the narrow-hipped, gazelle-legged type-A runners 5K's attract.

Anyway, that's all for now; feel free to hit the sack. Hope this thrill-filled post didn't scare the sandman away ^_^

Because of original material for public consumption ...

I GOT NOTHIN'!

And because while watching this guy's routine, the Mexican side of me cracked up while the Filipino side said "WHAT THE PUCK?!" -- and vice versa, enjoy (oh yeah, FYI: plenty of blue language):

Part 1


Part 2

Ain't no lipstick on THIS pitbull!

Time has flown, and the tumbleweeds have clogged this blog once again. Why I think I spy a nest of rattlers down yonder by my links!

Up top is a photo of a new friend I made while helping my fellow bleedin' heart, hell-bound, children-corruptin' liberals with a last push to get out the vote.

The online class has eaten up my internet time, and I was very good about not wasting it on mindless surfing. Unfortunately I got too good at feeling guilty about saving my internet time for just that. And coming anywhere near Blogger was a no-no; so I've neglected every one of my blogs, and didn't avoided reading my Blogger favorites to stay focused on the class journal and assignments. And it was one of our wiley instructors first instructions: "Invest your time and energy" you have to give to it and don't "use yourself up" on "time-eaters." She's really good.

So my favorite holiday is barreling down on me in a day, and I have NO PLANS but whatever we can get to at AFTER I'm done with a "phone-in" on the 31st. The big guy is donating our Halloween day to the liberal agenda. I heart him truly :)

I may also go back to the field of education by next year (crossing fingers) not as a teacher but in a position where I can more directly and sometimes one-on-one help students with both personal and academic issues. So yeah, maybe I'll have to remove the lawyer nanny on my profile. I haven't shared this with my favorite lawyers yet, just don't wanna jinx it, so I better stop yapping about it here, then.

OK, what else is new? Oh yes, this NaNoWriMo business. The bug has bitten me again, and the creative writing course that just wrapped up left me feeling energized about the character sketches and short stories that I think can lead up to at least a short novel. I've never gotten past the first week of a NaNoWriMo before, and I've gone to bat twice. But this time feels different. And the strongest of my characters has even appeared in my dreams twice. So I hope that's a good omen. And I don't want to jinx this either, so I'll stop elaborating.

And I hope I'll finally get to cleaning up around here, and to finally adding my favorites to that Blogs I'm Following new-fangled doohicky. Good night, and hope to catch up with y'all on your blogs soon.

Yeaaaaaah....

... as Bill Lumbergh would say. I'm reading back the post below after it's 20-hundreth grammar and spell-check, and I'm STILL wondering if I should have just chucked it. Or copy and delete and post again so the date will show I finally posted this mess last night, because I've been beyond blogstipated, in a snowballing guilt trip that started with feeling like I Should Be Writing For Creative Writing whenever I found myself with time and wanting to check up on my favorite blogs. The more I peaked in those wonderful bloggers lives and creations, the more my festering blog entry and Must Creatively WRITEWRITEWRITE pounded me down, so thus this.

Sometimes personal journal entries aren't quite as tight as one would want to, you know? But it's funny to me to read back how, before I hit the wall drink-wise, my recollection of events was so vivid, then BAM: Blur City whizzing by. But kind of glad the class has got me back to journaling old-school regularly, because I don't think I could have retained the detail I could still piece together without pen and paper next to me and being back in that groove.

So again....yeeeeeah, I'll go back to sipping my coffee and wondering What.the.FUCK? ...again. And maybe later I'll post about how I managed to scramble to work the following morning with DH's help (thinking about him that night-day still makes me cringe, wanna dig a hole and hide in it for a sec).

And now paraphrasing the late great Rick James: Alcohol is a helluva drink...OK, that made me cringe, too, later...

Edited to add the video above. I love the original video, but Sony appears to have requested disabling embedding, the grinches. Its truth hits harder with all that has happened this birthday month. September seems to bring on the karmic consequences; maybe because fall is the season for reaping, OK now I'm gonna be depressed so I'll stop -- but listen to it, forgot how beautiful and in a strange way hopeful Destruction is, and how masterful Faithless and Maxi Jazz are. (((HUGS))) and later :)

Well, hello there, public blog.

Every other day I think of some way to end the post stagnation, but I just don't quite get to posting. And life gets in the way. Like the move to the new office building. The blood, the sweat, the lawyer tears, my sanity packing its bags and hopping the border back to Rosarito without me ...

So that's been going on, plus a funeral for one of my sister's co-workers, who was also a sweet, wonderful friend.

And writing offline. Finally getting some writing done offline. Ink and lovely paper. And another online course ... how did fall come crashing down so fast? August went by faster than usual, even with the staggering humidity.

Ah -- my birthday is this week, the 17th -- my legal overlords were kind enough to give me the day off. Hoping DH can get some time off, too.

