Simply My Life...

Who doesn't love hummingbirds?

2012-01-28T02:03:00.000-08:00

They are so tiny and cute!

The Lost Art of Sending Christmas Cards

2011-12-21T18:40:00.001-08:00

When I was a child during Christmas time the wall in our living room was covered with dozens of Christmas cards. As kids we always knew Christmas was just around the corner when that first card came in the mail. Usually they started arriving shortly after Thanksgiving and by the end of December, my mother had quite a collection. They were from relatives, neighbors, friends, and co-workers of my parents. Even from the mailman and newspaper boy!

I moved into my own apartment when I was twenty-two years old. Every year I bought a load of Christmas cards and sent them to just about everyone I knew. I never sent the same design two years in a row, so I always had several boxes on hand. I’d hit up the after Christmas sales and buy more boxes for the following year. Christmas cards were everywhere. I also had one of those cloth Christmas trees tacked to the back of my front door. It filled quickly with big cards, little cards, cards covered in glitter (that usually got all over the floor when I opened the envelope), pop-up cards, and even a few of those photo cards of families wearing matching snowmen sweaters.

Fast forward to 2011. We are less than a week away from Christmas and I have only one card sitting on my TV stand. It is from my parents. Up until about three years ago I continued to send out dozens of Christmas cards. However, it reached a point when I would send out a handful of cards and I would get maybe one or two in return. It’s not that I send cards to get cards, but it’s nice to see that red or green envelope sticking out of the mailbox. I always got that little twinge in my tummy before I turned the envelope over. Who is it from? It was a nice surprise, because it meant someone was thinking about me and acknowledging my efforts to send them a card, but now that gesture goes unnoticed.

Rarely does anyone make the time and effort to hand-write a bunch of cards, address the envelopes, stick on a stamp, and take them to the post office. Now, I get the ubiquitous “Merry Christmas” message on my Facebook page or an e-card in my email that’s been forwarded to a hundred people. Sending Christmas cards has become a lost art. And with that Christmas has become incredibly impersonal.

I wasn’t planning on sending out any Christmas cards this year, but then I thought, “why not?” I still have plenty of cards in my desk drawer. Maybe if someone sees that little colored envelope in their mail it might just put a smile on their face. I know I’ll be smiling as I drop all those envelopes into the mailbox and I’ll feel better knowing I made the effort to make Christmas personal again.

Inside My F'd-Up Head

2011-11-16T12:47:00.000-08:00

I have had a lot on my mind over the past several months. My head feels like a big gnarled mass of wires, kind of like the bag I keep all my electronics in. When I pull out my iPod charger, the cords to my laptop, cell phone, camera and everything else come out as one big knot. Then I have to sit there and carefully unwind everything just to get to the one I need and I don’t have the patience for that.

It’s hard to focus on one thought, because it leads to the next and on it goes. My gnarled knot of thoughts becomes bigger and bigger because I cannot stop thinking. I often have insomnia, because I will wake up in the middle of the night and start thinking. And it’s not about important things, but stupid shit like having conversations in my head that have never taken place nor ever will or thinking about what to make for Christmas dinner, which is over a month away! It’s useless to lie awake at 2am thinking, but it’s what I do.

My work is what I think about the most. It is literally always on my mind, because I hate my job. With all honestly I can use that word: Hate. It’s a strong word, but accurately describes my feelings. That thought leads me into thoughts of retirement. I’ve spent 20+ years in a career that was never really supposed to be a career in the first place. I simply needed a job that would pay my rent. Now I feel trapped.

This job has become both my comfort zone and my nemesis. I dream of a job that I’m happy to go to, one that doesn’t give me migraines or an upset stomach, one that doesn’t cause sleepless nights or dreams of violence and anger – It’s not all unicorns and rainbows inside my head. I can’t tell you how many people I have killed in my dreams. I want a job that when I wake to my alarm, my first word isn’t “fuck.”

If I quit, sacrifices will have to be made and I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. The economy sucks right now; more people are being laid-off than are able to find jobs. I worry that my husband and I won’t be able to maintain the standard of living we are used to. We’re not materialistic by any means, but it is nice to have money in our pockets. I think about all the ‘what ifs.’

What if with my next job I still have to work night shift, weekends and holidays? That's one of the reasons why I hate my current job. What if I can't find another job? How will I pay the mortgage? There are too many unknown variables, which, you guessed it, leads to more thinking and worry. I don't know whether to continue working for a paycheck and be unhappy (for at least another seven years) or leave, risk not having money, but retain my sanity and get myself healthy again. I'm very scared.

Another stressor that occasionally rears its ugly head, especially around the holidays, is family. Four years ago I had a falling out with my older brother. A long story short, he wanted me to invite certain members of his wife's family to my wedding and I (along with my husband) did not want to. He said some very hurtful things and in the end he disowned my parents and me. He's since reconnected with my parents, but has yet to apologize to either them or me.

I especially get angry when we start planning our holiday get-togethers. My parents want to spend time with both of us, but my brother refuses. I am open to the idea of us being together - although I might have a word or two to say to him - to give my parents the pleasure of celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas as a family, but him and his wife decline all invitations that include me. And he calls me selfish? I’m not my brother’s keeper, but our situation is just another added strand to my ever-growing knot of thoughts.

I think too much about things that don't need thinking about. I get that from my mother. To ease my mind, I try to think of the Serenity Prayer by Reinhold Neibuhr…

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

However, that leads me into more thinking, because it starts off with “God” and I don’t especially believe in God, but that’s a topic for another blog at another time….

My thinking is making me crazy. I firmly believe that if I don’t start controlling my thinking now I’ll wind up in the loony bin sooner or later. For me, thinking is a bad habit, because I can’t stop my brain for even a second. It’s overwhelming and at times all I can do is cry, but then my husband gives me a hug and tells me it’s going to be all right. And in that brief moment with his arms wrapped around me, I am finally quiet and can concentrate on what’s really important in my life.

Vacation!

2011-10-16T11:53:00.000-07:00

I haven't done much writing on this blog, although I do have some stuff in the works. I have, however, a travel blog about me and my husbands adventures through life together. We recently went camping on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.

You can read about our trip on our travel blog: Travels With Rae and Robert...

All Along the Waterfront

2011-08-13T17:49:00.000-07:00

Gathered along the Embarcadero with my photography club this morning for our monthly group shoot. Fantastic time as always with a great bunch of fellow photographers. This time, however, I did a different kind of photography. I prefer landscapes and wildlife, but today I kept my eyes down. I looked for things that I usually miss, like sewer grates, cigarette butts, trash, and pretty much everything else that is below my feet or thereabouts. I didn't realize just how much there is to photograph that I would normally pass right over without a second glance. It was a good exercise for me and I think I got some good shots to show for it and even if I didn't, I had a great time.

Journey to the San Diego Zoo

2011-08-08T06:08:00.000-07:00

Last week I met up with a few other photographers at my absolute favorite place to shoot - The San Diego Zoo. We decided to take advantage of the warm weather and meet up in the evening to see the Zoo's Nighttime China Celebration. I think I spent more time talking and gawking at the performers than actually taking pictures, but regardless if I have my camera or not, being at the Zoo always makes me happy.

Downtime at the Beach

2011-07-27T00:07:00.000-07:00

I haven't done much photography over the last couple of weeks, so I went to La Jolla Cove to check out the scene and hopefully get some shots of the sunset. As far as sunsets go, it wasn't all that fantastic, but I found a quiet stretch of shoreline and had some downtime for myself. It was very relaxing to snap a few photos, watch the waves rolling in, snap a few more shots, and just relax.

San Diego at Night

2011-07-01T01:19:00.000-07:00

I joined several other photographers last night for a few hours in Coronado to shoot the downtown skyline. It's always one of my favorite places for night photography. To view the picture in my gallery, click here.

Yellowstone National Park

2011-06-14T17:43:00.000-07:00

My husband and I recently returned from a wonderful vacation in Yellowstone National Park. You can read about our adventures on our blog Travels With Rae and Robert.

And you can view more of my photos at Rae Costa Photography.

Pull Up Your Pants!

2011-06-04T16:39:00.000-07:00

Pet Peeve Alert: Saggy Pants

Seriously? If I wanted to look at a man’s ass, I would look at my husbands, not that of a zit faced kid walking down the street. I don’t even know where this trend came from, but please, do us all a favor and pull up your pants young man!

I was recently reminded of just how much I hate saggy pants when I saw a teenage boy walking home from school last week. His skinny jeans were sagging so low that he walked funny to keep them from falling down. He was wearing underwear that I assumed was clean since he was showing them off to the world, but regardless. UNDERwear is made to be worn UNDER your pants, not as outerwear.

The youngster was wearing a belt, but what’s the point when it was obviously not being worn for the purpose of why it was made. There is more than one notch on a belt so it can be tightened to fit various sized waistlines and not the “new” waistline that is below the ass, but the waist that is well, your waist!

I’ve heard this saggy pants trend originated in prison. There are lots of trends that originate in prison and should more than likely remain in prison and not filter into the neighborhoods of impressionable retarded white kids. Unless your Eminem, it’s probably best that you wear your pants properly. Heck, Eminem could run around naked if he so desires, because he is Eminem, not a dorky freshman walking home from school.

Look at it this way: If you (who wears saggy pants) and your buddy (who does not wear saggy pants) rob a convenience store and are chased by the PoPo, who do you think the police are gonna catch? Your BFF whose pants remain around his waist? Or your dumb ass that inevitably trips over your own when they fall down around your ankles? I would bet the man in blue catches you.

Here’s another way to look at it: When you go to prison because you robbed a convenience store, who do you think is gonna become the prison bitch? Your cellmate who wears his pants properly with a belt tightened very tightly around his waist? Or your dumb ass that is sagging his prison garb and drawing attention to his supple behind? I would bet that the bitch is you.

As you can see, the advantages of wearing your pants properly and with a belt that is tightened, as it should, clearly outweigh the disadvantages of sagging your pants. So, the next time you’re getting dressed to go to school, to hangout with your bros, or just getting dressed in general, ask yourself this, “Do I really want to become the prison bitch?”

I hope the answer would be “no”, so pull up your pants young man!

Take Responsibility You Piece of Shit...

2011-06-03T16:13:00.000-07:00

There comes a point in life when you need to start taking responsibility. Responsibility for your actions, for the words that come out of your mouth, for the mistakes you have made. This was something I learned as a kid and have carried into my adult life. As I grow older and have new experiences, I’ve added to and rearranged my list of what’s important to me. I take pride in exercising those values.

I have noticed, however, those much younger than me – pretty much anyone under the age of 30 (ok, there are some exceptions) – don’t hold certain values as close to their heart as they should. You know, the basic ones, such as honesty, integrity, respect.

I won’t go into specifics as there is an investigation currently pending, but there were several incidents at work where money was stolen out of my coworkers’ purses. I’m not talking a handful of change for the snack machine, but enough money to prevent a bill from getting paid or groceries from being bought for the week.

Some of us narrowed it down to who the thief might be…and she’s under 30. She was the only common factor in all three incidents, but we couldn’t prove it. We gossiped about it around the water cooler, but no one directly pointed a finger at her or called her out. It was no secret that we all knew that money had been stolen. I had hoped this would be enough to stop any further incidents, but now a fourth person has had her purse burgled.

I’m not surprised by people’s actions, regardless of their job title or official capacity. I think we are all capable of very evil deeds, but some of us have built-in filters preventing us from following through with our thoughts, like purposely ramming our car into the jerk that cut us off on the freeway, putting a bullet in the back of someone’s head that cut in line at the grocery store, or taking a wad of money out of someone’s pocket. Admit it. We all have those kinds of thoughts at one point or another. And have you never played the “What Would You Do If You Found a Big Bag of Money” game?

Yet, I wonder how the thief justifies her actions of stealing from those that she works so closely? Does she tell herself she’ll pay it back at a later date? Or maybe she just doesn’t give a shit. What she wants overrides what is right, because she obviously doesn’t have the same values as me. I work hard for what I have and for someone to think it’s okay to take it from me…yeah, I’d be very upset and that built-in filter would be working overtime! So I can empathize with the victims.

Whatever the thief’s motivations or how she explains it at the end of the day, her actions were wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. I’m not one to preach. I prefer to lead by example or prove myself by my own actions, but if everyone just showed just a bit more respect for one another, tried to live a bit more honestly, and held themselves to some kind of standards then maybe this world wouldn’t be such a violent, hateful place. It’s time to take responsibility!

And maybe if the thief thought twice about being a piece of shit, my coworkers would still have their money in their purses and I could borrow some change for the vending machine. I'm in the mood for a Twinkie.

Easy Sloppy Joes

2011-05-25T10:27:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd share another one of my favorite recipes. I made these for dinner the other night. They are so good, yet so easy. It's become my go-to dish when I'm too lazy to make anything else for dinner. Thankfully my husband loves them so he doesn't mind all that much.

1-pound ground beef
1 medium onion, chopped (about 1/2 cup)
1/4 cup celery (optional - I don't put it in)
1 cup ketchup
1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 tsp. ground mustard
1/8 tsp. black pepper
6 hamburger buns

In a 10-inch skillet, cook beef and onion over medium heat 8 to 10 minutes, or until brown. Drain.

Stir in remaining ingredients, except buns (duh!). Heat to boiling; reduce heat. Simmer uncovered 10 to 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Fill buns with mixture and chow down!

Not Your Grandma's Grilled Cheese

2011-05-17T18:13:00.000-07:00

Continuing on with my cooking binge.... I've had this recipe for a few weeks now and have really been wanting to try it since I saw it on TV. The recipe is for the Cheesy Mac n' Rib from the Grilled Cheese Truck in Los Angeles. OMG, it is delicious! You can take lots of liberties with this recipe from the mac n' cheese you use to the pulled pork. I used leftovers from a simple macaroni and cheese recipe I made the night before for dinner and I actually used pre-made Jack Daniels pulled chicken from the grocery store. For me, I think it was the sweetness of the BBQ combined with the mayonnaise/butter spread. I'll say it again, OMG delicious!

8 slices white bread
8 oz. soft butter
6 oz. mayonnaise
4 cups of your favorite mac n' and cheese recipe
2 large yellow onions, sliced into 1/4-inch strips
3 Tbsp. butter
2 cups pulled pork
1 cup of your favorite BBQ sauce
12 slices sharp cheddar cheese

Beat soft butter and mayonnaise until well blended. Set aside.

Prepare your favorite mac n' cheese recipe. When finished, spread evenly into a sheet pan or casserole dish to a thickness of about 3/4-inch. Cover and refrigerate. Cut chilled mac n' cheese into squares that are slightly smaller than the diameter of your bread.

Melt 3 Tbsp. butter in saucepan. Add sliced onions and cook over medium-high heat stirring frequently until onions are carmelized. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Heat up BBQ sauce and pork. Allow to simmer for 5 minutes over low heat.

To assemble sandwich: Generously butter one side of each slice of bread with butter/mayo mix. On unbuttered side, layer as follows: 1 slice cheese, 1 square mac n' cheese, spoonful BBQ pork, carmelized onion, another slice of cheese, and top with slice of bread (butter side out).

To cook: Use flat, non-stick griddle and bring to a medium heat (350-degrees). Cook sandwiches on one side until golden brown (about 4-5 min.). Flip over and repeat.

Makes 4 wonderfully good sandwiches.

Yum Yum Enchiladas!

2011-05-16T18:57:00.000-07:00

Over the past year I have been gathering recipes and trying to put together a family cookbook. Most of the recipes are from my mom of dishes I've been eating since I was a kid or of recipes that I've found on the Internet and have modified for my own tastes. Some of the recipes my mom has given me I've never made, but I've been on a cooking-binge lately, much to the delight of my husband, and am trying all kinds of new dishes. My mom calls these "Super Enchiladas," but I am going to call them "Sandy's Super Enchiladas" in honor of her. I made them last week and they are fantastic, just like my mom.

1 tsp. cumin
1/8 tsp. oregano
1 tsp. chili powder
1 large can enchilada sauce
1 pound ground beef
1 onion, chopped
8 oz. can black olives, chopped
shredded cheese (I used a comination of chedder and Monterey Jack)
12 corn tortillas
1/2 cup oil
1/2 sour cream
green chili salsa

Mix cumin, oregano and chili powder together in small bowl. Heat enchilada sauce and add half of the spice mixture. Saute meat with remaining spice mixture, onions and olives. Fry tortillas lightly in hot oil and then dip each tortilla in enchilada sauce. Place meat mixture on tortilla, sprinkle with shredded cheese, roll tortilla and place seam side down in 9x12" baking dish that has been sprayed with non-stick cooking spray. Repeat for each tortilla. After all tortillas have been filled and rolled, pour remaining enchilada sauce over top. Bake in pre-heated 350-degree oven until bubbly, about 20-25 minutes. Sprinkle with shredded cheese and top with sour cream and salsa. Enjoy!

Pow Wow in Pictures

2011-05-09T20:52:00.000-07:00

I haven't done any real photography since February, so it was nice to get out for the day and shoot the dancers at the 23rd Annual American Indian Cultural Days in Balboa Park. I love pow wows, but I haven't been to this one is several years.

I don't want to call them costumes, because that makes it sound like the dancers are wearing something for Halloween, but I'm not sure of the correct name for what they wear. Ceremonial dress? Regalia? Clothes? Whatever it's called, the outfits are beautiful.

Of all the events that I go to, Pow Wows are my absolute favorite to shoot. If you ever have the opportunity to see one, I highly recommend it and while you're there, make sure to get some Indian fried bread. Delicious!

To see more of my pictures from the Pow Wow, visit my gallery.

30-Day Picture-A-Day Challenge

2011-02-19T20:19:00.000-08:00

For the past three years, I've participated in a PAD (picture-a-day) challenge with my photography group San Diego DSLR. The only rule to the challenge is there are no rules. I challenged myself to get out everyday and take a picture. It's been difficult with working nights, being sick, and having several days of rain, but for the most part I've been doing pretty good. I still have about nine days left, but here are a few of my favorite pictures. Visit my gallery to see my photos for the entire month.

My New Year Optimism

2011-01-17T01:53:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year!

I am very excited about what 2011 has in store for me, but before I begin, let me touch on an issue that came about in 2009 that threw me into a depression that lasted a good part of a year. My husband’s 17-year old daughter moved in with us. She lived with us for about a year and moved out shortly after graduating high school. I can go on about how lazy and ungrateful she was, but in keeping with my new outlook for the New Year, I will stick to the positives.

From that awful experience, I learned to be a better wife. Shortly after she moved in, my husband and I started marriage counseling. We often went together, but for the most part I went by myself to sort out some of my own issues. I learned how to change my thought process, as I am a perpetual pessimist, and to not dwell on the negatives. I couldn’t change the situation, so instead I learned how to compromise and cope in a non-destructive way. I think both my husband and I became better people, as individuals and as a couple.

And now our happiness has given me hope for our future. I have never been happier in our relationship than I am now and that makes him happy too. Things are good. I hope things get better for me on a personal level as well. I am retiring in a little more than a year. I am coming up on 20-years with the Sheriff’s Department. As I am still fairly young, maybe not that young, but I haven’t hit the change of life just yet, I feel it’s time I move into the next chapter of my life.

I want to further my writing and photography career and have been working hard on putting together my portfolio. I’ve also been working on a business plan to help organize my photography goals and get moving in a more definitive direction. I may not be able to turn it into a fulltime job, but I am confident I can at least make some money doing something I enjoy tremendously.

Next up, is volunteering. I am an official volunteer for the County Parks & Recreation Department. I am hoping that that may turn into full time employment once I retire, but if not, I am still optimistic that something will come about from the experience. Maybe a book? Some great pictures? Some new friends?

I have a few other jobs that I’ve added to my list of possibilities and with a husband who supports me– not to mention will keep me on his health plan – my opportunities are limitless! I am hoping I can continue to stay positive which will give me the courage to step out of my comfort zone and seize opportunities as they present themselves. This is going to be a fabulous year, but it will take a lot of effort on my part. I am up for the challenge, so bring it!

Journey Along the Mojave Road

2010-11-29T00:32:00.000-08:00

My husband and I recently took a drive along the Mojave Road in the Mojave National Preserve. We were planning on camping, however the wind was so fierce the first night that it snapped two tent poles rendering our tent useless. Even though our trip was cut short by a few days, we still had a wonderful time. If you'd like to purchase any of these photos or to see more photos from our trip, go to my photography site. Or if you'd like to read more about our trip go to Travels With Rae & Robert.

My Photography...

2010-07-30T00:51:00.000-07:00

It's been a very tumultuous year for me and I've rather fallen into a depressed state of being because of it. I'm starting to come around...I'll blog about it eventually...but it has seriously impaired my writing. Although I may have put down my pencil (temporarily), I have picked up my camera and immersed myself into my photography. Here are a few pics from some recent outings. Please enjoy. If you want to see more of my photographs, please visit my gallery: http://raecosta.smugmug.com/

Must..Stop...Watching...American Idol

2010-04-15T11:59:00.000-07:00

I am an American Idol junkie. No shame in admitting my downfalls. I’ve watched every season and I have hated every season. I just can’t help myself. This season is supposedly the last and for that I am thankful. Since I cannot stop my obsession, then the Idol franchise must stop it for me.

This season has been the most irritating; courtesy of Ryan Seacrest. His humor is just plain juvenile. Remember that other guy way back when who used to host with Ryan? Neither do I, but I’m thinking Idol should have kept him around instead. The other night during one of the performances, Ryan was dancing with a man from the audience. How disrespectful is that to the performer? And I seriously think he has a major man-crush on Simon.

Simon, thankfully, makes the show interesting. Whether you like him or not, you must admit he is honest and I admire him for that. However, over the last few seasons he has become rather smug and narcissistic. And of course there is the lovable Ellen….now she is funny, unlike Ryan. Randy the Name Dropper with his “dog” and “dude” is tolerable, but I don’t know which one is worse: Paula or that DioGuardi bimbo. Both have fawned over contestants who are half their age and both were/are constantly rubbing up on Simon at the judge’s table. Just fuck him already and get it over with.

Season 9. It has come down to the Final 7, which means the performances will hopefully be getting better and the season is almost over and I can move on with life. Let’s break it down:

Aaron Kelly – One of my favorites, but I doubt he will win. He is too young and inexperienced. He still needs to work on his stage presence, but how old was Leanne Rhimes when she came to fame? Thirteen? Aaron is seventeen. I give him another year or two and he will be on the country charts. The kid has a great voice and when he picks the right songs he shines. My only problem is that when I watch him I feel like such a cougar. He’s adorable!

Crystal Bowersox - The most original of the group, a breath of fresh air, the only one I can’t wait to watch each week. She is my pick to become the Next American Idol, but I hope she doesn’t. The winner rarely does well. A prime example would be last season’s winner, um, what’s his name? Hold on while I Google it…. Oh yeah, Chris Allen. BUT runner-up Adam Lambert was this week’s mentor and is just about all over the place – TV, radio, YouTube, magazines. Now that I’ve looked at the past season’s winners and runner-ups, maybe Crystal would fare better if she came in 4th or 5th. Regardless, she will have a record contract within the year, if not much sooner. She’s rocks!

Casey James – Pure eye-candy and the one fawned over by Kara (which is a dis to her husband, since he was in the audience when she did it)! I suppose if you can get past his good-looks you might be surprised that the man can sing. He doesn’t quite have the rasp to tackle the real hard rock songs, but on more bluesy tunes he is really in his element. Not to mention he plays a mean guitar. He reminds me of an unpolished Johnny Lang. I see him finishing in the Top 3.

Siobahn Magnus – The weird one of the bunch and not in a good way. Everything about her is different: her clothes, her mannerisms, the way she talks. I admire those that walk to the beat of their own drum, but she’s a tad too different. Plus, she shrieks when she sings. One time she carried a note that lasted forever and got raves from the judges, but now that’s all she does and frankly it’s making my ears bleed. Unfortunately she’ll be remembered for being odd and not for her singing. I wonder how she keeps her teeth so white.

Tim Urban – Do us a favor and go away. Take Ryan with you and don’t look back.

Michael Lynch – I really liked him at first, but now, well, he’s gotten a bit cocky. He sings well and each week gives a decent performance, but there is something about him that annoys me. I give him props, though, for singing his heart out when he was singing for the judge’s save, which he got. I wish he would sing like that each week. Along with Tim and Siobhan he is one of my least favorites. However, I think he has enough fans and if he continues to talk about his new baby, he’ll stay around awhile longer. Most likely he’ll finish close to the top.

Lee Dwyze – If Crystal doesn’t win, then it will be Lee. At first I didn’t much care for him, but over the last several weeks he has really come into his own. With his Bob Segar-esque voice, I guarantee we will be hearing Lee on the radio probably before the season even ends. He will definitely finish in the Top 2, unless there is shocker and he gets voted off early – reminiscent of 4th place finisher Chris Daughtry in Season 5, but like Crystal he’ll have a hit record soon enough.

And now I wait until next week.

Desert Wildflowers

2010-03-24T15:22:00.000-07:00

It's wildflower season as evident by the display of brilliant color in Anza Borrego Desert State Park. Anza Borrego is one of my favorite places to go, whether I'm doing photography, camping, hiking, or just wanting to get off the paved road for some quiet time. This year I've been 3-4 times to check out the wildflowers and will be going again this weekend. Here are a few of my photographs from this years wildflower bloom. If you'd like to see more of my wildflower photos, visit Rae Costa Photography.

Happy Valentine's Day

2010-02-14T17:08:00.000-08:00

A Day in the Life of....

2009-12-10T02:10:00.000-08:00

I am bored, so I thought I’d write about my day. Maybe write one of those “a day in the life of” pieces, but in my opinion my day, if not most of my life, is rather on the low end of the excitement scale. I must confess I read the tabloids, but I never buy them as tempting as some of the headlines might be. I read them online at work when I’m supposed to be (gasp) working. There is some small part of me that lives vicariously through my favorite actors and actresses, although they have absolutely no idea who I am. Wishing I was like them, but not exactly like them. Wishing I had their money and their private hideaways in the Caribbean, but not a life lived in public view. Wishing I had the money. Yes, the money. That’s what it comes down to.

Now back to my uneventful day. Time check: 12:20am and currently 39-degrees. I am sitting in my office snug as a bug in a rug with my heater blasting. There are thirty women in my housing unit, most of which are asleep. I know they are asleep, because I can hear a cacophony of sound: snoring, farting, belching. It is not a pleasant sound, very unladylike and the smells that emit from under their wool blankets are horrendous. Tonight is especially bad because it was Commissary Wednesday. The day their Snickers, Doritos, Corn Nuts, Top Ramen soups, Honey Buns, and O’Brien’s Hot & Spicy Sausages arrive. Of course being the pigs that most of them are, they shovel everything into their mouths within the first few hours of receiving their goodie-bags and then remain on a sugar high for a good portion of the evening. Eventually they fall into a stupor and that is when the sounds begin.

Passing out commissary lasted all of a ½ hour so much of my night has been sitting in my office doing nothing. Oh, I handed out razors, collected razors…scanned incoming mail and passed it out, collected outgoing mail…provided security for the nurse during medication pass…handed out three rolls of toilet paper…answered a couple of questions regarding court dates and medical appointments…took four inmates to medical to have their blood sugar checked…and counted them to make sure no one escaped. About every 50-55 minutes I break suction from my chair and walk through the unit. Holding my breath I count: one, two, three, thirty they are all there. Outside I can breathe again and then it’s back in my office to get warm. For the next couple of hours that will be my routine. Hold breath, count, breathe, huddle by the heater, hold breath, count, breathe, an so on.

About 0400 hours I will wake up those who have to go to court and make them stand in the chilly morning air until they are all present. Then I will pat them down for “contraband,” which sounds more exciting than it is. I will pat them down to make sure they are not smuggling Jolly Ranchers or Fireballs to court in their underwear or bras. Nothing is allowed to be taken to court except for court paperwork. That process will take all of fifteen minutes. I will escort them to Court Holding where they will sit in a cell awaiting the Transportation Bus to pick them up and take them to the court house. In the meantime, I will return to my office and the process of hold breath, count, breathe will resume. By 0600 hours my day, or night, will end and I will head home for my eight hours of sleep.

And lucky me! Tomorrow I will return and it will be deja vu. No, wait! Tomorrow is pluck our eyebrows and cut our toenails day, which is an adventure like no other ever experienced in life. Actually, it’s an adventure I don’t wish to have because watching inmates try to cut their claws is disgusting, but hey, it’s all A Day in the Life of…me.

So Long Garth....

2009-12-03T01:02:00.000-08:00

I don’t get angry that often. Irritated yes, but angry, not so much and I can’t remember when I last got that angry. That gut-wrenching, mouth-quivering kind of angry where my mind works faster than my mouth and all I can do is cry because I’m that angry and can’t quite articulate what I really want to say. Well, I got like that the other day, although this time I didn’t cry. I was able to articulate my points exactly, which made me feel good, but my euphoria was short lived. The lady on the other end of the telephone promptly hung up on me.

I am a HUGE Garth Brooks fan. I was crushed when he retired and have waited patiently for the last eight years hoping and praying he’d decide to play one last show. That day finally arrived. He was playing a selected number of concerts at the Wynn Resort in Las Vegas. I had a date with Garth at 10pm on Valentine’s Day 2010. I was beyond excited, but that too was short lived. Less than 24-hours after placing my on-line order for two tickets in Row K I received a phone call from “Netta,” who I assumed, based on her thick incomprehensible accent, was calling from somewhere deep within the bowels of the Calcutta Customer Service Offices. She informed me that I was to call immediately and inform some unknown person the names of those who I intended on taking to the concert. A concert that was still 3 ½ months away I might add.

What?! Seriously? I planned on taking my husband, but what if I didn’t know who I was taking? Netta babbled on about my order being “subject to cancellation” if I didn’t comply by 10p.m. PST, which was exactly 5-hours away. "Subject to cancellation" is what angered me the most. I called the phone number and as it turned out I called the Wynn Resort directly and not some thatched hut in India. A pleasant woman who spoke English answered and I told her I received a message to call about providing the names of those attending the Garth Brooks concert. She was nice right up to the point when I told her it was none of her business who I was taking to the concert and refused to provide her with the name of my guest.

She stated she was “just doing my job,” and the directive came “directly” from Garth Brooks and Mr. Wynn. The directive could have come from Barack Obama or even Jesus for all I cared. I was going to stand by my principles. I was not going to tell her who I was taking to the concert. It was none of her business and like I said, what if I didn't know who I was taking? The concert was still 3-MONTHS AWAY. If I truly did not know who I was taking to the concert, did that mean I would be denied tickets? Yep. I was told I either tell her who my guest is so our names could be pre-printed on the tickets, which would be compared to our IDs at the door, or I would be given a refund. Sadly, I chose the refund.

Sorry, Garth, but you just lost a long time fan. I understand your concerns about ticket scalping, but this is something I feel very strongly about. I’m not going to compromise my principles for anyone. Not even you.

Anyone know when George Strait’s coming to town?

Care: to have an inclination, liking, fondness, or affection for

2009-09-10T12:09:00.000-07:00

The other day I came to the realization that I simply do not care about people.

I’ve always been aware of my dislike of others, mainly inmates and the homeless, but I contributed that to the nature of my job. However, I realized my lack of compassion goes well beyond those classifications of people. I don’t care about people that I should care about. I love my husband and my parents. There is no disputing that. However, relatives hanging on the outer fringes of what I consider my inner family circle, neighbors, and even some of my co-workers, well, if they were to disappear tomorrow I really wouldn’t give a shit. And that scares me.

I would be upset I suppose, because it’s never pleasant to have someone you know die, regardless of how ‘close’ you consider the other person to be. Death is a blunt reminder of how cruel life can be and just how vulnerable we are. I imagine I’d be more upset for those that have been left behind, such as the grieving child, spouse, parent, or even the best friend, than I would be for me. Even then, I would probably offer only the perfunctory “sorry for your loss.” I cry when other people cry, but my tears would merely be props for my act of sorrow. I would be sad, because that is what is expected in that type of situation, but really….

…the world is an overcrowded, dirty place full of breathing, heathing assholes. That’s why I don’t care about people, but what about those I should care about, but don't?

More Night Time Photography....

2009-08-31T13:36:00.000-07:00

To see more of my photography visit http://raecosta.smugmug.com/

Paper or Plastic? Cloth please....

2009-07-23T09:29:00.000-07:00

Paper or plastic? A question I never gave much thought. Years ago I used paper. I was more confident I could make it from my car to the kitchen without my bag ripping and my cans of soup rolling into the street. Plastic seemed too flimsy, but then plastic started its world domination tour and, unless you specifically asked for paper, plastic became the preferred bag of teenage grocery store baggers around the country.

Now there’s cloth. I bought a few cloth bags when the whole cloth bag craze began and stashed them in my car, but always forgot to grab them when I went into the grocery store. And then I saw this website, One Bag at a Time. Talk about putting me and my flimsy plastic bags in check! Just a few facts from their website:

· The petroleum used to make 14 plastic bags could drive a car 1-mile
· An estimated 100,000 marine animals are killed annually by plastic bags
· Cities spend up to 17-cents per bag in disposal costs wasting millions of tax dollars
· Americans use 380-billion plastic bags every year
· Paper bags do not biodegrade in landfills

So the next time I’m confronted with the age old question "paper or plastic?", I’ll choose neither and use my cloth bags instead. I'll feel better knowing I’m doing something smart for the environment.

http://www.onebagatatime.com/

Karma's a Bitch, Bitch

2009-07-14T01:24:00.000-07:00

Karma is the law of moral causation. I’m not really sure what that means, but I believe in it. Karma, to me, is what goes around comes around and it often bites you in the ass. That’s a definition I’m able to understand and the other day at work karma came around and bit her hard. I work in a jail. I’ve been doing the same job for almost 18 years. For the last several years I’ve been dealing with a self-medicated, self-centered, egotistical bitch. She calls herself “doctor,” but is basically a quack that clearly believes in entitlement. More like she’s entitled and we are nothing more than little minions put on Earth to serve her. Her primary goal is to play psychiatrist to the inmates and as you can tell I’m not a fan in the least.

The other day at work she put herself and several other staff members in danger when she bypassed facility security procedures. Her disregard for others, along with her belittling nature, is why I dislike her. She was having one of her quack sessions with a violent inmate and got too close. Inmates are classified as “assaultive to staff” for a reason. Apparently, Dr. Ego didn’t consider herself as staff and put everyone around her at risk. When we were told the assaultive inmate punched her in the face, I almost shouted with delight. The story gets better, however. After getting punched in the face, Dr. Entitlement fell to the floor and curled up in a fetal position while those she considers beneath her, jumped in to control the inmate and save her sorry ass.

I suppose my glee at her misfortune must say something about my own karma, but in this case I don’t care. I believe people get what they deserve. Whether it’s called karma, misfortune, luck, or what-have-you, I strongly believe in what you give is exactly what you’ll get in return. Dr. Bitch got exactly what she deserved and I’m glad. I only wish I could have been there to see it.

My Latest....

2009-07-07T05:44:00.000-07:00

If you'd like to see more of my photos or purchase prints go to http://raecosta.smugmug.com/

View of downtown San Diego, CA

Balboa Park Botanical Gardens

Sounds Just Like Fireworks

2009-07-05T15:37:00.001-07:00

Last night while lying in bed listening to fireworks, I realized July4th would be the perfect day to kill someone. The big firework show was over and what I was hearing were my neighbors shooting off bottle rockets, lighting cherry bombs, and setting off strings of poppers. At times it sounded like gun shots, but I dismissed it, thinking "oh, it's just fireworks." Thus, my realization that last night would have been the ideal time to off someone.

I'm not saying I am going to kill someone next July 4th, but if I were, wouldn't it make sense to do it on Independence Day? Two quick taps of the trigger and Maggie May next door assumes it's just those rowdy kids up the street with their fireworks, but really, "has there been a murder?" Yep, there has and no one has paid any attention, because it sounded just like fireworks.

...and these are the thoughts that fill my head at night. Welcome to my world.

Happy 4th of July!

2009-07-04T21:41:00.001-07:00

Photography

2009-06-23T22:25:00.000-07:00

I finally updated my photography site. Please check it out and let me know what you think.

http://raecosta.smugmug.com/

Redefining Myself

2009-06-11T01:51:00.000-07:00

Recently several coworkers and I met for dinner, seven of us standing in line at the all-you-can-eat sushi bar. With plates piled high we gathered around the table and easily fell into conversation. However, our conversation was about work and was pretty much about work for the next three hours. We all have families, hobbies, and a life outside of the job yet work was all we talked about. We gossiped about other coworkers that we either disliked or liked, but who couldn’t join us at dinner. We grumbled about supervisors, new policies put into effect that we all agreed were stupid, who was in trouble and for what, and you get the gist of it.

I am defined by my job. I don’t like it, but don’t know how to change it. I am in a profession that is very different from most. I am a Deputy Sheriff. My job requires a much higher sense of awareness. Most people don’t “get” what my job entails or my sense of humor that has developed from my work experience. My first instinct is to doubt, to be untrusting, and to think that if I turn my back I might get shanked. My primary goal is to go home unscathed at the end of the day. I do not want my husband or my parents to ever receive that dreaded call. I protect my partners and they me. My husband is in the same profession and it is only natural for us to spend our off-duty time with others of like mind and understanding.

A couple of years ago I took a woman studies class at college. We were told to draw a circle, divide it into sections and label the sections of how we see ourselves. For most of the students, the biggest sections were “daughter” or “woman.” For me it was “Deputy,” but I would like to change that. I would like to be redefined as “wife,” but that seems almost secondary as I seem to spend more time at work than with my husband. I love my friends and won’t stop seeing them, but if I am to stop letting my job define me, then I must start defining myself. How I am going to do that, I’m not quite sure, but I’ll figure it out because it’s important for me to be something other than a Deputy. Preferably that something will be "wife" or more specifically a "good wife."

You Wanna a Piece of Me? Take it, PLEASE!

2009-05-22T08:15:00.000-07:00

Let me start off by apologizing to all those in the Emergency Room at Kaiser on Tuesday. I dropped the F-Bomb numerous times. It was the pain talking, not me. I was in so much pain.....appendicitis! I've never had surgery before, except for the occassional stitch or two, but that's not really surgery. I do not wish this pain on my worst enemy. Once those drugs hit my system, though, I felt so much better. That night I had surgery. They said it lasted almost 1-1/2 hours, but I wouldn't know. I was so out of it. I wouldn't wake up until much much later. Now I am home, resting, with my husband taking care of me. I can't thank him enough for being by my bed side and helping me to the bathroom, to eat, to just move. He's my angel. I have a tiny little scare and a couple puncture marks in my stomach for posterity. A couple more days of rest and I'll be back stronger than ever.

"...We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man....Better than he was before. Better stronger, faster."

See What I See

2009-05-17T13:19:00.000-07:00

These are just a few pictures I've taken around my neighborhood over the last few months. Enjoy.

Twitter Twitter

2009-05-17T13:15:00.000-07:00

After hearing about Twitter for quite some time now, I decided to check it out. Actually, it's pretty cool. I like that I'm able to see what all my friends are up to, especially those that live far away. Sure it's a bit mundane if you don't know the person you're following, but then if you don't know them, why are you following them in the first place?

Check out my Twitter page: http://twitter.com/RaeCosta

Have a great day!

My Life is Changing

2009-05-14T13:55:00.000-07:00

I have always been a solitary creature and that lifestyle has suited me well. My husband is, for the most part, the same way. That is one of the reasons we get along so well. We have our daily routine. Our life together is comfortable and simple. We work long, hard hours and our home is our sanctuary. Our home is quiet, relaxed and the only place I can be myself. It is where I feel the most content, but that is about to change. My husband’s seventeen year old daughter is moving in with us this summer and most likely his fourteen year old son will be too. The life that I am accustomed to, the life that I like will be no more and I am afraid.

My step-daughter is unhappy living with her mother and recently has started acting out. Moving in with us will create stability in her life and it is what’s best for her, but it is not what's best for me. It is difficult for my husband as well. He likes the life we have together, but these are his children and he must do what is right. I admire him very much for taking responsibility. A lot of men I know would not do that.

I am trying to stay positive, trying not to be so selfish. I keep telling myself this is what’s best for her. This will help her get her life back on track. We can help her grow and reach her goals. I keep telling myself this is not about me. The immediate benefits outweigh the negatives, but in another year or two, will it have been worth it? I am feeling threatened. I fear the life my husband and I have been building over the last five years is in jeopardy. I fear our future plans will have to be put on hold because our attention (and resources) will now be focused on her. I am not a mother nor have I ever wanted children. I don’t even like children. I don't have the nurturing personality that motherhood requires.

I’m trying to see the positives. Not just for her, but for me and my husband. Maybe this is God testing me. It certainly will be a lesson in patience and selflessness, both of which I lack. My life is changing, but I’m still wondering if it’s changing for good or if her moving in with us will result in disaster. I’m keeping my fingers crossed it won’t be the latter.

I Love You the Best

2009-03-20T04:58:00.000-07:00

It has been two weeks since my best friend passed away. She was only 18 years old, but that’s forever in kitty years. I do not expect those who do not like animals or have never had animals to understand the pain I feel. Poka was not just a cat, but a companion and friend. Whenever I felt sad, all I needed was to hug her, to feel her furry face against mine, to hear her purrs of contentment. Now she is gone and it feels as if my heart has been ripped from my chest. I have been told that I will heal in time, but it does not seem likely. My heart hurts. The hole created by her passing is too deep.

Poka, whose full name was Heyoka, came into my life when she was just five weeks old. She had the biggest blue eyes and a little rat tail. She was beautiful. I named her Heyoka after reading Hanta Yo by Ruth Beebe Hill. Heyoka is the Lakota concept of a jester, satirist, or sacred clown. It is a name that often needed an explanation and always to be spelled. It probably wasn’t the best choice, but it sounded good at the time. Over the years, she’s taken on a number of different names: Poka, Pokey, Smokey, Boo, Poody or whatever little rhyming name I thought of.

Last year she had a stroke and temporarily lost mobility in her hind legs. I contemplated putting her down then, but she still had some sensation and movement. Within a couple of days she was trying to walk again. She never fully regained her balance and had problems running and jumping, but walked well enough to get around and didn’t seem to be in any pain. And then she had another stroke, but this time it was worse.

I work night shift and came home on a Friday morning. I knew something was wrong as soon as I opened the front door. Normally, Poka is either on her cat tree or standing just behind the front door waiting for me. I could never just open the door, but had to crack it a bit and make sure Pokey was out of the way. As she got older, her cat-like reflects weren’t very cat-like anymore and invariably she’d get knocked over by the door. This time, however, she wasn’t there. I found her at the base of her kitty stairs in my bedroom. I got the kitty stairs after her last stroke to help her get up and down off the bed. She loved to sleep on my chest, so I put the stairs right near the headboard. Several times during the night I would awake to find her sitting on the top stair watching me sleep. Her face would be inches from mine.

For some unknown reason she had stopped meowing. It was more of a whispered mew; kind of sounded like she had laryngitis. I’d hear her making that little whispered mew and reach out to touch her. After a few moments of touches, she’d wander off, only to return a few minutes later for more touches. It was as if she were seeking reassurance that I was still there. It also reassured me that she was okay and the softness of her fur was soothing.

So when I found her lying at the base of her kitty stairs unable to move, my heart shattered. Her stroke happened in the living room and there was evidence she had lost control of her bowels/bladder. She dragged herself down the hallway and to my side of the bed. I believe she had been looking for me and I wasn’t home. I will never forgive myself for not being there when she needed me the most. She must have lain on the floor for several long hours, before I came home. She was cold and I’m sure hungry and thirsty, but when I called to her she answered me in that little whispered mew and looked up at me with those big eyes.

I rushed her to the vet, but knew the prognosis wasn’t good. That night I made the most difficult decision of my life, but it was the right one. My little Pokey couldn’t walk. I was selfish and wanted to keep her alive, but her quality of life had deteriorated and it wasn’t fair to her. It sounds kind of funny, I suppose, but I wanted her to pass away with her dignity intact. I wanted her to still have an awareness of who I was.

I spent an hour with her, holding her, telling her over and over how much I loved her, and singing those silly rhyming songs that made me sound like the crazy cat woman. I was not embarrassed by my devotion and love for her and wept openly. I cradled Poka’s tiny head and continued to whisper to her long after the doctor had injected the happy serum and ultimately the drug which stopped her precious heart.

Although Heyoka is physically gone from my life, she has not left my mind or my heart. I will always have my memories. I still talk to her and sometimes when I am caught in between sleep and consciousness I think I can hear her toenails clicking on the wooden floor and hear that whispered mew I found so endearing. And that gives me comfort and peace, because someday she’ll be in my arms again and together we’ll cross over the Rainbow Bridge. In the meantime, I hope she knows that I miss her very much and always loved her the best.

Photography Day 16

2009-02-16T03:53:00.000-08:00

It's Day 16 and the ideas are starting to dry up for my PAD challenge in my photography group. Luke was arrested for smoking pot, escaped from jail, and met up with a hooker (Yasmin) who he has fallen in love with and wants to marry. I had to introduce another character to get some ideas for a few more photos. I'm having to be very creative at this point, because I want my shots to be better than the day before. The standard poses and shots are just too boring. I don't want to be boring. I want my photography to entertain, to tell a story.

It's a bit difficult to get my mind working, because sometimes I just want to be lazy and not have to think about photography. Other times, I am preoccupied with school and work and run out of time. It's not unusual for me to be up at 10pm still trying to compose a shot for that day. At the end of the day, however, I am still having so much fun and I am learning alot as well.

Check out my gallery at: http://raecosta.smugmug.com/gallery/7250384_TEQ8z#465952517_RdPdL

My Photography

2009-02-04T13:45:00.000-08:00

I have been feeling really creative over the last few weeks. I am getting more and more into my photography, both in taking pictures and in the processing. I belong to a photography club, http://sandiegodslr.com/, and they have all been really inspirational in getting me to break suction from my couch. Currently some of us from the group are participating in a 30-day PAD Challenge. PAD = Picture-A-Day. The goal is to take a picture of the same object everyday for the next 30-days. I have chosen a Luke Skywalker figure that I’ve had since I was a kid. He’s only about 3-inches tall. I was a huge fan of Star Wars and collected quite a bit of movie memorabilia. Maybe Luke’s friends will appear in some of the photos too.

So far we are on Day 4, although I have yet to take my picture for today. I have a lot of great ideas rattling around in my head that I hope will last the entire 30-days. It’s fun because my husband is starting to get into photography as well. With this challenge we share ideas and he helps me turn my ideas into actual photographs, although he did set the backyard on fire for the first shot! It’s nice that I get to share something I am so passionate about with him.

This link is to view my entire photography gallery: http://raecosta.smugmug.com/.

This link is to view the PAD thread on my photography group's site: http://www.sandiegodslr.com/?q=forum/40.

Blessed

2009-01-01T20:06:00.001-08:00

Sometimes there are moments in my life when I feel extremely blessed. Blessed because I have a wonderful family and friends. Blessed because I witnessed something so beautiful it goes beyond words. Today I saw a hawk in the field next to where I work. Two hawks frequent this area quite often and I see them circling overhead almost every day. Most days I really don't pay attention, but today I took a few minutes to watch it. As I watched I felt happy and content. Peaceful. A few minutes turned into almost an hour. It was amazing. I hope I have many more moments like this one throughout this new year.

A Wonderful Weekend....

2008-12-13T22:12:00.000-08:00

...spent camping in the desert with my husband.

The Ones I Love...

2008-11-30T15:27:00.001-08:00

...who bring joy to my life.

Beautiful Butterfly

2008-11-12T16:38:00.000-08:00

A butterfly is a true symbol of transformation. Just imagine how much strength this tiny insect possesses and what it must endure to transform itself from a caterpillar to a beautiful creature. In a sense we are like butterflies. In our journey through life we encounter endless shifts and obstacles that we must find the strength and faith to overcome. Like the butterfly, we too have become inevitably changed by our environment. But yet, unlike the butterfly we have the choice as to whether we want to become magnificent or settle for mediocrity. I chose magnificence.

Picture of the Day

2008-10-17T07:25:00.000-07:00

I took this picture with my cell phone while at school. Not very flattering, but this is me sitting in stats class last night. I'd been up since 4 a.m. and am very tired as evident by the dark circles under my eyes. Is my enthusiasm contagious? Can you feel my pain?

Picture of the Day

2008-10-14T13:57:00.000-07:00

This picture was taken by my husband. We were metal detecting in the desert near Yuma, Arizona. Temperature was about 100-degrees!

Friendships are Tough

2008-10-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

Friendships are tough. A coworker/friend and I recently had an argument. It was a build up of about a month’s worth of frustration with her that I let erupt in just a few simple sentences. I’m not proud of how I acted and I definitely could have been a bit more tactful and professional in the way I spoke to her. We haven’t been friends very long, maybe a year. We both have similar personalities which initially drew us together. Away from work we don’t have much in common, but at work we are both experienced, yet negative, angry people. Birds of a feather flock together or so the saying goes.

I started questioning our friendship after attending a work seminar I was required to attend as part of my yearly training. It was called “Emotional Survival for Law Enforcement” by Dr. Kevin Gilmartin, who is a retired police officer. He knows what he’s talking about and I related to everything he said about depression, lack of motivation, stress, misplaced anger, and the list goes on. It was at that seminar that I decided to change. I would improve my attitude. I would turn my anger and negativity into positives. Unfortunately, my friend didn’t come away with the same hopeful outlook. She continues to be the same bitter, ungrateful person. I, however, want to make a change. Her negative energy is very stifling and whatever self-growth I have accomplished vanishes when I am around her. I easily fall back into my old destructive habits. I hate the person I am when I am around her and I am starting to hate her.

Nothing is simple with her and if I should voice my concerns it will only get ugly and lead to hurt feelings. At what point do I say enough is enough? We are not good together. If she were my boyfriend I would simply break up with her and go my own way, but she’s not. She’s my friend. How do you break up with a friend? Friendships are tough, but if I want to improve my life so I can become a better person, a better wife, a better daughter I need to make changes that are positive for me. That includes abandoning our friendship. It sounds a bit selfish and harsh, but my happiness and that of my family’s is much more important than her. I hope she’ll understand, but I doubt it.

Self Doubt and a Blue Vest

2008-09-20T05:17:00.000-07:00

I walked into Wal-Mart the other day and an elderly woman sitting on a stool near the entrance welcomed me with a broad smile. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of blue so I figured she was one of the ‘blue-hair, blue vested’ grannies hired to make my shopping experience a bit more pleasurable. I smiled in return and grabbed my cart with the one wobbly wheel and toddled off to do my shopping. On my way out she was still perched upon her stool greeting people with a level of enthusiasm that went well beyond her pay scale. Good for her, I thought. We need those types of people in the world to counteract those of us who spew hate and discontent on a daily basis.

I’ve always envied, if not secretly admired, those people who seemingly love their jobs. No matter the task at hand, they perform their required duties with a smile, like this woman. Well beyond retirement age, she was still working, at Wal-Mart nevertheless. If there was ever a reason to be bitter she was more than entitled, but she smiled and waved and waved and smiled at each customer regardless if they acknowledged her or not.

I, on the other hand, would have probably been fired within the first few minutes for telling someone to fuck off. I can say with my own level of enthusiasm that I am not like the woman at Wal-Mart. I am not the customer service oriented type. People annoy me, especially stupid ones. I am not a problem employee by any means, though. I’ve always exceed my supervisor’s expectations and received above average evaluations, but frankly I hate my job.

I am close to my 20-year mark and that is where I will call it quits. Retirement looms upon the distant shore, but I am having doubts, questioning whether I should step out of my comfort zone, whether I should stay for another 20-years and undoubtedly morph into that angry, complaining, impatient old woman that I already feel myself becoming.

Part of my uncertainty stems from returning to college. This semester I am taking a statistics class. My fellow students are barely out of high school and my teacher isn’t much older. No surprise that I am the oldest in the class and I also feel like the dumbest. Math has never been my strong point. I can’t even reduce a fraction, let alone find the standard deviation of a bunch of data. I am teetering on the verge of dropping this class, of dropping out of college. I am questioning my intentions, my abilities. I justify that I am not quitting, but simply acknowledging my limitations. I am scared.

Then I think about the consequences of me staying at my current job. I truly believe that it will kill me if I stay another day past my projected retirement date. I need to believe in myself, to stride into stats class and take a seat in the first row. Regardless of how daunting it is, I need to get my degree and prepare for life after retirement. Because if I am to retire with no college degree, what then would my options be? Work as a blue hair, blue vested Wal-Mart greeter? I think not.

Fragility of Life

2008-09-09T03:44:00.000-07:00

How unexpectedly life can change.

It is 1:30 a.m. and I am at work. Bored, tired, and trying to stay awake I logged into the Internet and Googled one of my favorite UFC fighters, Evan Tanner. He is one of my celebrity friends on Myspace and I regularly follow his blog on spiketv.com. I often fantasize of driving the short distance to Oceanside, where he recently moved, and stalking him. I joked about it with my friends, but no one was ever game enough to go with me so I never attempted to find him.

And now I will never get that chance, because Evan Tanner is dead.

Just last week Tanner wrote in his blog of his desire to go “so deep into the desert, that any failure of my equipment could cost me my life.” Carrying only the basics in supplies, he rode his motorcycle into the Palo Verde mountain area near the Arizona border. After running out of water and gas in the triple-digit heat he attempted to walk back to civilization. Unfortunately, he had driven further into the desert than he thought and succumbed to the elements. That is according to the many news articles I read.

Tanner wrote that he had been researching his latest journey for the last month. He wanted to learn about the area he would be traveling to and what supplies he would need. He even posted pictures of the motorcycle he would be riding. It was interesting and a bit exciting to log into his website each week to read about what he had been up to or what he was planning. I admired his adventurous spirit and I suppose I lived vicariously through his exploits.

I don’t pretend to know anything about Evan Tanner. I’ve watched his fights on television and am listed as his ‘friend’ on Myspace, but so were several thousand other people. Some might criticize Tanner for his foolishness of going unprepared into the desert during the hot months of summer, while others might say he was the ultimate adventurer. Either way his death is just so unexpected that it really makes me think about the fragility of life.

Especially since my husband and I are heading into the desert next week on one of our own adventures. We’ve been camping many times and loading up the car seems like a simple enough act. We have our checklist – lanterns, sleeping bags, water bottles, toilet paper, etc. Each time we thought we had packed everything, but when we reached our destination we realized we forgot the axe, a raincoat, sunscreen or some other small item. In the grand scheme of things bug spray may seem rather minor, but when out in the middle of nowhere with no 7-11 store conveniently located nearby small things become major issues.

In the past we always thought we were prepared and I bet Evan Tanner thought he was too, but the desert is an unforgiving place. Even the most experienced can have problems leading to a disastrous end. So how do you prepare for the unexpected? You can’t, but you can certainly try and hope for the best. I’m sure it doesn’t hurt to pray either. That's what I'm going to do and while I'm at it, I'm going to say a little prayer for Evan too.

R.I.P. Evan Tanner

Reasons for Me

2008-08-25T22:59:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder why we exist. What purpose are we serving by being alive? Is there some grand plan for us that none of us knows about? I am not a staunch believer in God, but I sometimes pray for my family and friends. Sometimes for myself; asking God for patience, courage and strength to get me through difficult situations. I go to church with my in-laws a few times a year, but I don’t own a Bible and occasionally I use the Lord’s name in vain.

I started thinking about why we, as humans, exist after a co-worker told me a story about her daughter. Donna’s daughter, Kelly, is 19-years-old now and seemingly ‘cured,’ but growing up Kelly had horrible food allergies. On more than one occasion Donna had to perform CPR on her daughter to get her breathing again after she had eaten an orange or some other food that sent her into anaphylactic shock. She told me that recently Kelly started eating small portions of the foods that had previously been deadly to her with no harmful aftereffects. Donna believes that as her daughter matured and her body changed, the food allergies simply went away. Because of the hardships Kelly endured and her near death experiences, I believe she was put on this Earth for a purpose. But what?

I wondered about Donna and Kelly’s existence. Does Donna exist because her daughter exists? Without Donna, there would be no Kelly. Does Donna exist to help Kelly realize her potential? To help Kelly fulfill her destiny? Do we exist solely for the benefit of one another? If so, how is my life connected to that of a complete stranger?

I watch the inmates I am responsible for and wonder what their purposes in life are. They steal, cheat, lie, and cause harm to other people in many different ways and on varying levels. Their actions negatively affect their families, friends, strangers, and their community as a whole. Many refuse to take responsibility for their actions and blame everyone around them for their mishaps. In my opinion, those that continue to be selfish and hurt other people are worthless, are a drain on society, and have no business breathing the same air as I do. Yet, the door to the jail is a revolving one and my job security is never threatened. I wonder why these kinds of people exist when they contribute nothing positive to the community.

Which leads me to ask why do I exist? Do I exist because inmates exist? Do I exist to help balance out the numbers of good and bad? I am almost 40-years old and really have done nothing of any consequence in my life. I am a responsible, law-abiding citizen, but mostly I work, eat, and sleep. I pay taxes, but don’t belong to any charity groups that help children in need or build houses for the poverty-stricken. I never give money to the bell ringing Santa Claus outside of Wal-Mart at Christmas time and rarely do I buy cookies from Girl Scouts. I drive an eight-year-old SUV that burns through fuel and causes green-house gas emissions.

So why am I on this planet taking up valuable space? What am I destined to do in life that is so special? So many more questions than answers, but I suppose only in time will those answers be revealed. In the meantime, I could probably start using my time more wisely. I can volunteer and support a cause that I am passionate about (animals) and in the process maybe my destiny will come to fruition and I will finally understand the reasons for me.

An Inmate, a Baby, and Me

2008-07-25T02:30:00.000-07:00

Rarely in my blogs do I write about my work life. If you’ve read some of my earlier stuff you know how I earn a paycheck. I’ve mentioned on occasion that I am a Deputy Sheriff and work in the jails, but never write of anything specific. At times my job can be off the hook, while at other times, like tonight, it is rather slow which allows me the opportunity to think. Something happened last night that really bothered me. Writing is my outlet for everything that builds inside of me so I feel I need to put my thoughts onto paper if I am to purge myself of this.

I took a young woman, a girl really, to the hospital. Of course I can’t give the inmate’s name or too many of the details, but she is 22 years old and pregnant with her 4th child. She was having cramps and the nurse thought it best she be sent to the hospital for further evaluation. Listening to the answers the inmate gave to the nurse at the hospital made me angry. It made me realize that it isn’t always the best thing for a child to stay in the custody of his or her mother. There is more to being a mother than giving birth.

This woman was arrested on a variety of drug charges. She is a high school drop-out, smokes a pack of cigarettes a day, and received absolutely NO prenatal care whatsoever. She guesstimated her due date sometime in late August (it’s actually next week), doesn’t know the gender of her baby, and hasn’t even picked out a name yet.

I try not to get emotionally involved at work. When dealing with inmates I don’t want to know any personal details about their life. I don’t want to know what they are in jail for, if they have children, or even their first names. It is easier for me to treat them all equally and fairly if I do not have any personal prejudices against them. As I sat there watching the baby on the sonogram (it’s a girl!) move her little arms and kick her little legs I couldn’t help but get emotionally involved. I was angry that this stupid woman didn’t even have the common sense to seek prenatal care at one of the many public clinics or Planned Parenthoods. She was too busy selling drugs on the street corner to worry about the precious life growing inside of her.

The inmate wasn’t anywhere close to realizing she was heading down the wrong path in life or that her actions, or lack of, affected her daughter, affected me, affected everyone around her. To her this baby was just another mouth to feed; another contribution to my job security. I am still trying to figure out what I am supposed to have learned from this experience. Maybe it will come to me later, but right now all I feel is sadness. Sadness for this little baby girl who is going to be born to an uncaring mother and into a life of uncertainty and most assuredly, pain.

Live. Love. Be.

2008-07-24T23:24:00.000-07:00

I went to the Gay Pride Parade in Hillcrest over the weekend. It was my first time and I was a bit nervous about going. It sounds rather ridiculous, but I don’t have much experience with gay people. I’ve worked with many lesbians over the years, but was never really friends with them - the close type of friends who hang out on the weekends, know each other’s spouses, and have met each other’s mothers. We were more work acquaintances than anything else.

I went to the parade this year for three reasons: One, I was invited by a co-worker to a BBQ at a mutual friend’s house. The plan was for us all to watch the parade together then go back to our mutual friend’s house to eat and party. Our mutual friend is gay, but I’ve never had any contact with him outside of work (thus, he’s more of an acquaintance). Two, there are several people from my photography club who attend every year, because many of the parade participants get dressed up in some very flamboyant costumes and it makes for some great photos. I wanted to go for the photojournalistic aspect of it. The third reason didn’t really present itself until just a few days prior. My step-son, who had recently moved out-of-state, was coming for a visit and his father and I would get to spend only one day with him, which happened to be the day of the parade. Since he’s only thirteen, I thought attending a gay pride parade would be a different kind of experience for him and one he might enjoy.

While he thought it “was pretty cool,” I’m not sure how I felt about it. It was cool in that it was a parade with lots of outrageous costumes and the party-like atmosphere was fun and upbeat, but I kind of felt like an outsider and bit uncomfortable. Growing up, homosexuality was a taboo topic and certainly not one to be discussed over dinner. As kids we played “smear the queer” and calling someone a “faggot” was a common insult heard on the school yard. I was never told directly that being gay was bad, but it was something I learned based on others’ behaviors and implied by the silence that followed.

My uncle was gay and he died from AIDS. I was an adult when he died, but I never knew him and rarely did my family ever talk about him. At that time being gay was certainly not something a person admitted and it was often denied. It’s rather ironic, but it wasn’t until many years after becoming an adult did I find out my best friend from childhood was a dyke. All through school she dated boys and played the role of a straight girl rather well. I wonder how I would have reacted if I knew back then or if it would have even been a concern.

In light of all the world’s troubles being gay doesn’t seem like it should be an issue at all, but in some ways it still is. I felt uncomfortable at the parade because a good many of the people around me were gay and their sexuality mattered to me, yet mine did not matter to them. They didn’t feel uncomfortable in my presence. They accepted me for being straight, so why did I have such a hard time accepting them? Attending the parade made me realize just how prejudice I am – even though I would have disagreed if you had asked me. I think it was a good idea to take my step-son, because in my efforts to help him learn about life, I learned a few things as well.

A Few Reasons To Be Thankful....

2008-07-11T02:26:00.000-07:00

Everyday in the newspaper I read something negative about the United States. Everyday on television the perfectly polished newscaster with the too-white teeth reports the price of oil is at an all-time high, the economy is in recession, the government is increasing taxes again, the number of casualties in Iraq is on the rise. If I am to believe everything that is crammed down my throat, then the country is imploding, President Bush is a crook, and my future is bleak. However, as I sat on my front porch watching fireworks and listening to my neighbors cheer with each explosion of light in the sky, I felt far from hopeless. I felt blessed.

Why? Because it was Independence Day and I could celebrate my freedom in any way I wanted without fear of reprisal from my government.

I have never lived in another country nor have I ever done any extensive traveling abroad. I am rather ignorant when it comes to the rest of the world and their politics, but what I do know is that there are worse places to live than America. I rather resent the way the media portrays the United States. Sometimes, though, it’s not just the media that says less than flattering things, but often my co-workers, neighbors, friends, family, my fellow American citizens, and that upsets me.

No doubt America has its problems, but has it become that bad that there isn’t anything positive to say about the place in which we choose to live? I found something to celebrate in just the simple act of sitting on my front porch watching fireworks. I’m sure if you take a moment to put all the negativity aside, you can come up with quite a few reasons to feel thankful in your own life as well. For starters, you can be thankful for being able to voice your opinions in the first place without suddenly finding yourself in jail or with a bullet in the back of your head.

But there’s more. For example, the next time you find yourself becoming irritable because the line at the grocery store is too long, try being thankful instead that there’s a place where you can shop for a wide variety of food that is readily available. Be thankful the wait is only a few minutes versus a few days. Or the next time you’re at the gas pumps and someone starts complaining about the high cost of gas, gently remind them they should be thankful they even have a car to put gas in, because in some places an automobile is still considered a luxury item and not every citizen is able to afford one.

One final thought: never take anything in your life for granted, because there may come a day when what you think is your right, might not always be considered one by those that make the rules.

Cars, Cats, Cookbooks, and Evan Tanner

2008-06-30T01:07:00.000-07:00

So there I was walking across the parking lot at San Diego State University looking for my car. I knew I had parked near the cookbook section, but my car wasn’t in that aisle. I walked for hours through the bookstore looking for my car, but couldn’t find it. Finally out of desperation I called my husband. My car’s been stolen, I cried. Oh, did I tell you my cat was sitting on my shoulder?

I crept down the street near my elementary school peeking into peoples’ garages. Finally I found an open one and went inside to look at the light. Suddenly a black, menacing shadow converged upon me and I am dead. But then I am not dead. I am now the murderer who has murdered me. I flee the garage and run home.

I am a passenger in a military jet. My husband is the pilot. The plane is crashing and I am free falling. My back is towards the ground and I am looking up into Heaven. I pray, please Lord, wrap me in your warm embrace. I realize my husband is still in the plane as it spirals out of control. I start screaming, Robert! Robert! I hit the ground hard and people come running. I am still alive.

I have picked up a hitchhiker. It is Evan Tanner.

...and these are my dreams.

It is said that dreams are somehow connected to your reality. If my dreams are in any way a reflection of my reality then I am certifiably crazy. Dreams are supposed to bring together the body, spirit, and mind, but I am always baffled by my dreams and do not understand how they relate to my life. Somehow I am supposed to gain insight into myself, but I am a murky mess, thus any self exploration becomes a confusing babble of psycho self-analysis. The only conclusion I can come to is that I am a hot mess and should probably get counseling or some type of prescription medication.

I remember most of my dreams and some are rather violent and too complex. Those I wish not to analysis, but there are others that I think are rather interesting. I bought a book to help me understand them, but just about everything I dreamt was interpreted as foreboding and dreary. If I am to believe what I have read, then I have way too many people conspiring against me, will have endless years of bad luck, will die soon, and be eternally damned. A friend told me about this dream website called Dreammoods.com. It isn’t as much doom and gloom as the book, which makes me feel a bit better about myself, but even so, if I am interpreting my dreams correctly I still have way too many issues to deal with.

Cars: There are several interpretations to dreaming of cars. In one of my dreams I was driving, which means I have ambition. Whether I am driving or not indicates how active my role is in life. If I was the passenger then I would be considered passive, which is rather fitting for my past but not so much over the last several years.

Dreaming that my car was stolen signifies I am losing my identity. Not sure how this applies, but it could relate to losing my job (God, I hope not), a failed relationship (nope), or some other situation which has been important in determining who I am (what can that be?). To see a parked car suggests I should focus my efforts and energies elsewhere. They can also symbolize the need to stop and enjoy life. This next part however, makes complete sense and relates to me 100%. “To dream that you cannot find where you parked your car, suggests that you do not know where you want to go in life.” Ah, something applicable! This actually happens to be a recurring dream.

Cats: For cat lovers, such as myself, cats imply an independent spirit, sexuality, creativity, and power. This fits somewhat. I definitely see myself as creative and I suppose I have power at work, but I don’t know about the sexuality part. Guess I never thought of myself that way.

Cookbooks: I couldn’t find anything specific on cookbooks, but to dream of books suggests calmness and that I will move towards my goals at a slow and steady pace (which is true, I am). The website also said that I should consider the type of book. It might mean I have a calling into a specific line of work. I know that’s not true, because I can’t even boil water without somehow getting it wrong so becoming a chef is rather unlikely.

Falling: Well, it’s comforting to know that falling is quite common in dreams so I’m not too much of a mess with that one. So what does the website say about it? “Falling is an indication of insecurities, instabilities, and anxieties. You are feeling overwhelmed and out of control in some situation in your waking life. This may reflect the way you feel in your relationship or in your work environment.” Bingo. Another dream successfully interpreted. I am definitely feeling overwhelmed and anxious with work.

I’d rather not interpret my death dream or the reason why I murdered myself. The website has way too much information on killing, death, and murder for me to try and understand it on my own. I think I’ll just put that one aside for now and try to work on understanding some of my less disturbing dreams. Or I just might try to dream more often about Evan Tanner. That dream I have no trouble interpreting.

Book Signing Like a Rock Star

2008-06-29T01:00:00.000-07:00

We gathered together like a herd of sheep in a pen too small to contain us. Shoulder to shoulder we swayed and fidgeted as one. The air crackled with electricity; a tingle ran down my spine; my underarms grew damp; our nervous chatter was hushed. I wished I had applied a little lipstick. We had all come to see, to meet one man.

“I see him,” someone said.

Our heads bobbled to the left, to the right, back and forth as if we were performing some kind of bizarre ritual. The source of our excitement was close. We felt him; we smelled him. He was here, somewhere among us, blending in with the crowd.

“I don’t see him,” someone sighed with disappointment. Collectively we sighed.

I pulled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, wishing instead I had worn a cute little tank top to show off some too pale skin. I glanced at my watch. It was time. He should be here. He was.

“I see him!” someone screamed. Collectively we screamed.

As one we surged towards the bespectacled, balding man dressed in a black t-shirt and flip flops. All three-hundred of us crowded close, but fell just short of mobbing him. We jockeyed for position; all of us wanting to touch him, to take his picture, to hear him speak, and later to tell our friends that we had been one of the lucky few, okay one of the lucky three hundred, he had actually talked to.

You’d think Paul McCartney, the Pope, or even Miley Cyrus, had sauntered through the double-doors of Barnes and Noble, but it was only Sam. Only Sam? No, not ‘Only Sam,’ but Sam “The Cooking Guy!” Step back and recognize!

***

I clutched Sam’s book, Just a Bunch of Recipes, to my chest and practiced what I would say when it was my turn to have him sign my book….

Hi Sam. You’re so great! My husband and I are big fans!
Hi Sam. I’m going to a BBQ this weekend. What do you suggest I make?
Hi Sam, you’re so cute! Hee hee hee

Twenty minutes later I still hadn’t decided what I would say, but I had time. I pulled my yellow card from my pocket, #167. He hadn’t yet reached #20. I had a long ways to go, but towards the front of the store there was a commotion. Barnes and Noble had just sold the last of Sam’s books! People grumbled, a woman cried, I thought a fist fight might ensue. Many of those people had already been issued numbers, but had no book to sign and this was after all, a book signing. Their loss, however, was my gain. A man handed me his yellow card as he went out the door. #143! I giggled crazily with anticipation.

***

The line moved slower than a snail taking a nap. Actually, it didn’t really move at all, it just seemed like it did with people bouncing from one foot to the other to keep their legs from falling asleep. Absolutely everyone wanted their picture taken with Sam, to hug him (at least the women did), to tell him how good his recipes were, and to tell him how great he was. I was no exception, but I would have to wait my turn.

Finally, the moment I'd been waiting for. It was 10 p.m. and I’d been standing in line for a good 3-hours. I went over everything in my head. I decided I would tell Sam what big fans my husband and I were and ask him what I should make for the BBQ. He flashed his lovely smile and as I gazed into his twinkling eyes all cognizant thought flew from my head. I couldn’t speak. I merely held up my camera and the man in line behind me took a picture of us, then I thrust my book at Sam to sign. At last I found my voice. “You look tired,” I said. Good going Rae! Basically I told the man he looked like shit, but I got my cookbook signed and all was good in the world again.

Contemplating My Life

2008-06-27T22:45:00.000-07:00

I am in a mood right now and it is hard to describe. I am feeling many different emotions and a thousand and one thoughts are racing through my mind. First and foremost, I am happy; happy on many different levels and for many different reasons. Certain issues have worked themselves out, such as the kitchen remodel, and I can stop worrying and move forward to a better, more serene state of mind. For a while I was in a bad place mentally. I suppose I still am because I have work problems that I cannot control. I do not like to let others command the things that affect me, but that is the case at work. Things are in motion that I can neither fix nor influence. I simply have to wait for the outcome. This is definitely a test of something that I do not have…patience.

The flute of Robert Tree Cody is melodic. I am listening to his Young Eagle’s Flight - Songs for the Native American Flute on my iPod. He has put me in a contemplative mood; reflecting on the life I have had and the life I want to have. In three years I plan on retiring from my job with the Sheriff’s Department. The job has taught me so much. I was a young, naïve kid when I joined and the discipline and guidance the job provided was definitely what I needed to help me grow and mature. However, now that I have matured I no longer wish for others to impose their disciplined way of life upon me. I wish to make my own decisions and live as I see fit without having to take into account my department’s ‘policy and procedures.’

Did you know that I am not allowed to dye my hair blue? Nor can I pierce my nose, eyebrow or face in general? It is against policy. I do not wish to do these things, but should I desire to it would be nice to make those decisions on my own without any outside interference. Petty issues to some I am sure, but after almost seventeen years I am tired. Being in law enforcement is not just a 40-hour per week day job. It is a lifestyle and one I no longer wish to live. Work is the primary reason of my inner turmoil. At one point I enjoyed my job, but now it makes me unhappy. I am restless to do something different, but I am not quite in a place where it would be beneficial for me to cash in and walk away. There are things I am currently working on that would get me there, but it will take time. Again a test of my patience.

I love my husband and am happier in marriage than I ever thought it was possible to be. He is what drives me to become my own person, to have my own thoughts, to act upon dreams that I always thought were just that - dreams, but which he believes are realistic and attainable goals. I love him because we are so similar in thought. At lunch today I broached the subject of life after I retire. For so long now my thoughts have only been of retirement, not what comes later. Until I met Robert I simply went through the motions. Now I am more aware of my life and the direction I am headed. He has helped me to find my voice and inner strength and has given me the confidence I have always lacked.

For our honeymoon we packed our car with camping gear and just drove. Unfortunately the weather was uncooperative and we were forced to sleep in hotel rooms instead of our tent, but nevertheless driving the open roads and leaving the bustling city behind was…I can not seem to find the words to express how I felt during that road trip. Free? Refreshed? Happy? Content? All I know is that I was sad to return home and felt sick in my soul. It’s been six months since our honeymoon, but I still remember how blessed I felt watching a red fox hunt in the wilds of Idaho, the feeling of utter contentment I had when looking out over the Badlands in South Dakota, and tears still come to my eyes when I think about the first time I saw Mount Rushmore.

Born and raised in a big city and really not knowing anything beyond the county lines, I am eager to explore, eager to experience life that I did not know existed. I asked Robert what he thought of selling the house, buying an RV and just traveling for a year or two or twenty, being campground hosts, stopping only long enough for us to earn enough money to get us to wherever it was we wanted to go next. I asked what he thought of buying land in Alaska, of being self-reliant and ‘going off the grid.’

I wonder if these are the normal thoughts of a forty-year-old woman or am I having a mid-life crisis and trying to revert back in time in hopes of changing a life I was never really happy with? I look at my friends and family and wonder what they would think of my wanting to disappear into the wilds of the world? Of trading a crazy, stressed out existence for one of simplicity that came in the form of a small log cabin in the middle of nowhere? Sometimes it worries me that I am thinking such strange thoughts, but when I reveal to Robert what is in my head, we are in agreement for he has those same thoughts too. It is comforting to know that when or if I ever choose to leave my current lifestyle behind for one of a simpler, greener life, I will have someone to share it with, someone to love it with, and someone to always be happy with.

Crack - The Black Hole of Pants

2008-05-04T08:08:00.000-07:00

Normally I try not to hurt people’s feelings with my blogs, but this time I must say something. I’m sorry if in fact I do offend anyone. No. I take that back. I don’t care if I offend you, because if I was really concerned with your feelings I would not be writing about this particular topic. And if you do take exception with this blog then you must be one of the offenders. Now that this issue has come to light, maybe you will remedy the problem so I am not repulsed when I see you committing this horrendous party foul in public.

Yesterday my husband and I took a nice drive to Julian for some fresh air and warm apple pie. Julian wasn’t as crowded as I have seen it, but there were a good number of people wandering the streets. The problem I encountered was with very large people. Hold on. Don’t start yelling obscenities at me just yet. Let me clarify first then you can start in with the vulgar names. The problem I had was not necessarily with the people or their weight, but more with their clothing. We had just come out of Mom’s after enjoying some delicious apple pie when two women walked past. They were a bit overweight, but who isn’t in today’s world of fast and fatty foods. That includes me as well. Like I said my husband and I had just ate some pie. More than likely I would not have noticed these women, but I did only because we fell in step behind them as they walked down the street (probably heading to the candy store on the corner. I say this only because that’s where we were headed).

Casually dressed, with one of them carrying a camera, they blended with the rest of us roaming through town. However, there was one specific thing about one of them that caught my attention: her butt. Normally I don’t check out other women, especially their behinds. I have no interest in that particular body part, but (no pun intended) her shorts were so wedged up her ass that I imagined it would take surgery to remove them. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed this with overweight people. I actually work with a man whose pants continuously get caught in the crack of his butt and I’ve always wondered if it hurts or if he even knows its happening. Either way I personally find it gross.

At one point in time, or maybe many points, we’ve all had our underwear ride up our rears. We’ve all searched for a quiet spot for privacy or had our significant other or best friend stand behind us to shield us so we can dig them out with as little embarrassment as possible. It happens. Its part of life, but to have not only your underwear, but your pants get sucked so far into the black hole that it takes a special tool to remove them is disgusting. I can’t say for sure if it’s a pleasant feeling for the person it’s happening too, but I can say that it isn’t a pleasant feeling for the person having to look at it, especially when the offender does a reach around to pick it out.

I don’t know of a permanent solution to prevent this from happening, except to say lose the weight, but that’s often easier said than done. I suppose the next time I’m at the mall, at work, at school, or anywhere really I will just have to keep my eyes open. When I see a likely candidate for having their shorts wedged up their crack I’ll be sure to not walk behind them.

Tap Water - the Nectar of My Life

2008-03-26T11:36:00.000-07:00

Indoor plumbing has been around since the late 19th century and was in most households by the mid-20th century, including my own home as a child. This included running water; tap water to be exact. What an amazing and convenient thing it was to stick my little Sippy cup under the faucet, turn a knob, and voila! Water! I never had to walk 100-miles uphill and barefoot nevertheless, to the town's water pump to fill my wooden bucket. Water was just always there, but there was something even better tasting than tap water. Garden hose water.

Terrorizing the neighborhood on my pink bicycle with streamers dangling from the handlebars was thirsty work. However, there was never a need to bother Mom for a glass, because there was always the hose. Of course you had to wait several minutes once you turned it on, because more than likely the hose had been left in the sun. It was a mistake you made only once. A mouth full of hot water never quenched anyone’s thirst. Everyone had garden hoses. If you found yourself blocks from home, there was always a house with a hose in the front yard. A friend’s house, a strangers, it didn’t matter. Drinking from a garden hose was what kids did back then and it was acceptable whether it was your kid or not.

How things have changed. I can’t remember when I was first introduced to bottled water, but I think I am in the minority when I say I still prefer plain old, room temperature tap water. Now that I’m older I’m not much into drinking from the garden hose anymore (there’s a little thing called “bacteria” that I worry about), but I just can’t get into the bottle water craze. Plastic water bottles are everywhere and they’re becoming quite controversial.

On the environmental front, The International Herald Tribune reports that the energy required to make plastic bottles is equal to 17-million barrels of oil annually. On a global scale it’s nearly 100-million barrels and that’s not including transportation costs of the product. Not only is it expensive, but making plastic water bottles cause’s greenhouse gas emissions. What’s ironic is it takes about THREE liters of water to make ONE liter of bottled water. That makes absolutely no sense!

Bottled water might not be as environmentally friendly as some people may think, but is it any safer than tap water? It’s hard to say. I’ve heard everything from bottled water is really tap water packaged in a pretty bottle to it being from some obscure fresh-water spring found only on Mars. I’ve bought my share of bottled water over the years, not because I think it tastes better or is healthier for me, but more out of convenience. Call me weird – which has happened on a few occasions – but I like tap water plain and simple. But garden hose water? Not so much anymore.

Getting Older Sucks, Or Does It?

2008-03-12T14:03:00.000-07:00

Getting older sucks. Not that I really mind getting older. I turn the big 4-0 in a few months and think my age is perfectly in the middle. Old enough to know better, but still young enough to say, “I don’t give a shit.” I say getting older sucks, but I must explain first for you to understand exactly what I mean. Like I said, I turn forty in a few months. I got a very late start on my college education, which I don’t regret at all because after high school I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do in life. If I had gone directly to college, I would have likely majored in basket-weaving or some other boring subject that my parents wanted. Regardless, I would have hated it and not have been interested in doing that profession for the rest of my life. Instead of furthering my education, I bounced from job to job until at the age of twenty-three with no marketable skills I decided to join the law enforcement family.

My job as a deputy has served me well and I do not complain. Over the last few years, however, I have found I no longer enjoy it as much as I did when I started so long ago. I have become jaded of sorts. I think it’s time I left the work to the younger generation who are still energetic and motivated enough to care.

I have found other interests and passions in life that I wish to toil in, such as writing. My goal is to retire soon from law enforcement and pursue a full time career in the field of journalism. One thing that would benefit me in my new endeavor is a college degree, so back to school I went. When I say getting older sucks, I mean being the oldest student in my class sucks. Since I am just starting college life, the classes I am taking are usually filled with kids young enough to be mine. The only other person older than me is usually the teacher.

