Juggling Life

In Which I Encounter A Masshole . . . Again and Again

So I went to this amazing conference in Boston (International Conference on Eating Disorders) and I have about 3,500 words pending about it in other spaces that talk about the important stuff. 

This story is not the story of what I learned and who I met and the amazing work that we are doing. 

This is the story of how I became a lead player in an insane Groundhog-Day-esque encounter and learned firsthand what a Masshole is.

On Wednesday morning I sat in the reception are of the upscale Marriott Copley Plaza, waiting for my compatriots to arrive, tethered to an outlet because my iPhone decided that a cross-country trip and a few days in a strange city was a great time to begin draining the battery at lightning speed.

I was approached by an androgynous woman I initially mistook for a man. She definitely picked the wrong target for her panhandler spiel (I will buy food cards if I am moved by someone's plight; I don't do cash ever) of: "My kids and I became homeless today and a room at the Y is $63 a night and I've got $8--can you spare a few bucks." I smiled politely and said "Sorry."

On Thursday night I sat in the lounge area of the (still upscale with a professional, business vibe) sharing drinks, appetizers and energy with three of my fellow advocates and good friends.

The woman from the lobby approached our table and delivered the aforementioned spiel to which I replied for the table, "Sorry, we are on cards." I would not have been shocked had she whipped out a card reader, but she did not. As she walked away, I, thinking she was out of hearing range leaned over and shared with my friends, "I heard that exact same story yesterday in the lobby." My intended meaning being, "Hmmmm, she JUST became homeless TODAY, when she told me yesterday she just JUST became homeless TODAY."

Whether she wasn't as far away as I thought, or my voice was louder than I intended or whether perhaps she just has amazing hearing, she heard me. 

And wheeled around.

And proceeded to deliver, at shockingly high volume, the following diatribe in a classic Boston Southie accident. She would have been the tomboy sister in the movie "The Fighter." 

"You fahkin' bitch! Who the fahk do you fahkin' think you are? You don't have a fahkin' clue! Fahk you ya' fahking bitch! (Chorus repeated several times before the concluding line). And why don't you get a fahkin' dress that isn't three sizes too fahkin' small ya' fahkin' bitch."

Let's let that sit for a moment . . . 

I was body-shamed for my weight and style choice at an eating disorder convention. 

So that was fun. 

But hey, a blogger is always a little happy about any encounter that makes a great anecdote.

And the bar manager did tell me that in his opinion I looked really good. 

The fahkin' outfit I was wearing 

Two encounters does not, however, a Groundhog Day-esque experience make, amiright?!

I am right. 

Sunday morning as I walked to the lounge, with a friend who had been there for incident #2 and an acquaintance from New Zealand, we were approached by my apparent stalker who opened with "My kids and I became homeless today and a room at the Y . . . "

That's as far as she got before registering that the "Are you motherfahking kidding me?!" expression on my face was a result of our previous encounter. I said not one word but began to walk briskly to the nearby hostess stand while casting my eyes about for security. While I did that, she began, once again, to involve the entire hotel in our little tableau by unleashing the following torrent of anger and profanity at me.

"You fahkin' bitch! I will fahkin' kick your fahkin' ass right fahkin' hear and fahkin' now! I will fahkin' beat you down right. fahkin'. here you fahkin' bitch!" (Repeat x 5 with little variety).

(The story of how security was nowhere to be found and how the hotel employees at the hostess stand were nonplussed by this scene to a rather shocking degree and how I was charged for the drink I ordered when the waiter checked to see if I was okay after the 2nd verbal attack and how the person who handles Twitter for Marriott and I are bffs now and what the corporate response to this was is a different story for another time).

Not only does this California girl know exactly what a Masshole is, she will be fahkin' happy to never meet another one. 

For fahkin' realz. 

It may be a fahkin' while before I watch Good Will Hunting, The Town or The Departed again. Just fahkin' sayin'.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DC: Post the Beginning

It seems like a lifetime ago I touched down at Reagan in Washington DC late on a Friday night. Because it's how Barbara-Jill and I roll, the plane was early and the traffic bad so I got to hang out for a bit (which meant I got to take a photo for a mom visiting her daughter at Gallaudet for the first time--her welcoming party was foiled by the early arrival, but we pretended her daughter and friends had been waiting with their signs). 

Any trip with the two of us (Boston, New York, Philadelphia) is a comedy of errors worthy of an I Love Lucy episode; just getting checked into the hotel was an adventure--after we navigated through the throng of well-dressed, national-fraternity-conference-social-night celebrants clogging the surrounding streets, we were told there was no parking for us at the hotel. Luckily, Union Station was a 1/2 block away (oh, Hyatt Regency bell captain you are probably stilling chuckling over that mischaracterization).

Foiled again in our attempt to get out of the Union Station parking lot and walk the mile to the hotel!

A bright light in our Union Station interlude was a guy who was similarly aghast at the thought that we, paying hotel guests, were kicking our vacations off by schlepping through a train station parking structure. He gave us great info on a late night tapas bar and then--more luck--when we almost abandoned our quest to said tapas bar as it took us through a dicey street landscape, he and his party showed up to let us know were walking past a homeless shelter and Google wasn't lying about how to get to the tapas bar, but we might want to consider a longer, alternate route on the return trip.

Oyamel, where at 1 a.m. I channeled my inner West Wing legisltative aide and drank delicious tequila and ate a cactus paddle and it only cost me half my food budget for the whole trip.

Barbara-Jill is the BEST person ever to sight-see with--she is a travel agent by trade. I don't believe the Old Town Trolley people really thought you could do the Orange, Green and Red lines in a day, but we did it!

 Also? We had mega-fun doing it AND the next day when we took a more leisurely tour of some museums. 

 Of course, we also had an incredible time just sitting and talking for umpteen hours (as one does with a lifetime BFF who they don't see in person very often). I am stoked for next summer's meetup in Denver to take in a Red Rocks concert and meet Barbara-Jill's new husband IRL. 

I actually took my big girl camera with me and was able to indulge my love for all things texturey and patterny in architecture . . . Barbara-Jill was quite patient with me and my penchant for pointing my camera at ceilings--especially ones with a Greek Revival motif.

 San Diego has a lovely botanical garden, but it doesn't have a very cool metal sculpture garden--note to Mr. Fix-it, doesn't metal work sound like a lovely hobby . . .

When California Barbie and new New Jersey Barbie get-together, great times happen. Every. Single. Time.

 

 

Rocky Mountain Hiking

I am not a midget, I just play one within my family.

Photo Credit to Mandy (who I would have loved to have IN the photo, but I don't have the arm length for a group selfie)--she did good!

This is one of my favorite photos from our recent trip--for many reasons, one of them being because I earned it.

I am not going to lie, about 2/3 of the way up the trail (just under 2 miles to the top), I was tempted to throw myself to the ground and wail, "You CAN'T make me do this!"

Elevation 6,780 at the summit of the rock, but with the lungs of a sea-level dweller, it felt like 9,000 at least!

Complicating the situation, there was the little matter of the fact that while I was not hung-over from the previous night's celebration, I was also not not-hung-over. If that makes sense.

I a persevere-er though, plus I had lots of encouragement from my fellow hikers; eventually, as all things tend to do, the hike ended. As also tends to happen with hiking, the minute we reached our destination drinking in the sights that are the reward for such exertion made the effort expended unequivocally worth it. 

You don't get this view from just sitting on your backside in a car.

Along with the view, we were rewarded with a tasty lunch of sweet red peppers and hummus (my new snack obsession) and some no-longer-ice cold brews. 

Danger Boy was a sport as for someone with such athletic ability he is generally an avid indoorsman.

There was total humoring of me and my need to memorialize life via mega-pixels. 

Call me cray-cray, but I think they may be starting to believe me when I say, "You'll be glad to have this picture someday!"