And tomorrow it's back to the old grind in the new office's retro-modern vibe. And all I can safely say here about what's new at work besides the location, other than the usual never-ending cycle of deposition digests, interrogs, pleadings in need of drafting, clients in need of hand-holding, is:

THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING!!! THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING!!! LOCK YOUR DAUGHTERS! BURY THE STOLICHNAYA IN THE BACKYARD!!! THEM THAR RUSSKIES ARE COMING AND THEY'RE GONNA GIT YER BEST NIGHT CLUBS AND TOURIST SHOPS AND-AND-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

...whew. And that's all that duty of confidentiality will allow.

Yes, I'm beat, calling the Diehard before I go to sleep, and promising myself again to visit my long-neglected luscious blog faves Google Reader line-up soon. Missed you all so very much, good night.

There's no place like home ...

... but wish I was still here:

Testing 1, 2, 3 ...

IT'S ALIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!!!

WHOOT. Anyway, Madam Z's comments reminded me to update about Die Hard man's chin follicle issue. I've nipped that in the bud, in a way. DH didn't admit to wanting a "chin caterpillar" -- thanks, Steph! But a massage-cum-shave deal over the weekend was warmly accepted ... get your minds out of the gutter, people, I don't mean that "cum." OK, I meant to take you to Guttersville, so never you mind.

Besides that, I've got nothing. Nada, mi gente. Except to tell you that it's been DELICIOUS just lying around after work catching up on books and reading--and-writing along to the one I've been meaning to get to forever. It's great to actually get out of the office when my job description says I'm supposed to.

AND even my dreams have been as ho-hum as my waking life. The only good news there is I finally remembered one upon waking and jotted it down in my very neglected dream journal, which is also very squished from having been pushed into the crack between bed headboard and mattress under a pillow.

I dreamt that I stopped by for dinner at a place called Norman's. There's no such place around here, that I know of. It had the feel of an oldster high-end hangout, much like Melvyn's Restaurant and Lounge in Palm Springs. Like Frank Sinatra's ghost still lurking at the bar would be no shock. And the owner of the dream restaurant, Norman, kept repeatedly passing by my table and others, asking us how our dinner was, and twice I choked out "Great, it's great" between mouthfuls. It's like Norman would forget he just asked two minutes ago. Anyway, now that I think about it, the owner also reminds me of Sherman, of Sherman's Deli in Palm Springs. Seriously, if you're ever in Palm Springs, Sherman's Deli is the place to go for kosher and OHMYGOD the made-from-scratch, deep dish apple pie is HEAVEN.

.... mmmmkay, asleep yet? Yes? Good :)

Desert Monsoon

Who sent us India's weather?

Desert Sun photos of high waters flowing down Racquet Club Drive in the Chino Cone area of Palm Springs:





Rain that sounded like hail just nailed us around sixish a.m. and off and on all day. But it wasn't bracing, cool invigorating rain like last time. Oh no. It was the kind of rain that beats you down and sticks to your body like warm glue because it's 105 degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity is, oh, about 110 percent.

If a caravan of Asian elephants had crossed at the intersection of Date Palm and Ramon, where the traffic lights were out of order as in most other intersections this afternoon, it wouldn't have raised a weary eyebrow.

Because the tumbleweeds & dust bunnies are out of control on this here blog ...

... I'm posting what my procrastinating, heat-addled butt should've posted on Sunday.

As per usual, the products of my camera-snapping aren't exactly stellar, especially after two or three margaritas under this bar palapa:



So this is how I spent the better part of Sunday: At the casino, again. And I don't even gamble -- usually. But got an invite to the "Wet Spot" pool party at Fantasy Springs, and roped into playing volleyball for a short spell:


(and no, that's not me in the pink bikini, but she's family, and yes, she gets a lot of ribbing about the "tramp stamp")

The DJ was outstanding -- clear, slamming sound working a great mix of rarely heard outside of LA tracks and club and pop favorites. But we were out barely past an hour when the heat was just too much and we were starving so we headed for the air-conditioned -- hell, refrigerated -- buffet dining room.

And while we were cramming our gullets with all the Ahi tuna and oysters we could load on a plate without looking like total pigs, we were privileged to overhear various conversations among the wanna-be game show contestants who'd been loitering at the casino since the crack of dawn. Deal Or No Deal was auditioning contestants at the casino and it seemed like the entire frekking valley was trying to get a shot at game show infamy.

Two of the people in tables next to us ended up squealing with joy after taking cell calls: One of them I'm acquainted with from my substitute teacher days in the east valley. She's pretty cool, but I don't understand her desire to be on a game show -- besides a reality show, it's my worst nightmare. Anyway, she has huuuuuge cushiony breasts, all natural, and she was wearing a cute summer dress that pushed them up to full effect. The other guy who was picked to go to LA for the show was a guy who I swear was the spitting image of Homer Simpson come to life.

We bantered on and off with some audition rejects who were pissed off about it, noting that the producers of the show seemed to be going for "character" type contestants: The big-boobed teacher with the cute little locket between her hot boobs, the Homer Simpson look-alike, and a sympathy-grabber -- a lady with an autistic son at home and another in Iraq. So interesting times at the casino.

And now I'll try to catch up on some more exciting bloggers than yours truly before I hit the sack, 'night ~_~

EDITED TO ADD this Mad TV gem I just found, which succinctly illustrates what Deal Or No Deal is all about: