Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

I am getting so tired of people doubting me. Or even worse--calling me a liar-- when I have the courtesy to let them know of my star sightings. After all, sightings are so common here that it's really no big deal to us residents. I just feel that I have a duty to all the little people I know back in the Heartland, back in the Midwest, the South, and the East, to let them know what is going on out here. So when I tell people that I saw Pamela Anderson Lee at a Little League game (stringy bleached blond hair, layered t-shirts, looks like she's been around a few blocks a few times) or Jerry Seinfeld at a burger place (burger, half a bun, no fries, looks exactly like Jerry Seinfeld, jeans, blue polo shirt, driving an in-perfect-condition powder blue 1970's VW Bug), why must they doubt me? IF I were going to make up a sighting, wouldn't I come up with one just slightly better than, say, Pamela Anderson? I mean, c'mon, I would at least throw a Barbra Streisand or a Julia Roberts at you, wouldn't I? I am just trying to report breaking news as it occurs. And I can't always get a good photo. I only have a Canon PowerShot. It has a tiny little zoom. Sometimes you are just going to have to be satisfied with Pamela back or Jerry's VW. It's called TRUST, people. Get with it.

one more thing

Oh, also, Mr. Minivan and Boys #1 & 2 sat next to Matt Damon at breakfast today. (Vegetarian egg white omelette, if you must know.)
OOPS--I guess it wasn't Matt Damon after all! That's the last time I take second-hand information. I need a fact-checker and fast!!!

This boot wasn't made for walking

I'm not the most athletic person. Seriously. I'm not. I know you find that hard to believe, but it's true. That's why it's so hard for me to believe I really like a certain kind of exercise class. Two words. Boot camp. Yes, boot camp. Usually a military-style kind of exercise class where the instructor takes quite a bit of joy in yelling at his students to "motivate" them. I like the class because it is always different. It doesn't get boring because you aren't always doing the same thing each class. It is the kind of thing where you feel like you are going to die during the class and then afterward you feel great. This boot camp was founded by a gay-Jewish-former-addict-now-sober guy who is apparently a very tough teacher. I haven't taken one of his classes yet. What scared me a little about his classes was learning that if you throw up during the first class you get a free t-shirt. I love a free anything but, c'mon! I'm sticking to the non-hyphenated teachers for now. I survived the first class and have learned something new about myself each class. During the first class I took I learned that I can run on a treadmill for half an hour. During the last class I took I learned that even my shoulders can sweat. Can't wait to see what I learn next week...

Target got me again

It all started because of an egg crate mattress pad. Boy # 1 is going to overnight camp this summer and I wanted to get him a foam mattress pad to put on top of his flimsy little cot mattress. You know, so he'd be more comfortable. Like a 12 year old boy actually cares about stuff like that. Like the foamy egg crate mattress pad is actually going to come out of its wrapping. So I went to one of my favorite stores, Target, for the mattress pad, and a few other things. Well, $250 later, I am back at home, wondering what the hell just happened. I did get a few cleaning supplies, and a really cute workout outfit that I didn't try on--of which at least one piece will probably not be quite right, necessitating another trip to return--and probably make a few more purchases--and the cycle continues.

The masterminds at Target are brilliant, I must admit. Everything there is displayed so nicely. They always have something cute and new and colorful. You will for sure find something there that you never even knew existed yet you realize you need it desperately. Little colorful cubes of dishwashing detergent or cute straw dispensers that would look great on that table in your backyard that you've never served dinner on but probably would if you had a new set of brightly colored plastic plates and, of course, that straw dispenser. And don't forget the red and yellow containers for ketchup and mustard. One more task for your to-do list: "Somehow transfer ketchup and mustard to red and yellow containers." Yeah, right.

But Target and I have such a good relationship that I don't even feel guilty about today. I know we're meant to be together. We have a lot in common. We both like the same things. We've been down this road before, Target and I. I go there, spend a lot, do the drive of shame home, and enjoy my purchases. Then we take a little break from each other. And then, soon, before I even realize it, I'm back ready to do it all over again.

Happy Mother's Day

So tonight Mr. Minivan invited 3 business associates over for a little BBQ. I know, I know, what could be more special and more celebratory on Mother's Day than eating char-grilled meat with your husband's business cronies? I mean, anyone can go out and bring home roses. I am so lucky. When I mentioned that that was an unusual way of celebrating--let's face it--this Hallmark holiday--he said the three little words that strike fear into most women's hearts. Yes, he said, "I'll do everything." Yes it's true. AND--the thing is--he actually believes he will. This is a man who proudly tells me he's cleaned up the kitchen when what he really means to say is "I put the dishes in the sink." And then he said, "We'll get ready-made salads." Well, I have a reputation to uphold--business associates or not, and that was not going to fly.

He did go to the store and shop, and he did all the grilling. He also "cleaned up the kitchen". It was actually a very nice evening. Even without the ready-made salads.

They're Taking Over My Brain

I fear that I am becoming one of them. It seems to be happening slowly, almost without my realizing it. Yet I think that's how it works out here. The other day it was 67 degrees outside and I put on a long-sleeved t shirt. Yes. A. Long. Sleeved. T. Shirt. And the thing is, I didn't even realize what was happening until I put it together with a few other clues. I spoke with a friend from Chicago and she told me it was 44 and cold and rainy. And what went through my mind was "Yuck. Who would want to live somewhere where it is 44 and cold and rainy in the middle of May?" OMG!!! I have only been here for a couple of months. My blood is actually starting to thin. But what is even worse is what's happening in my head. Is it possible that there is something in the water here? But here is how I know for sure that something funny is going on. I drove up La Cienega the other day and gazed toward the hills and toward Sunset, the scene of my nightmare come to life, and I thought, "that doesn't look so steep after all." I've got to do something before it's too late to save myself. But I have to run out first. Let me just go grab a sweatshirt to take with me--after all, it is only going to be 70 today.

Driving Myself Crazy

My parents were here last week for a visit. They drove out to Las Vegas from Chicago in February for a couple of months and then came to spend a few days with us. My mom wanted to get the oil changed in her Lexus, so I called the local Lexus dealer and asked for the service department. "How much is an oil change?" I asked. "$74.95" was the answer. Um, no. We Midwesterners think a $74.95 oil change better include a pedicure at the very least. So the oil change would wait. We had a lot of fun, went to Santa Monica, the Farmers Market--my new favorite place in L.A.-- and had lunch with a friend of my dad's at Mel's Drive-In, a retro-y diner. I plugged the address into the GPS in my car, and we were off. The friendly voice of the GPS directed us up La Cienega. I could see the street getting steeper as it approached the hills in the distance. Have I ever mentioned that I have a recurring anxiety dream where I'm driving up a hill and it gets steeper and steeper and my car starts rolling backward? Anyway, we are driving up La Cienega and I can see that there is a stop light almost at the top of the hill--just where we have to make a left turn onto Sunset. Of course, I am the first car that is stopped at the light, still headed uphill, having to make a left turn when the light changes. And there is a big truck in back of me. My heart is pounding. My dream has become my reality. The light turns green. I take my foot off the brake and put it on the gas. In the few seconds between those two actions, my car starts to roll backwards a few inches. Now my heart is really pounding. I step on the gas and thankfully, start going forward and make the turn. I hope this lunch is good, because I'm never going back to this place again. My dad's friend gets there and my heart has returned to a semi-normal rhythm. I ask him if all the streets leading to Sunset are that steep. "No," he says, "that's pretty much the worst one. I usually try to avoid that one." Now he tells me.

A Big Sighting

As you may or may not know, I have pretty much been a prisoner in my house lately. Waiting for repairmen is my new hobby. So tonight I was actually looking forward to getting out of the house to go to Boy #2's Little League game. We got there a little early so he could warm up and there seemed to be a little buzz in the air. My fellow baseball moms told me that Tom Cruise's son was on the opposing team. Little Connor was actually the catcher. Finally, my subscription to People magazine was paying off--I knew his son's name! We all wondered whether Tom and Katie, or TomKat, as they are known, would show up. The other moms were talking about the paparazzi huddled together on a grassy knoll near the other team's bleachers. "They are not allowed to come any closer." "Can you believe that's their job?" Shortly before the game started, the flash bulbs went wild. TomKat was in the house. I mean, in the park. She is very pretty and very pregnant. He looks exactly like Tom Cruise. All the baseball moms on my team seemed to be on their cell phones alerting their friends. I was watching Katie rub Tom's back, his hand on her leg. I then decided to go hang out by the other bleachers. I mean, I'm new in town. What a great opportunity to make some new friends, right? Up close they look exactly like themselves. They didn't look crazy. And I think you know what I mean. Tom was shouting out encouraging baseball dad stuff to his son. Katie was rubbing his back. I texted a couple of friends the breaking news. One of them told me that she had just seen on Entertainment Tonight that Katie was in Ohio preparing to give birth. "She's sitting on a bleacher 50 feet from me," I said. The other one called me a liar and demanded photos. I actually took a couple of photos when Boy #2 was up at bat that would have been perfect if they weren't so dark. Tom and Katie were in the background. One of the team moms took tons of photos so I actually do have proof. Not that I need any. After all, celebs are all over the place here, right? You practically can't take a walk--not that anyone does out here--without falling over one. And all of us residents are very blase, you know--it's SUCH a common thing. Nothing to get excited about.

Oh, who won the game? I have no idea.

When will this nightmare end?

OMG!!! Tonight I was doing the dishes when I realized the water in the sink (yes, THAT sink) wasn't draining. I ran the disposal for about 2 seconds --and, nothing, the water was still there. Now, I may have a couple of faults, but I'm a VERY fast learner. I turned off the water, put the rubber gloves down, and backed slowly away from the sink. I then tried to use the other sink in the kitchen, the one with the faucet that needs to be replaced. The faucet that needed to be replaced in 1994, probably. Would you believe that the disposal in THAT sink doesn't work? I know, I know, it boggles the mind. So I grabbed the phone, threw it at Mr. Minivan, told him he could call the landlord, and exited the kitchen. I'm almost to the point where I would welcome the locusts.

Back to Normal?

Today--or is it tomorrow--has come and is almost gone. No locusts. No frogs. No pestilence. No avian flu. Maybe we have turned the corner. Dare I hope that I can actually get back to unpacking? I think I may be able to. Cross your fingers.

Water water everywhere....

Yesterday morning I went downstairs to the kitchen and made breakfast. After breakfast I started to wash the dishes. By hand, because the dishwasher--a Magic Chef--ever heard of that brand of dishwasher?--doesn't work and is being replaced this week. So I'm washing and the sink fills up with water, and I press the disposal button. And nothing happens. The water doesn't drain--the sink is still full. So I go do something else and come back in a few minutes and press the disposal button. The water starts to drain and then I hear a horrible whooshing sound. A sound that I hope never to hear again. A sound that is still echoing in my brain right now. I open the cabinets under the sink and whoosh--all the water in the double-sided sink as well as all the food particles from the disposal whoosh out of the broken pipe and are all over the kitchen floor. And going into the dining room. And going into the kitchen eating area. I always wanted a pool but this is ridiculous. Luckily, for once during a household crisis, Mr. Minivan is home. We start grabbing towels and paper towels and getting to work. It is disgusting. It is all over. We cannot possibly have enough towels. It is all too much for me. I start to cry as I'm standing on two towels scootching my feet back and forth over the water on the floor. I literally throw in the towel and let him clean up the mess. Right now I'm sitting at home waiting for the plumber who was supposed to be here 3 hours ago. He just called and is still in the middle of a job. But he'll call me in an hour or two when he is done. Oh, and here's the clincher. I just went into the laundry room to fold some laundry. The water heater is leaking. There is water all over the floor. Details to follow.

UPDATE--the plumber came and is picking up a new water heater right now. I'm drinking alone. I can't wait to see what happens tomorrow.

Some observations

I have realized why I go to the grocery store every day. Not only is it a break from unpacking, but it is a little bit of face-to-face human contact other than my own family. I find myself chatting up everyone from the deli lady to the produce guy to the checkers. And they have to be nice to me because I'm a customer. I have also noticed that whenever a service person comes to the house I switch into hostess mode. "Would you like a Coke or a bottle of water?" I ask the phone guy and the cable installer. I am days away from offering them cheese and crackers, I fear.

A couple of days ago was Boy #2's first baseball game. A very serious league, this one is. Lots of rules. A real dugout, a real umpire, and a real scoreboard. It was about 68 degrees and I had been running around all day. Besides, I'm from Chicago. That's practically a summer day back home. I wore a tank top. I walked up to the bleachers and saw the other mothers. In. Scarves. And. Fleece. Can you believe it? Actually the temperature did drop soon after I got to the game and I put on my sweatshirt, but really, scarves and 68 degrees? Fragile people. And they all told me I'll be just like they are soon.

The unpacking continues. More observations as they occur.

Welcome to the Neighborhood?

In some communities, when someone new moves in, the Welcome Wagon visits. Sometimes the neighbors come to introduce themselves, usually bearing cookies or maybe even a bundt cake. L.A. is such a fast-paced city that I didn't really expect the Welcome Wagon, but what I got was so much more.

Last Saturday, as Mr. Minivan was putting yet more trash bags and moving boxes out in the alley to be picked up, he found a smouldering mattress. Yes, that's right, a mattress had been set on fire and then left to smoulder outside our back gate. Maybe it's a local custom involving marshmellows and graham crackers, but since none of those, nor any Welcome Wagon, was to be found, he poured water on it and continued taking out the trash.

Right after that we went to the Little League opening night festivities. Quite the event, with giant inflatable slides, a raffle (I later found out I won a Curt Schilling autographed jersey, but I digress), a silent auction, and lots of food for sale--the local fireman were even grilling hamburgers and hot dogs. Very small-town in the middle of the big city. We told the fireman what had happened in the alley and they told us we shouldn't hesitate to call the police or fire departments about something like that. But it was over and we enjoyed the rest of the evening.

Yesterday I was out in front getting the mail and a fully-uniformed fireman walked up the driveway, saying "Hi." How nice, I thought, he's here to welcome us--what a nice surprise even without the bundt cake. But, not exactly. He told me that there were a bunch of fireman out in the back putting out a smouldering mattress and that there was also a burned-out couch back there. He asked if, since we were new here, we were putting extra furniture out in the alley. I was horrified. I explained what had happened on Saturday. The neighbor next door was out in the alley, too, giving me dirty looks. She never did introduce herself. I guess I too would be a little crabby if new neighbors moved in and furniture started spontaneously combusting all in the same week. So, anyway, the policemen took my name as the "reporting party" since the neighbor was too busy glaring at me to get her ID. I told them I didn't want to see my name in the local paper. And now along with unpacking and trying to find my way around, I also have to keep an eye out for my local pyromaniac. All in all, I'd rather have the bundt cake.

First Celebrity Sightings

Who knew Little League was a great place to spot celebrities? I was talking to one of guys who produced "Glory Road" and over his wife's shoulder I spotted someone who looked a lot like Sela Ward (from Once & Again, Sisters, and House). So I asked his wife and, sure enough, it was Sela Ward. You know, me and Sela Ward, Little League moms. We have so much in common. Once I start drinking coffee I'm sure we'll go grab many lattes together. Then I spotted a bearded man who looked like an older Danny Bonaduce (think Partridge Family) and of course it turned out that he was Danny Bonaduce. I also learned that Tom Cruise turns up at a lot of soccer games, but soccer season is a long way off. More sightings as they occur....

We're here.......

Several hundred boxes, many tears, a lot of dinners out, and many good-byes later, we are in La-La Land. It's beautiful here but a bit strange. These people are freaked out by rain. It was raining the day we went to register the boys at their new school. At 10 in the morning there was a flurry of activity in the office. Several teachers came in to tell the administrator that it was raining and that "we might have to go to the rainy day schedule." An announcement to that effect was made, and I asked what the rainy day schedule was. "Well, the kids don't go outside and they have recess and gym inside." Kind of what is called "indoor recess" at our school back home, where that decision is made 10 minutes before lunch, I guess. And then a little while later the rain stopped and there was yet another big discussion on whether to go off the "rainy day schedule." I also heard a woman on a cell phone at the grocery store assure someone that she was, indeed, "warm and dry." These Californians are very fragile, it seems.

At another grocery store I was behind a woman at the deli counter and she asked to see the ingredients in the turkey. I remember hoping it was an allergy-related request. Then in the produce department I noticed that California-grown avocados were $2.89 each. I asked the produce guy why I paid 99 cents for them in Illinois and they were more than double that in the state where they were grown. "Because this is where all the rich people live," he answered. I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.

I've had no celebrity sightings yet. I think I will start drinking coffee because it seems that coffee shops are a sure bet for celebrity sightings. Just look thru any issue of People magazine. That, along with unpacking the hundreds of boxes, will be my project for next week.

My house is mad at me

It would appear that my house does not want me to leave it. How else can I explain what I encountered last night? I went into my laundry room to do yet another load of laundry and found the cabinet that hangs above my washer and dryer had jumped off the wall and was lying on top of the washer and dryer! You know that cabinet--the one that holds the bleach, refill bottles of Windex and Fantastick, vacuum cleaner bags, and other laundry room essentials. It seems a little coincidental to me that, after being bolted to the wall just fine for at least the 12 and a half years that we have lived in this house (and probably many more years previous to that), it would just topple off the wall the night before our realtor had scheduled an open house. Don't you agree? I can't take this kind of stress. If this is what my house will do to show me how upset it is, what will my friends and family do?

Reason #5 Why I Will Never Have a Dog

Some combos are great. Peanut butter and jelly. Pomegranates and Martinis. Ti and Vo. They all bring a smile to your face, right? This weekend I "experienced" a combo that will wipe the smile right off your face. A combo so awful I can barely type the words. Must. Type. Through. The. Pain. Here it is: Uggs and dog poop. Yes, it's true. I can personally attest to the fact that that is a combo from hell. You always know the minute it happens, don't you? There's no mistaking that mushy feeling. Suffice it to say that this incident was like my own personal Fear Factor (surpassed only by the time I was waiting for a friend of mine in the vet's office and the door kept opening and more and more dogs came in to join me in the little tiny waiting room--but I digress). What did I do to upset the karma gods, I wondered, as I THOROUGHLY washed each and every little Ugg crevice on my boot? How could this happen to me in a house full of dog lovers? Someone else's house, that is. Someone else's front lawn, I mean. I guess it teaches me a good lesson or two. Stay on the pathway. Keep your head down and your boots held high. I'm going to take this whole incident as a learning experience.

You'd better sit down for this one.

I had to. Well, I don't know how to say this exactly, but I'm just going to go ahead and say it. We're moving. Yes, you heard that right. We're moving. I know--I still can't believe it myself. The possibility has been out there for the last couple of years, but you know how when you hear about something for a long time and it doesn't happen, you sort of don't believe it ever will? That's how this has been. Mr. Minivan has been telling me (and anyone who will listen to him) that this was in the future, and now the future seems to have arrived.

His business needs to relocate. We are headed west to the city of angels. La-La Land. Los Angeles. Which, I might add, is a fun place to visit--but to actually live there? Don't those people get bored by all that sun? Here in the Midwest we actually appreciate a nice day.

For the last few weeks I have been very busy getting rid of some of the crap in my house--I mean donating some of my gently used items to charity, and throwing out some less than gently used items. My garage is so clean you could eat off the floor. Well, not really. And my house is such a vision of cleanliness and organization that my children think they're in the wrong house. The "For Sale" sign is up on the front yard. I guess it's really happening. People I barely know are telling me they are going to miss me--my mailman and the dry cleaner. My cleaning lady of 13 years started crying the other day because she's upset I'm leaving. People I do know want to spend time with me--"let's go for coffee"--or in my case, a Diet Coke. I have now become a reason to throw a party. My parents are putting up a brave face and are trying to avoid the reality of all this by going on a Hawaiian cruise. It's very sad and very exciting all at the same time.

Happy Birthday to Boy #2!!

Today is my son's birthday. He is nine. Every year, around November 1st, I always have great intentions. "I'm going to plan his party now. I'm going to think of some great presents for him. I'm not going to get distracted by Thanksgiving and be scrambling after Turkey Day to plan a party in December." This was going to be the year. But guess what? Last night I was at Target at 9:30 at night filling a cart with a bunch of crap--I mean, some nice presents--so Boy #2 would have something to open today. I booked a bowling party for him today, too--the second weekend in December. What is my problem? Why does this whole month fly by every year?

Actually, I think Boy #2 had a pretty nice day. He got some nice presents including a Spongebob cap, a Ripley's Believe it or Not book, and a label maker. Nothing says "Happy Birthday, kid" like office supplies! He got many more presents from other friends and relatives, including 3 pounds of rubber bands to make a giant rubber band ball--but that's a whole 'nother story. He got a giant cookie cake to share with his class at school, and dinner out at one of those Japanese places where they cook on the table in front of you. All in all, a pretty good birthday.

Next year I start planning in October.

More Vegas stuff

Yesterday morning I almost walked right into Robert Kennedy Jr. when I went down to the lobby. I told him I really enjoyed his speech at the show the night before. I had to say something, right? Then last night at the very funny hour and 20 minute Jon Stewart show I sat three seats away from a bearded and corduroy-wearing Jeremy Piven. He is another pint-size celebrity, no taller than my 5'6" and very slight. He must have had a busy weekend because he took a little catnap during the performance!

This morning when we were leaving the bellhop told me he had helped Dave Chappelle with his luggage and he gave him a $50 tip. I broke the news to him that the day could only go downhill from there.

Now we're back in Chicago enjoying the 30 degree temperature difference. It's fun to go away, but it's always good to go home.