Walking across campus I feel so conspicuous, so out of my element. The majority of these kids have just graduated high school; I just attended my twentieth year reunion. They’re still sporting their high school colors; I wish I could still fit into my gym shorts. They’re excited about their futures while I, on the other hand, am a bit more realistic about life and a lot less optimistic.

Being among them I can feel the chasm that divides us. We are worlds apart. Last week in my Political Science 102 class we had a guest speaker who happened to be a District Attorney. He was the son of my professor and came to lecture about the judicial system. The question and answer period that followed was filled with inane questions such as, “Is it true if you put a penny under your tongue you can trick the breathalyzer?” The kids were more concerned with how to get out of a D.U.I than with actually following the law.

As I attend my classes and am put into these types of situations on a weekly basis I really start to notice the differences between me and the other students. Being older does sucks, but then I think about all the advantages that I have. My car insurance is much lower than theirs, I can legally buy alcohol, and I already know that you can’t fool the breathalyzer machine. So maybe being older doesn’t really suck at all. It’s all in how you want to look at the numbers.

Strollers are the Bane of My Existence

2008-03-06T01:00:00.000-08:00

I hate baby strollers. More to the point I hate the people who push baby strollers.

Two weekends ago I visited one of my favorite places in the city, the San Diego Zoo. Since I have a membership pass and go about once every other month, I only visit a few of the animal exhibits that I like best – meerkats, elephants, camels. Normally I go on Mondays. With no crowds I am able to spend a considerable amount of time at one exhibit honing my photography skills. I’m not being jostled by other visitors or feel pressure to take my picture then get out of the way so someone else can step up to the rail. I can sit relatively undisturbed for as long as I desire. This time, however, I went on a Saturday with my husband and two step-kids. Big mistake and one that I will never ever repeat.

According to San Diego’s Convention & Visitors Bureau website, America’s Finest City is visited by an estimated 32-million tourists a year. I swear all 32-million of them showed up at the zoo with their families in tow on that one beautifully random Saturday that I was there. If there’s one thing you should know about me, I don’t like people, specifically rude people pushing gargantuan baby strollers.

As mothers and fathers alike pushed their Graco Duo Riders or Chico C5 Twin Strollers down the walkways, the masses of looky-loos parted like the Red Sea for Moses. And if you didn’t get out of the way you fell victim, only to stagger from the impenetrable crowd moments later with little baby stroller wheel marks across your brow. It was difficult enough to walk without stepping on an errant child or an oblivious parent, but having to worry about being run over by a stroller made for an incredibly stressful day.

Shame on me for slowing down to look at an exhibit, but by the third time I was nipped on the heels by a stroller, I was tempted to pick up stroller and pusher and toss the whole darn outfit into the alligator pit! It was absolutely ridiculous. Where do these parents get the nerve to think that just because they are pushing a stroller the size of a small country they have the right away? Or can bully their way through the crowd by wielding their stroller like a snow plow?

At one point I decided not to get out of the way. I was not blocking the walkway, but standing to the side looking at the gorillas. A woman had the audacity to try and nudge me out of the way with her stroller so her kid could press his precious little face against the dirty window pane. I had no problem allowing the kid to squeeze in, but to be forced to move was inexcusable. I glared menacingly at the woman, but she was oblivious to my presence. She was smack dab in the middle of a crowd, but all she was concerned with was getting her fat ass as close to the glass as possible and she used her stroller as a means to accomplish this.

In situations like that what is there to say? Sure, I could have told the woman to back the bleep up or kicked the stroller out of the way, but what would that have accomplished? And how would I have explained to my boss that I couldn’t come to work because I was thrown in jail for assault with a baby stroller? It would have caused more trouble than it was worth. Instead of standing my ground and possibly having my ankles broken, I stepped out of the way so the lady and her kid could press themselves against the glass.

Reckless drivers at the helm of humongous baby strollers are rude, dangerous and should be put in check, but with my own children standing next to me it didn’t seem like the right time or place. Next time we’ll just plan our zoo outings for Monday. Still, it would have been nice to tip over their stroller, flip them the bird, and yell, “Death to all baby strollers!”

Back in the Day....

2008-02-18T03:47:00.000-08:00

The other day my step-son said, “Back in the day….” then began telling me a story about something that happened to him in his childhood. The funny thing is he’s only thirteen years old, but it got me thinking about some of my childhood memories. Granted, my mind’s a bit sketchy and not all of my memories are fond ones, but I will go back in time (some 25-30 years ago) and see what I can recall.

… One of my favorite memories involves my older brother, Bert. When we wanted to do something we knew we weren’t allowed to do we’d ask Dad, because he never said no. We lived less than a block away from St. Pius, a catholic school and church. One evening after dark, my father gave us permission to ride our bikes. Bert and I rode over to the school and tried to steal a trash can full of balls (soccer, football, volleyball) that had been left out on the playground. We didn’t plan it very well because we tried to carry the balls in one hand while riding our bikes with the other. A nun saw us and yelled for us to stop. Instead of dropping the balls and high tailing it out of there (those nuns were mean back then) we stopped. We dropped the balls and they went rolling all over the ground. The nun came over and yelled at us again and made us pick up all the balls.

… Bert played Little League for several years and just about every weekend we spent it at the baseball fields. There were probably about four to six fields in all. The little brothers and sisters (me included) ran amok while our parents sat in the bleachers cheering on our older siblings. Back then you could buy a handful of candy for less than a quarter, so it was easy to get our sugar highs on. Whenever a ball was hit over the fence all the kids would scramble. Whoever retrieved the foul ball received a coupon to get a free snow cone at the snack bar. I ate lots of snow cones during those weekends. I was a fast runner.

… I was a weird kid. I probably needed therapy and medication, but that wasn’t the rage back then. Kids were left to be kids and I was no exception. I had this plastic doll that walked when you pushed a button on her back. When her batteries died, I staged wagon accidents (I warned you I was weird). I’d sit in my wagon and with one foot propel myself along the side walk. I’d tip over the wagon and my doll would fly high into the air eventually skidding her way down the sidewalk. She had lots of road rash marks on her face.

…When that same wagon lost it’s steering, my best friend Lisa and I would sit in it and hurl down a hill by our house and crash into a chain link fence. Good times. That same friend and I also used to play in the big newspaper recycling bin in our elementary school’s parking lot. I can’t recall why we played in there, but we’d come out all black from the newsprint. I think it was just a cool place for a couple of twelve-year-olds to explore.

… A more pleasant and less violent memory: my next door neighbor, Joanna, and I would sit in my room on my dark blue shag carpet and trade pictures from our Teen Beat and Tiger Beat magazines. My favorites back then were Ralph Macchio, Scott Baio, and Shaun Cassidy. They were the bomb in the early 80s!

… The big recess game back in elementary school was ‘team ball’. Two teams squared off and threw a ball at one another. If you caught the ball then the person who threw it was ‘out’ meaning they had to get out of the square we were confined in. If you got hit by the ball then you were out. I was probably in 4th or 5th grade and Ralph, a big 6th grader who was quite cute, threw the ball at me. I caught it and he was out! Oh, but did my chest hurt.

… Wiffle ball was a big childhood sport. The water meter was first base, a crack in the side walk was second, a flower pot was third, and the driveway was home. My neighborhood was filled mostly with boys: Steve and Dickie (their father was a cop who used to set off all the confiscated fire crackers in their backyard during 4th of July), Jon, Jeff, and Richard were great to play with, since I was tom-boy. Slurpees came in plastic cups back then with pictures of sports figures on them. We’d slurp the Slurpees way to fast and get brain freeze then put the cups over our little fists and box. Not box to the face, but we’d hit each other on the arms and torso. I don’t know why we did this, but it was fun at the time.

… Back in the day mothers liked to make their children very ugly clothes and then expect them to wear them and be happy about it. My mother was no exception and made me this dusty pink colored jacket with sequins on the front pockets. I actually liked it though and wore it quite often. I remember running across the playground (back when playgrounds actually had grass). Back and forth I ran with the tail of that little pink jacket flapping in the wind. I was Lucan! A boy raised by wolves! It was a popular TV show in the 70s. What can I say? You think I’m a dork now, you should have seen me then.

My childhood had ups and downs just like any kid’s, but my mom did the best she could between dealing with an alcoholic husband and raising two kids. Overall I think she did a great job and although I do think I need therapy at times, I wouldn’t trade my childhood for all the money in the world.

My Silly Celebrity "To Do" List

2008-02-15T08:51:00.000-08:00

We all have celebrities we find deliciously irresistible. In the 70’s it might have been Burt Reynolds or Tom “Magnum PI” Selleck in the 80’s. Tom Cruise in his Top Gun glory or a shirtless Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise might have topped some people’s lists. We often base what movies we see or videos we rent solely on who the main star is. My tastes in celebrity men have changed through the years, but there has always been one constant.

I first cast eyes upon him in 1987’s No Way Out. He was the hottest Naval Officer I’d ever seen. He’s also been the hottest Federal Agent, body guard, golfer, baseball player, cowboy, and serial killer (to name a few) that I’ve ever watched on the big screen. I’ve seen just about every one of his movies and he is the only man I would ever leave my husband for. I’ve told my husband this many times, but he merely rolls his eyes and then tells me he’d leave me for Angelina Jolie (ew!). However there is something about Kevin Costner that is absolutely and inexplicably hot and sexy. To some he may be old. He is in his fifties, but the older he gets, the hotter he gets.

My lust for Kevin got me thinking about my lust for other actors, so I made a Top 5 List of Celebrities that I would never kick out of bed for eating crackers, if you know what I mean. There are many actors that I love to watch and find handsome, such as Clive Owen and Terrance Howard, but there has to be that little extra something that sets my heart a flutter. The guys on my list definitely do that and a bit more. They are listed in no particular order, although Kevin will always be my #1.

1. Kevin Costner - Need I explain further? I think not.

2. Liam Nesson – Besides being super sexy and super talented, I love his accent. I could listen to him talk all day everyday. He always seems to pop up in movies when I least expect it (Batman Begins, Narnia) and that’s always a pleasant surprise. Now if only he would just whisper my name and let me gaze into his eyes….and maybe hold his hand.

3. Ralph Fiennes – My first exposure to beautiful Ralph came in 1996 when I saw The English Patient. I loved him in Red Dragon and loved him even more in the silly romance Maid in Manhattan. I think it’s his eyes, or maybe his mouth, his hair, could be his voice… whatever it is, he’s just sexy as hell.

4. Daniel Day Lewis – Studly Daniel is fairly new to my list. Although his hotness factor in Last of the Mohicans was rather high and I found him creepily attractive as Bill the Butcher in Gangs of New York, I didn’t add this mega-talented Englishman to my list until after seeing him in the There Will Be Blood. He’s had so many different accents in his movies that I’m not sure what his true voice sounds like, but with him, he doesn’t have to talk unless he wants to of course. I’d be more than happy just to stand there and stare.

5. Johnny Depp – He’s my resident bad boy. I first thought he was a cutie in 21 Jump Street, but those days seem almost a joke in comparison to how sexy and talented he has become. He even had sex appeal as the butchering barber in Sweeney Todd. He reinvents himself with every character and with talent like that, he’s sure to remain on my ‘to do’ list for years to come.

Of course no list is complete without having a few alternates to fill in when the starters get tired. Now this is where it gets a bit hard, because there are so many other talented and hot guys to choose from. Let me think… Antonio Banderas and Daniel Craig immediately come to mind. And then there’s Christian Bale, Mel Gibson, and Pierce Brosnan. Of course the alternate’s list is subject to change when the next big movie comes out or my tastes in men change, which is quite often.

Inflation & the Tooth Fairy

2008-02-08T01:07:00.000-08:00

My husband and I were at our friends' house last weekend watching football when their young son ran over to us tugging on his loose tooth. He was quite excited about it, but his father said it was more about getting money from the tooth fairy than it was about actually losing the tooth. Watching Trevor wiggle his front tooth reminded me of my own childhood. When I was about his age I remember placing my baby teeth under my pillow in anticipation of the tooth fairy’s visit. I tried desperately to stay awake to see if I could see the tooth fairy in action, but I could never keep my eyes open for more than ten minutes. In the morning there was always a shiny quarter where my tooth had been. I never knew how the tooth fairy got the quarter under my pillow or where my tooth went, until I got older of course, but it’s a childhood experience that always brings back fond memories.

Trevor’s delight in getting money for his tooth also reminded me of an article I read in the newspaper about an eight-year-old boy receiving $10 for a tooth he placed under his pillow. After reading this I was outraged and then very sad. In the article it said the boy tried to pull out his other baby teeth although they weren’t even remotely close to falling out, because he wanted the money. Already the young lad had grasped the concept of greed. What’s next? Stealing his sibling’s teeth or strong arming his kindergarten cronies for theirs?

It takes some people an hour of hard work for what that boy was given in less than five minutes for doing nothing more than being a kid. Will that kid have to pay taxes for that $10? Nope. It’s all free and clear unlike the people who actually do something to earn it. The youngster doesn’t understand the ethics and values that come with making an honest living. All he knows is that this hiding-a-tooth-under-the-pillow business can be rather lucrative. And it doesn’t seem like his parents were bothering to teach him the responsibility part that comes with earning money either.

I know I’m being a bit harsh. I don’t have children so with inflation maybe $10 is the going-rate for teeth nowadays. Besides, the kid is just a kid after all and it’s not his fault his parents have failed to teach him that money doesn’t really grow on trees. When I was young, I was given a quarter for each tooth I lost. Granted, that was over 30 years ago, but still the concept of saving and earning is still the same and a valuable lesson to be learned at any age.

I quote from the article: “…whether that money is allowed to be freely spent or forced to be saved depends on the money values and sentiments of the parents.” The money values of the parents? I would think they don’t have any since they gave an eight-year old $10 for a tooth! What’s sad is the article said the parents felt pressure to give more money for a tooth, because they believed “that other children in their neighborhood were getting more for a tooth.” So what? Will the kid be scarred for life because the little neighbor girl got more money for her tooth than he did? Will he even know or let alone care how much other kids get? How about we start a new tooth fairy trend and stop giving outrageous amounts of money to our kids for their teeth? Maybe parents should sit down with their little ones and explain the concept of money and the responsibility that comes with earning and saving it. Give the little tyke something that he can use throughout his life, like a good set of morals.

Seriously though, is that the only reason the parents gave their kid a crisp Alexander Hamilton for a lost baby tooth? I think there might be some underlying issues involved. I could be way off mark, but indulge me for a moment. Let’s say both mommy and daddy work and little Johnny is a daycare/latchkey kid. Maybe one of the parents travels for their work or they work long hours and are rarely home before Johnny’s bedtime. Maybe Johnny has spent more time with the babysitter during his young life than with his parents. The parents aren’t really giving $10 for a tooth, but $10 to assuage their guilt for neglecting their kid.

When I was eight years old there was more to losing a tooth than how much money I would find under my pillow the next morning. It was about losing a baby tooth and getting a ‘big girl’ tooth. It was about the rite of passage into adulthood or into "big-kid-ness" as I called it. Okay, most of the time it was about that, but sometimes it was about getting a quarter under my pillow because back then you could still buy a piece of candy for a penny!

It's Just I-N-F-A-T-U-A-T-I-O-N

2008-01-13T03:51:00.000-08:00

I-N-F-A-T-U-A-T-I-O-N

I've got this little problem that I cannot control

You put my heart in jail but now it's on parole

You thought that you had left me alone in the rain

But I saw you and my dead heart started up again

I do not wa wa wa wa want you

I do not ne ne ne ne need you

I just like the way you walk

The way you move

The way you talk oh ya

And I can't let go

Infatuation's got a hold on me

Wa oh wa oh

- “Infatuation” by Simon and Milo

I was skimming over some news headlines on the Internet the other day and after I clicked on one of the headlines to read the story I wondered why I had chosen that one over all the others…

Homeland Security to Unveil New Driver’s License Rules

Pakistan to U.S. Military: Stay out

NASA Begins Repair to Shuttle Fuel Tank

Miley Cyrus in Possible ‘Montana’ Scandal

U.S. Immigration Agents to Stop Sedating Deportees

Police Arrest 80 Guantanamo Protestors

Miley Cyrus? Yup, that’s the headline I clicked on. It seems her sneaky use of a body double during a concert performance has pissed off a few fans. However, her actions have no relevance to my life whatsoever. Ask me if I care and I will tell you I don’t, so why did I choose that tidbit of news rather than something more deep and meaningful? I don’t watch her TV show or even listen to her music, although I did like Achy Breaky Heart by her dad, Billy Ray. I can’t rightly say why I chose that headline other than I made my choice more from celebrity infatuation than from wanting to expand my knowledge of current events.