Did I mention there was laughter at the top of that rock (and the base of it as evidenced by the photo at the top)? There was. And really, what matters more than that in life?

It was a magical outing within a trip that was full of such moments. 

When we finally came down, the "kids" were off to more graduation parties (three nights running--isn't it odd how what we used to be so fun now sounds like some form of torture?) and we had vague plans to go out to dinner with Mandy's parents.

What happened instead was another magic moment. I called Mandy's mother and said, "Idea--what if we just pick up a pizza and salad and bring it back to the house instead of going out?" The response was something along the sides of, "What a great idea" (it was the fact that both of us were on the same wavelength of utter relief at the prospect of an evening that required no makeup or shoes that made it special). 

We capped off our day of embracing the laid-back, nature-focused vibe of Colorado with enjoying some delicious take-and-bake pizza, a gourmet salad and just enough rounds from Mandy's father's beer-of-the-month collection to make conversation free-flowing and lively (and then we got to bed by 10, which at this stage of life, can feel a bit magical itself).

Mr. Fix-it and I looking forward to our next visit (maybe this fall?), so we can check out MVP and Mandy's new digs (in August they move in together into a townhouse Mandy's parents own and will be renting to them) and to visit more with new friends. It's not a small thing to look at the life one of your offspring has created and to think, "Those are some damn fine choices you've made, son--and you couldn't have picked better people with whom to populate your new world."

 

 

 

 

 

Catch of the Day

For 3 + 1/2 years (I checked my gmail for our first email exchange), I have been a fan and friend of Busy Bee Suz. When I was blogging at The Women's Colony, I had her write a piece about her father. I love her writing because she has such a strong voice--you know who she is from her writing. I dig that. 

Suz has always been high on my list of bloggers to meet (and I'm lucky to have met several phenomenal women bloggers in real life. I'm hoping to make my list less gender-specific and meet The Jason Show soon). When I found out she was taking her mother to Las Vegas for here 70th birthday, I knew I had to try and make it out there to see her. I couldn't really commit 100% until the beginning of the week, but on Monday I knew it was a go and I Hotwired a room. I scheduled some business a little north for Friday morning and took 1/2 a vacation day, so when I was done with my work at 11:30, I hit the road. I was all checked into my hotel room at 4:30.

Suz and I did our planning by text and after getting approval from her to wear my cute shoes rather than my okay-but-much-more-walkable shoes, I took a cab from the Stratosphere to The Mirage.  

Cute shoes. Oddly color-coordinated to the hotel's carpet. How many pairs of shoes did I take, you ask? The two to choose from for Friday night, the ones I wore to work and a pair of flip-flops because I don't walk on hotel room floors barefoot. See also, doesn't travel light.

We met up by the fishtank at the reservations desk at The Mirage. It was love at first sight :)

I immediately asked a couple, "I will take your picture if you take ours." Done. She has good taste in shoes, no? And the bumblee colors? She rocks them!

Suz had been showing her mother such a good time in Las Vegas that Beverly needed to rest up before dinner, so Suz and I went to the bar where we discovered the first of many things we have in common. We don't really like loud, pseudo-hip bars. We do both like alcohol and talking though, so we found the quietest corner and we were off. 

Ways that Suz and I are similar:

We both notify our families when we are heading home so all clutter can be removed from our visual fields in order that our heads don't explode. Related: Organizational skillz? We haz them. In spades.

We were both raised by single mothers that were flawed (and who among us is not?), smart, hard-working independent, feisty and funny. I was already missing my mother a lot because of the upcoming festivities, but seeing Suz and Beverly together made me miss her more. They clearly treasure one another.

We both learned from the mistakes of aforementioned mothers in the picking-a-life-partner department and I have no doubt that The Coach and Mr. Fix-it will get along great when they meet sometime (we're plotting it). They are both amazing and generous husbands, fathers and sons. Plus, girls' softball. Plus, big-ticket gift-givers who love to see the looks on their wives and chilren's faces when they give thoughtful, terrific presents. 