In a sense I am a stalker. Not the bad kind that trespasses and peeks through windows or the kind who sends thousands of adoring letters to a celebrity in a single month or even the I-have-no-life kind that follows a celebrity from city to city in hopes of getting close enough to smell his or her body odor. I’m more of the kind that sits at my computer and makes daily visits to websites such as People.com, E! Online, TMZ.com and Perez Hilton’s celebrity blog site. I search out fan-sites on the web and even have a few celebrities listed as my friends on Myspace.com so I can keep up with their daily activities. In the past two days I’ve Googled Kevin Costner, who along with his band happens to be my #1 friend on Myspace, Brittney Spears, David Beckham, George Clooney, Christina Aguilera, Nicole Ritchie and a slew of others that have made headlines over the past few weeks.

Why do I waste precious hours of my life wanting to know everything about theirs? What is the relevance of knowing Kevin Costner’s new born son’s name? - It’s Cayden Wyatt for those that really want to know. Will I just curl up and die if I don’t know all the details of Brangelina’s love affair? I would hope not. Is it a way for me to live vicariously through them? I don’t think so. True the money, the mansions, the fashion, the expensive cars would be fantastic, but not a life lived under a microscope. I would not want someone like me delving into their lives via the Internet. I can’t rightly say why I have this infatuation with celebrities. Maybe I just need more excitement in my own life or a bank account exceeding $20 million dollars and a Bugatti Veyron parked in my garage. Maybe then I can start getting caught up on the current events that really matter. Yeah, right. What I really want to know is Angelina pregnant again??

My Addiction

2008-01-12T03:32:00.000-08:00

Addiction is a pretty strong word. When I think of addiction I think of drugs, alcohol, even nicotine, but I wouldn’t necessarily think soda. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. I have a problem. I am addicted to soda, a junkie looking for her daily caffeine fix. I drink at least one 20-ounce bottle a day. That’s 250 calories and about 17 teaspoons of sugar I’m pouring down my throat. I know it’s bad for me and I can feel the negative effects it has on my body, but I cannot go without it. I’ve tried. Many times.

When I first attempted to go without soda I had a monstrous headache for three days. No matter how many aspirin I popped, it wouldn’t go away. I was miserable, but finally my headache abated and I went 15-days without a soda. The craving was always there though, but I held out by drinking copious amounts of water and Crystal Lite until I thought I would never stop peeing. Unfortunately work became stressful and soda slowly crept back into my diet until I was downing the daily 20-ouncers again and again.

Most days I drank more than that. I would stop by 7-11 on the way to work with my refill cup in tow. Heck, its only 99-cents so why not save a few nickels and dimes to put toward the next soda? I’d buy either a 32- or 44-ounce cup and have it gone in less than a ½ hour. Later in the day I would buy another 20-ounce bottle and if I knew I didn’t have to work the next day and could sleep in since the caffeine would keep me awake, I’d buy another bottle. At the minimum I was drinking at least 60-ounces of soda a day.

I’ve since toned it down to maybe 40-ounces a day with no extra stops at 7-11. On a good day I’ll only drink 20-ounces. I suppose some people turn to food for comfort or smoke a cigarette to steady their nerves, but my best friend is a Coca Cola. I get agitated when I don’t have one and when I do get my hands on that frosty little bottle and take that first sip I can feel my entire body relax and everything seems right in the world again. It’s like crack, or so I would think since I have never done any type of illegal drugs. Drinking so much soda is a bad habit and as I get older the effect it has on my body worsens. I need to quit!

Later….

It’s been about 18-hours since my last soda, although some of that time was spent sleeping. The craving is constant and strong and my willpower weakens by the minute. I don’t have a headache, at least not yet. I paused as I passed a soda machine. It called to me: Rae Rae RAE! You need me! Yes, I do need you, like air, like food, like a good foot rub. I need you very much my little friend, but you are bad for me; bad like the chicken pox or a sinus cold or a crappy boyfriend. I miss you, but I must leave you… I can quit you. I am confident I can quit you.

Still later….

24-hours without a soda and I have a monstrous headache and am about to kill someone, anyone! But I can do this. I can do this DAMMIT! ARRRRrrrrr……..!

Resolutions Suck

2008-01-10T00:38:00.000-08:00

January 10, 2008

Happy New Year!

Almost two weeks into the new year and I have yet to make any New Year resolutions. I hate making resolutions, especially ones inspired by deliciously sweetened champagne; resolutions that I have no intention of following through with and will in all likelihood forget by morning. Last years resolutions went by the wayside less than a month into the New Year. They were the same old resolutions that I made the year before and the year before that. Probably the same ones that everyone makes – lose weight, exercise more, and pay off credit cards. Have I lost weight? Nope, I’ve added a bit of extra junk to my trunk. Have I exercised? No, thus the extra junk. And don’t even ask about paying off my credit cards, because all I will do is laugh then fall into deep despair.

Why do my coworkers seem so interested in what my New Year resolutions are? I suppose it’s a great conversation starter, but I’ve known these people for a while now, so no real conversation starter is necessary. Just tell me what you have to tell me and we’ll take it from there. For some it seems to be a shocker that I have no resolutions. I could make stuff up if I was that creative, but it would probably lead to more questions than I’m willing to answer. From now on I will tell people my New Year resolution is to not make any New Year resolutions. This way, I won’t be disappointed when I become obese, grow roots for lack of movement, or go into debt, because I never made any silly promises to begin with!

If sometime through the year I feel I need to make changes in my life, then it will be goals I set, not resolutions made in a drunken stupor just to impress my fellow former teetotalers. I think there is a huge difference between goals and resolutions. I actually have lots of goals, both short and long term and these were made being of sound mind and body with absolutely no alcohol involved. These I will have no trouble accomplishing.

His Death Inspired Me To Live

2007-10-07T19:26:00.000-07:00

I went to a funeral yesterday. It was a nice funeral as far as funerals go. A beautiful celebration of a man who made every one of his sixty years count and who never let societal expectations keep him from living the life he wanted. I’d seen Bill only a handful of times over the last two, three years, and I always envied his adventurous spirit. I couldn’t quite comprehend Bill’s death though. One day he was there and the next he wasn’t. His sudden and unexpected passing left me confused and with a lot of questions about my own life.

Many wonderful and funny stories about Bill were told by those that knew him best. I wondered what anecdotes would be shared about me at my funeral. When it comes to my family I am a very caring and generous person, but that‘s where it pretty much ends. Those I work with might say I am moody, unapproachable, a loner, and hard to get to know. I’ve been called a bitch a few times and as I look back it was completely warranted, but that’s not how I want to be remembered, whether I am alive or dead. I want others to know me for my dorky, yet hysterical, sense of humor, my love for and loyalty to my family, my passion for animals, my honesty, and solid work ethic. I have quite a few good qualities that I am proud of, but beyond my immediate family does anyone really know me? Has anyone ever seen my selfless side? The good side that I want people to talk about at my funeral? I never gave it much thought before, but I think it’s time I start making some changes in how I treat people.

Bill had a good side, a daring side. There was no doubt that he lived his life. Have I lived mine? If my life were to end tomorrow would it have been a full and happy one? Would there still be things left to do on my “To Do” list? I’m not talking about errands or chores that need doing, but experiences that I’ve always wanted to have yet never found the time for. Yes, I would have regrets. I would regret that I let my “To Do” list get so long that after a while I stopped adding to it, because I ran out of space. I’d regret that I let my “To Do” list become merely a wishful thinking list. I have said many times when I let an opportunity pass that “sometimes life just gets in the way.” That’s my excuse for not finding the time, the money, or the means to make something happen. Sitting on the couch watching reality TV is not living, but making dreams come true or being open to and making new experiences happen is. I need to figure out what my priorities are. If I want my life to be half as good as Bill's, then I best start living now.

Seeing Bill’s family, I wondered if they had told him everything they had wanted. Were there words left unsaid, such as “I love you” because they assumed he already knew? Was there a cute story about one of Bill’s grandsons that he never got to hear, because his daughter was too busy to take a moment to call and tell him? Did life simply get in the way for his family too? I have not lived at home in a very long time and as I grow older it seems I have become more distant from my parents. I love them no less, but sometimes weeks will pass before I realize that I have not spoken to them. I say to myself, “I will call them tomorrow,” but then tomorrow comes and goes as does the day after, and then before I know it another week will be over. I’ve let myself become too preoccupied with my own issues and have neglected the things that matter most to me. Yes, my parents know I love them, but sometimes it’s nice for them to hear it and it feels just as nice to tell them. How hard is it for me to pick up the phone and take a minute out of my busy life to call so they can tell me about theirs?

It’s not hard at all so if you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make and a “To Do” list to find….

Where is My Culture?

2007-05-22T18:22:00.000-07:00

I attended the American Indian Cultural Days at Balboa Park over the weekend. My primary reason for going was to take photographs of the beautiful Native American dancers and eat fry bread. I was not disappointed by either. I ended up going back on Sunday to get more pictures and eat more fry bread. I was rewarded with several new dancers in even more elaborate regalia joining the ones I’d already photographed the day before. They were absolutely amazing to watch.

That night as I was perusing through the hundreds of photos I had taken, I started thinking about my own culture. Did I even have one? If I did, what was it? I am white and was raised as such. My last name is Portuguese and my father’s grandparents came from the Azores. I am also a bit German, Mexican, and European mutt, but that’s about the extent of my knowledge of my family’s history. Other than a few Spanish curse words my brother and I picked up at school, no one in my immediate family spoke a language other than English. We didn’t celebrate our heritage with song, dance, or food. We never mapped out our genealogy or discussed our ethnic background. We were simply a white, middle-class family.

As I looked at my photos of Native American children in cultural dress dancing and singing, I was envious. They were learning about their family’s history, learning traditional dances and songs that their distant ancestors had performed. Many, I’m sure, were learning to speak their ancestor’s native language. They were so young, yet they knew who they were, where they had come from and were embracing it. The only thing I had pertaining to my heritage was a picture of my family’s coat-of-arms.

The more I thought about my family’s history, the more lost I felt. I expressed my concerns to my fiancé. He said since my father’s family has roots in Portugal, I could celebrate the Portuguese culture. I said I would feel like such an outsider, because I was not raised with a true awareness of my Portuguese heritage and didn’t know any of their traditions. He suggested celebrating my Mexican or German heritage from my mother’s side of the family. Again, I said I would feel like an imposter. Frustrated, he suggested that my culture is American. But what does that really mean?

As an American what could I celebrate? The red, white, and blue? Apple pie? Baseball? I’m patriotic, but could that be considered a culture? Are there songs and dances for that? Since one of America’s earliest influences was the British culture, should I embrace England instead? I came up with so many more questions than answers. America is a melting pot or a salad bowl, if you will, with many ingredients. If I am to celebrate my American culture then I should celebrate my Portuguese, German, and Mexican heritages as well as every other cultural group that set foot here and influenced America’s evolution.

I have a long way to go before I can truly understand who I am and where I came from. I may feel like an imposter as I embrace different cultures that make up my ethnicity, but it will be a wonderful learning experience. In the end I hope to not only know myself, but all the other cultures that make this country so great.

I'm Neither an Outcast Nor a Mother

2007-05-07T14:20:00.000-07:00

I don’t have children nor do I want any. I have absolutely no maternal instincts unless it’s to shelter an orphaned kitten. I have no regrets and don’t feel like I’ve missed out on anything. I never realized, however, just how segregated from society my choice has made me until I attended a coworker’s barbecue. Some quick introductions were made when my fiancé and I arrived, but for the most part we were left on our own to mingle. I work with most of the men that were there, but I didn’t know any of the women except for one.

Situations like this make me very uncomfortable. I hate having to make small talk with strangers and intended to stay close to my fiancé. He, along with all the other men however, quickly migrated to the garage leaving the woman folk to socialize in the living room. I was in a dilemma. Should I venture into male territory and cause a ripple in the testosterone level or suck it up and hang with the ladies? I decided to stick with the girls and plopped down on the sofa to chit chat with complete strangers.

The one woman I knew, Melissa, had her three-week old infant with her. I acknowledged he was a cutie-pie, which he was, and made the obligatory goo-goo gee-gee noises and poked his little belly, but beyond that what else was there to say? Apparently there was plenty. After a few minutes my urge for a very strong drink became unbearable and I thought my head would explode. Gross things were being discussed in such detail that I almost vomited. Twice. A conversation about Sue’s water breaking and how she thought she had just wet her pants lasted nearly ten-minutes. Then Melissa plopped out her boob and started nursing, although she had the graciousness to cover herself with a blanket once the baby was in position, but still…Yuck! A discussion about the benefits of breast feeding soon followed.

I had no idea what these women were talking about since I have never experienced anything remotely associated with pregnancy, child birth, or child rearing. At first I tried to be involved, adding a ‘wow’ or ‘really?’ in all the right places, but it was awkward. I even thought about telling the story of how I fell off the porch when I was a toddler and caved in my forehead, but changed my mind. It didn’t seem like it would be appreciated among this group of strangers. There was absolutely nothing I could add to the conversation. I tried hard, but when the topic turned to diaper changing and all the crap (literally) that comes out of babies, my mind began to reel. I couldn’t stay focused enough to contribute an ‘ah’ or even an ‘ew'.

There must be another woman who I could talk to that didn’t have children, but as I looked around I realized I was the only one. There was no escape. Kids were everywhere – cuddled in their mother’s laps, sucking on a boob, crawling on the floor, running around in the backyard. I had nothing in common with these women and felt like such an outsider. The mothers sensed my distress and further isolated me by not including me in their conversation of all-things-children.

If I had had kids I would have easily bonded with these women. I too could be laughing about sleep deprivation, debating the use of disposable diapers versus cloth, complaining how quickly kids outgrow clothes bought just a couple months prior, and experiencing all the joy children bring to the world, but I couldn’t and it made me angry. Angry, because these women made me feel like a pariah, because I had purposely chosen not to add to the already overpopulated planet. And then I felt sad. Not for me, but for those seated around me. After listening to them prattle on and on about their children, I realized they had absolutely no lives of their own.

They couldn’t discuss the latest movie, because they hadn’t been to a movie in years unless it had talking penguins. No one traveled, because it was too much to carry around car seats, strollers, diaper bags, and everything else that accompanied a small child. They didn’t have time to watch sports or television in general, because they were too busy shuttling their kids back and forth to school, dentist appointments, dance class, etc. and when they were able to watch television it was Barney, Blues Clues, Sesame Street or some other children’s program. Their hobbies were their children’s hobbies: soccer, Little League, ballet, swimming. Their world revolved around their children. I wondered what would be left of them once their children were grown and moved away. They could be soccer moms for only so long.

Finally I excused myself and no one seemed to notice, because they were busy raving about ‘onesies’ and how you ‘can never have too many’. I went into the garage in search of my fiancé and found a space where I felt more at ease. Even though I was the only woman in a group of men, I didn’t feel like such an outcast. Here I could talk about current events, sports, work, and about life in general. It was great because not once did we discuss the bodily fluids that randomly spew from small children.

Not Another Tip Jar?

2007-05-02T13:10:00.000-07:00

Tipping is a sign of appreciation for someone’s services or assistance, but the greed of American’s is getting out of control. Tip jars, tip buckets, tip baskets, tip cups, and whatever else is labeled with a “tips are appreciated” sign are popping up everywhere. I’ve seen them at Jamba Juice, Submarina, Brothers, and Dairy Queen to name a few, but my realization that greed was winning in its quest for world domination came when I saw one at DIY Yogurt. If you are not familiar with DIY Yogurt, the DIY stands for “Do It Yourself” which made the tip jar next to the cash register all the more confusing, humorous, irritating, and out right ridiculous.

Now I’m not one to ignore a tip jar. I drop my spare change in them on occasion and even tip higher when the service is exceptional. During the holidays I will also tip a bit higher in appreciation for that person having to work when I get to spend the day with my family. I had to laugh, though, when I saw the tip jar at DIY Yogurt. Who was I tipping?

The only service the pimply faced kid sitting behind the counter provided was handing me a cup when I walked in and then taking my money when I walked out. I filled my cup with frozen yogurt. I sprinkled my own toppings. I got my own spoon and napkin. I cleared my own table when I was done. I opened my own door when I entered and when I left. So in essence the kid behind the counter should have tipped me. Needless to say I dropped my change into my own tip jar: my purse.