We both have/had fathers. It was/is complicated.

We will both (Beverly too) start a conversation with absolutely anybody at any time. Dinner would have been fun anyway, but with the company of the young ex-Mormon couple seated next to us, it was truly memorable (I meant it when I invited you to come visit San Diego and stay with me, Shelby and Matt. You have my card--call me!). 

We both look way too young to have adult children. The absolutely darling, slightly-inebriated 23-year old at the next table said so (yes, you again, Shelby). Related: This may actually be the line that engendered the invite, because nobody wants to hear they look young like a 49-year old woman having a year-long, low-key panic attack about her next birthday being a half-century milestone. (Full disclosure: That's me, not Suz. She's younger than me. B*tch. JK).

We have both lost a sibling :(

We both like to fill our lives with family and friends and laughter and food and drink (and clean counters).

We both love inside jokes. And now we have a couple of our own. I would share them with you, but inside jokes are never funny to those on the outside. You want to hear one? Okay, you twisted my arm. We had just finished perusing the menu and discussing that Suz and Beverly love pratically all fish. Except salmom. When we asked the waiter what the catch of the day was, he said . . . wait for it . . . salmon. Okay, maybe you had to be there. And maybe it would help if you'd had several cocktails or glasses of wine. But it's funny to us. Very funny. Don't suggest otherwise or Suz will shank you with a shiv.

The accordion player was so enamored of Bev he saw spots :)

We can both think on our feet. Like after the server at the bar (who I'm sure was paid by the length of her legs, not the depth of her intellect) splashed water on the table and therefore my phone (just a little, but hello, pouring liquids is your job, one would think you'd be a little better at it. I know I sound bitter, but she also tried to take my Vodka Collins with 1/2 inch of drink still in it), Suz helpfully sang, "watch your phone," as she approached us pitcher in hand. She also asked the taxi driver if he was taking the scenic route. He made a u-turn. I swooned. I love me some smart, funny people.

We both cannot stand heights. Neither can Beverly. Yet we all went to the observation tower at the Strat and watched guys bungee-jump.

 

Slightly blurry photo from the tower at the Strat--I had to do it one-handed while I held onto the barstool between me and the window.

It was 11 p.m. when we parted ways--they had to be at the airport early. I slept in until 8, didn't get out of bed until 9 and was home by 3:30. 

If you're ever in Vegas, let me know? I will so come meet you.

Dinner at Battista's Hole in the Wall. Pasta, wine and friends. It doesn't get much better than this. We are lucky indeed.

The wonderful thing about meeting a blog friend in real life is that you can now drop the disclaimer, "My friend, Suz. Well, I've never actually met her in person, but she's my friend. Really. It's a blogging thing. It is NOT weird."

We're both veteran Girl Scout leaders, so this seems especially fitting:

Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold. A circle is round, it has no end, that's how long I want to be your friend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Which I Go Four for Four

Social Butterfly had been teasing me for the last week before we took her to college--a week that was filled with many hours of snuggling, high temps and humidity be damned--that I was going to cry when I left her at college. I allowed that I might, though my not crying at college dropoff is part of family lore. "I'm sure you will because I'm your favorite. You can admit it now, it's just the two of us here, I won't tell anyone. It will be our secret. Go ahead, tell me the truth" she whispered in my ear as my head rested on her chest with only the ceiling fan whirling overhead preventing us from dissolving into a puddle.

"If I cry it will be because you're the last, not because you're my favorite" was my response (and the truth). 

Wednesday morning we were packed and ready to go with a sendoff committee assembled.

 

MagMag, Social Butterfly and MiniMe (I'm calling her that because she has my EXACT personality--but in a much younger and cuter body).

Our neighbor who has known SB since she was 8 months old and is an honorary grandma snapped this--after giving SB a lovely sendoff gift.

Wednesday night we got to scope out the dorm room because her roommate T moved in a day early and we ended up taking up a few things and then shopping Target with T. A few words about T: her record--yes, record--collection looks just like mine in 8th grade and she brought a turntable. Also? She brought the book Feminist Ryan Gosling with her so I automatically adore  her.