I can’t blame the young man for trying though. I’m sure those places only pay minimum wage and more than likely he has school supplies to buy or maybe a laptop to help him with his homework. In some small way I suppose I was hampering his progress through our educational system, because I refused to tip him even a few cents. Sooner or later he would have to learn that sometimes in life you actually have to work for the things you want and need, so what better time to start schooling him in reality than now?

But tipping is reality and has become more often than not an expectation, even though it’s that person’s JOB to perform whatever service it is you are seeking. I looked up rules for tipping on the Internet and there was a multitude of articles about tip etiquette. There was even a listing of monetary amounts a person should give at Christmastime. For example, you should tip your apartment building superintendent anywhere from $50 - $200 unless of course you tip him or her throughout the year then it should be less. However, the apartment building’s handyman gets only $15 - $40. And you should tip your kid’s teacher $25 - $100.

I’m having a hard time understanding this….let me work it out in my head for a minute. Okay, a person was HIRED to say, deliver the mail, teach your kid, deliver your new refrigerator, manage your apartment complex, and even deliver your newspaper. When I hear the word HIRED I automatically assume that that person is receiving an established salary for the services he or she is providing.

I understand tipping is showing appreciation to the paperboy who always gets the newspaper onto the front porch and not in the garden, thanking the movers who delivered all of your antique furniture without a scratch, or expressing gratitude to the personal trainer who pushed you so hard you actually lost more weight than you had hoped for. What irks me is not the act of tipping, but that a tip is expected, which comes down to just plain greed. Earning a paycheck is obviously not enough for some and for whatever reason they feel they are entitled to a tip from the customer for a job they are already getting paid for.

Tipping for above average services should be done out of gratitude not obligation. At some places I am afraid the quality of services I receive will suffer unless the clerk sees me drop some change into his or her tip jar. I shouldn’t have to feel like that when I walk into a place of business. Isn’t customer service in integral part of any business? If I get stiffed on the amount of avocado on my sandwich, the number of peanuts on my sundae, or the cold shoulder when I walk in then I might consider taking my business elsewhere. So, I would think that my continued business is more important than some loose change thrown into the tip jar.

I find it much more enjoyable to tip when I give out of appreciation and not obligation. I would think receiving tips unexpectedly would motivate a person to give a higher caliber of service. But then again, isn’t providing quality services and a friendly atmosphere part of the job the person was hired for in the first place?

My Reality TV Addiction

2007-04-19T08:17:00.000-07:00

04/19/2007

I am a reality tv junky and I am not ashamed to admit it. Unfortunately I can’t watch them all otherwise I would never leave the house, but there is a handful that I watch with religious-like fervor. I like to record my favorites each night then I’ll rush home the next day from work and watch them. Sometimes I’ll wait until Saturday when I can curl up on the couch and watch them all back to back with a giant bowl of popcorn. I will even go as far as to rewind them to watch certain scenes over and over.

I like to watch The Bachelor: An Officer and a Gentleman because Andy Baldwin, the bachelor, is just plain hot. Who can resist a man in a Navy Officer’s uniform? Plus, he’s a doctor and a triathlete, which is all the more attractive. And not to appear too shallow, he seems like a really nice guy that genuinely cares about the feelings of the women he gives the boot to each week at the Rose Ceremony.

Then there is America’s Next Top Model. I get really irritated with the stupidity and naivety of the young girls on the show, but I have to remember they are young and more than likely I was just like that when I was that age. I can do without all the house drama and usually skip that part, but I do like to watch the photo shoots and the judge’s critique. Of course judge/model/photographer Nigel Barker is rather pleasant on the eyes. It doesn’t matter what he has to say just as long as he keeps talking, because his English accent is just so sexy.

The Survivor series is at the crux of reality tv so of course I have to watch that. Beautiful Jeff Probst is reason enough to watch – I’m starting to see a theme here – but I like the dynamics between the contestants. My favorite so far is Yau Man, a fifty-four year old computer engineer from California. He’s the smallest of the group, but at the last few challenges he has been the main reason his team has won. I think the others underestimate him because of his stature and age, but I can see him still standing at the end and I hope he wins it all.

The big one this season seemingly causing the most drama because of a seventeen-year-old talentless kid named Sanjaya is American Idol. I’ve watched the past several seasons, but I think this season is the worst. Except for Melinda, Jordin, and LaKisha on occasion, the quality of talent sucks and Simon Cowell seems crankier than ever. But Simon is the reason I watch and it’s not for his hotness factor either. Although he is an attractive man, I reserve the hot category for those truly deserving, but I do like his English accent as well.

I like Simon because he is honest and only says what other people are too afraid to. Sure the audience boos every time he says a performance was “horrendous” or compares it to a karaoke act, but he is only stating the obvious. What I like the most is Simon’s analogies. Last night he said the singer and the song were like “having a hamburger for breakfast”. Huh? He meant the two didn’t go together; that it was a bad song choice. I also like when the contestants make smart-ass comments in response to Simon’s harsh critiques. When will they realize they will never ever win in that department against Simon? And then there’s the ever perky Paula...ugh!

Everything suffers because of my reality tv addiction. On the nights I watch my shows, which is just about every night, no dinner is made, housework is delayed, the cats go unfed, yard work goes undone, dirty laundry piles up, and my life is basically put on hold. So what is it about these shows that draw me in then prevent me from escaping? If I knew I could probably stop watching and get on with my life, but then I’d lie awake at night wondering if Texas cutie Amber made it through the next Rose Ceremony, if Jaslene really is a bitch or if it’s just editing, if Yau Man ever revealed he had the immunity idol, or what Simon said in his latest diatribe....

Bound by Whose Etiquette?

2007-04-09T14:03:00.000-07:00

04/09/2007

There were several definitions of the word etiquette when I looked it up in the dictionary. To put it in simple dictionary.com terms, etiquette means “the practices and forms prescribed by social convention or authority.” The purpose of etiquette, I suppose, is to encourage us to follow certain rules to avoid pissing people off. I mention etiquette, specifically wedding etiquette, because my fiancé and I are planning our wedding.

At a recent family dinner, wedding etiquette was a hot topic. The main reason for our discussion was because a few days prior I had mentioned to my mother that I was thinking of wearing flip-flops with my wedding dress. I only said this because the shoes the clerk gave me to wear while I tried on dresses were too small and hurt my feet. My mother went ballistic and forbid me to wear flip-flops at my wedding. She forbid me! Just for the record I am thirty-eight years old and this will be my second marriage. Of course I couldn’t let the discussion end, because the more I talked about wearing flip-flops the angrier my mom became. I found her behavior rather amusing. Of course my mother saw no humor in it at all.

At dinner I told my brother and sister-in-law of the incident and added embellishments in all the right places. After all I was only joking and had no intention of wearing flip-flops. However, after I told my story, my father was quite serious when he said he would not go to my wedding if I wore flip-flops. His reasoning? He thought I would look like white-trash. Wow. First off, flip-flops are worn by a huge percentage of the population, not just in the white-trash communities. Secondly, I would hope it would take more for me to look like white-trash than donning a pair of flip-flops. But that is my father and sometimes his rationale isn’t always as clear to other people as it is when he figures it out in his head.

After he made this comment I quickly tried to calculate the money I would save due to his absence. After much persuasion from my sister-in-law, and a small payment made under the table, I decided I would much rather have my father in attendance. I couldn’t believe he was that serious, though, which brings me back to the original topic at hand: wedding etiquette.

When Robert and I first started planning our wedding I decide to browse through the wedding section at the Barnes and Noble bookstore to get some ideas. Every other book was about wedding etiquette, but after flipping through a few I couldn’t take it anymore. In every book some self-proclaimed wedding planning-advisor-person was telling me what I was allowed to do and what not to do. This was my wedding for heavens sake! If I wanted to wear a black mini skirt with flip-flops and dress up as a vampire I should be able to do so! But not according to these people. I should avoid black, because it is associated with mourning and loss.

Who exactly are these narrow-minded people who write these absurd books that place restrictions on how a young bride plans her wedding? I read several of the jacket covers trying to figure it out, but I still don’t know whose rules these are. According to the definition, etiquette is society based, but aren’t I part of society? Certainly these are not my rules, yet I am pressured to follow them simply because a book tells me what is right and wrong. If I go against the perception of what a traditional wedding is and want something more suitable to my personality, is that so wrong? It doesn’t sound like it would be, but when I share my ideas with others, such as having no bridal party, I am gently criticized because my ideas don’t fall within the wedding norm.

This is where my stress level starts to rise. Not from all the planning, but from the pressure to have the typical cookie-cutter wedding, because the etiquette books say it should be done that way. In my humble opinion wedding etiquette is quite stifling and the authors of those stupid etiquette books are mini dictators in the making. Duties are defined for everyone involved in the wedding – flower girls, ushers, bridesmaids, best man, ring bearer, groomsmen, and on and on. The control factor is out of control. For instance, I Googled ‘wedding etiquette’ on the Internet and came up with a plethora of useless information. Did you know that if you’ve been married before or have children you’re not supposed to wear a veil or have a train attached to your wedding dress? And don’t carry orange blossoms! Why, I don’t know, but so advise the wedding etiquette gurus so it must be law.

My advice? Toss the wedding etiquette books into the trash, get creative, and open your mind to all possibilities. Plan your wedding as you and your fiancé see fit. Oh, and feel free to wear flip-flops. Your feet will thank you.

Do Random Acts of Kindness Really Exist?

2007-04-09T13:58:00.000-07:00

04/07/2007

People are rude. I see it all around me. For instance, last weekend I was driving to the mall with my mother. I attempted to change lanes, but when I turned on my blinker the car in the next lane sped up so I couldn’t merge. Did that car get to its destination any quicker because the driver wouldn’t allow me to get in front of him? Nope. As it turned out we were both headed to the mall and got to the same parking garage at the same time. Would it have hurt him (yes, it was a man) to slow down a moment to let me get in front of him? Nope, but I see rudeness like this happening all the time.

Once my mother and I got to the mall we parked the car and entered a department store through a set of double glass doors. We were only a few steps behind a woman in front of us. She opened the doors and entered the store, but didn’t bother looking back. She let the door close in my mother’s face. Rude? Definitely, but I don’t think it was intentional. The woman was simply in a hurry and not paying attention to her surroundings.

But that got me thinking. Do random acts of kindness exist anymore? I tried to think of occurrences where an act of kindness was shown to me. When was the last time a stranger held a door open for me? Or let me cut in line at Jamba Juice? I couldn’t think of any, but then I realized I was just as guilty. When was the last time I had shown kindness to a complete stranger? I couldn’t remember that either.

The following Monday I was on my way home from work. While on the freeway a car in the next lane turned on its blinker to merge into my lane. What did I do? I sped up! I was no better than the jerk I had cussed out the day before for doing the exact same thing to me. Not long after another car wanted to merge into my lane. This time I slowed down and let the driver change lanes. I was met with a friendly wave. There were no immediate benefits to my good deed. I didn’t win the lottery that night or make every green light on the way home. I half expected Ed McMahon to be waiting on my front porch with a Publisher’s Clearing House check, but that didn’t happen either.

The only thing I could hope for was that the driver who I expressed kindness to would extend the courtesy to someone else. My kindness would start a chain reaction of kindness all across the city, the state, even the world! Maybe that’s asking too much, but think about what a better existence we would have if we all showed at least one act of kindness a day to a complete stranger. I decided that’s what I would do. If nothing else I would at least feel better about myself for trying to make a difference. I was also curious to see the reactions I would get since kindness seems to have stopped being a part of our culture.

I showed my first act of kindness while standing in line at the grocery store. My cart was fairly full, but the woman behind me had only a few items, but still too many to go through the express lane. She seemed to be in a hurry so I asked if she wanted to go in front of me. Of course she said yes, but she also thanked me. She then proceeded to tell me how excited her two small children were about coloring eggs for Easter. One of the items she was buying was an egg coloring kit. We made the usual small talk that strangers do when forced together in public places, but it was light hearted and she was genuine in her appreciation for my letting her take cuts in line.

I tried the same trick while in line at Barnes and Noble. Two brothers, probably around 8 and 10 years old were in line behind me. Their mother called the oldest boy on his cell phone. I gathered from the boy’s side of the conversation that their mother was angry because, heaven forbid, she was outside in the car and didn’t want to wait any longer. I offered to let the boys go in front of me so they wouldn’t get in trouble for making their mother wait. They said thank you, but declined. Evidently acts of kindness don’t work too well on kids, but I tried and I think they understood my intentions.

My acts of kindness didn’t stop there however. Once I started showing kindness I found the opportunities to do so were everywhere and I couldn’t limit myself to just one act of kindness a day either. Once I started I couldn’t stop. Expressing kindness wasn’t some great inconvenience and it actually took very little effort. At college I took a moment to help a young student pick up her papers after she dropped her notebook. On the trolley I let an elderly man have my seat so he could sit with his wife. The more I expressed kindness, the more I saw other people expressing it as well. Maybe not to the extent that it affected the entire country, but it was a start.

When I began showing acts of kindness my reasons were not selfish. I simply wanted to see what would happen. I wasn’t expecting some huge reward in return and I didn’t get any either, unless you want to count the many smiles, thank yous, and overall good feeling I felt in my heart. So do random acts of kindness really exist? I think they do.

An Expectation of Muteness on the Trolley

2007-04-09T13:53:00.000-07:00

03/18/07

Although some may disagree with me, I think San Diego has a great trolley system. Okay, maybe not great, but it’s convenient and I don’t have to worry about congested freeways or having to fight for one of the nonexistent parking spots in the Gaslamp Quarter. I often ride the trolley to work and this morning was no exception. However, something happened that was totally out of the ordinary.

Normally I don’t sit next to strangers because I have issues with my personal space being violated and am quite concerned with germs. Today I opted to stand even though there were seats available. A young woman, probably in her mid-twenties, got on at one of the downtown stops. I moved out of her way since I was standing in front of the door. I expected her to elbow her way past and find a seat like all the other passengers had done, but she didn’t. She paused and said hello.

One thing I dislike doing on the trolley is making eye contact with my fellow commuters. I find it very uncomfortable, because once eye contact is established, what do you do next? Talk to them? For me, idle chitchat with a stranger is even more distressing than the meeting of the eyes. When the woman said hello, I didn’t know what to do so I ignored her and looked the other way. Another reason, and probably the main reason, I avoid eye contact is there are a lot of unstable people who ride the trolley. It has been my experience that when I have made eye contact with a person not fully cognizant of reality, it will sometimes trigger his or her paranoia. The person will start yelling at me or ranting at their invisible friend. This bizarre behavior undoubtedly upsets the other passengers and makes for an incredibly tense ride, because no one can predict what the person will do next.

My next thought when the woman said hello was what did she want? Money? A ride to her sick mother’s house in Ramona? A cigarette? My phone number? I’ve been asked all of these things, and worse, at one time or another while on the trolley.

When I didn’t respond, the woman asked, “Why do you look so mad?” This time I couldn’t avoid her. She was standing within three feet of me breaching my required stranger-distance of five feet, which is rather unrealistic sometimes on a crowded trolley. I wasn’t angry, but sometimes I like to look unapproachable to avoid unwanted conversation, as in this case, but sometimes it doesn’t always work, also in this case. I casually commented I was still asleep and tried to laugh away my trepidations of having to interact with a complete stranger. She chatted at me for a moment before she moved on and started talking to someone else.

Her spontaneous hello was totally out of the ordinary. Then, thinking about that, I realized how total the ordinary was. It wasn’t just me who avoided conversation and eye contact on the trolley. There were many people with their noses in books or newspapers, sitting with eyes closed, or with heads down studying their coffee cups as if the Virgin Mary might suddenly appear in the foam of their cappuccinos.

At the next stop as more people squeezed through the doors I decided to conduct an experiment. I said hello to the first person that climbed the steps. A quick flicker of her eyes in my direction and a slight nod of her head, but nothing more. I tried it again at the next stop. This time I was rewarded with a grunt of sorts and a tremor of the lips, which I think was an attempt to smile. No one was eager to say hello, let alone have a conversation with me. Was I asking too much from this voiceless group of strangers when I expected a reply to my simple “hello”? So it seemed. Was I in violation of some unwritten code of conduct for trolley passengers? You bet and after some of the hostile looks I received, I wasn’t about to push the issue any further.

When the next group boarded, I didn’t even bother to acknowledge them. It was too exhausting to interact with someone whom I didn’t care about in the first place, let alone wouldn’t recognize the next time I rode the trolley. It was much easier and more acceptable to those around me to keep my eyes averted and feign indifference. As the trolley continued on, I stared mutely out the window looking at everything except the person in the adjacent seat, who wasn’t looking at me either.