Thursday morning we were up bright and early and ready to go.

 

Mr. Fix-it is an amazing mover--especially when properly caffeinated.

 

 SB is in a triple. And what a triple it is! It's ginormous. Everyone that saw it--mostly the non-freshmen mover-inner-helper-students-- whistled in awe and lamented the fact that their triple last year was only half the size.

 

Ginormous triple, SB's closet, over SB's desk, awesome brand-new fridge that is way better than any dor

Elephant knitted by MagMag during program. The elephant is SB's totem because of the saying, "When eating an elephant, take one bite at a time" and because an anorexic having an elephant as a totem is pretty hysterical.

By 2 p.m. everything that needed to be done was done and Mr. Fix-it, SB and I were in her dorm room. Her roommates were out with family and friends, so it was just the three of us. MFI kept giving me "are we going to leave eyes?" and I kept mouthing "not  yet" and then the hallway was full of the sound of tromping boys and SB's name being shouted. Into her room came this trio--friends from her high school--and that's when I said, "We're going to hit the road now."

I would never embarrass SB by asking her for a photo with her friends in an awkward way, but when MFI and I were still standing outside Allen Hall picking out her room when these four tumbled out of the building ready to set off on their first college adventure and looking like a page out of an NAU brochure I had to say, "What a coincidence! You look like a picture and I have a camera!"

  And even though I'm forbidden from tagging SB in FB posts, I tagged her and it turns out I was right to do it because she took the photo and instagrammed it and it got a ton of likes.

This is the last photo of the day . . .  if you're going to start down a whole new road in life, there are surely less attractive roads to traverse.

 

Leaving Flagstaff

And I? Did not cry . . . making me four for four when it comes to my excitement for my children's futures winning out over my desire to have them be my babies forever.

 

 

 

 

 

Salt Lake City Dreamin'

In the interests of seeing what Mr. Fix-it does at his home-away-from-home in Salt Lake City, Social Butterfly and I spent this past weekend--Thursday night to Sunday--in SLC.

We did lots of thrift store shopping (the Mormons run a heckuva thrift store operation), we saw the movie Ted (hysterical and oh-so-raunchy), shopped in Park City (waaay more expensive then Deseret Industries), SB and Mr. Fix-it went on a major hike in Emigration Canyon while I worked (thank you, online classes) and the three of us checked out BYU (no skateboarding anywhere on campus--what's that all about?) and then expored Bridal Veil Falls in Provo.

 

Bridal Veil Falls, Provo, UT

 

No, to those of you that have asked, I won't be moving to SLC anytime soon (or probably ever), but it was a fun visit.

Being of a decidedly non-organized-religion bent, I was very interested in observing the Mormon culture which predominates Utah. Whatever else you might say about Mormonism, it is a joy to observe so many families enjoying each other so obviously and fully. Especially wonderful was the delight with which older siblings interacted with younger ones--shepherding and playing with the littles did not look to be a chore for the bigs at all. I'm not saying you never see that in other families in other places, but it did stand out to me.

Sunday Grownup Girl picked us up at the airport-she got in late Saturday night for a job interview on Monday and she'll be here through Wednesday. If you have a good thought or two to spare for her and Grownup Guy to get jobs with a company out here upon graduation, I'd appreciate it. A graduation in May, followed by a wedding, followed by a honeymoon, followed by a move to San Diego would be almost (but not quite) to good to be true!

 

Wake me when high school is over . . .

This past weekend Social Butterfly and Peanut took a little trip to San Francisco. The origins of the trip were that Peanut is looking at an art school up there and her mother and grandmother wanted to take her to the Open House. Both girls are also applying to San Francisco State University and they have a couple of friends that are freshmen there. The plan became that all four would fly up Friday, do the Art School Open House on Saturday and then Peanut's mom and grandmother would return home and the girls would spend Saturday evening and Sunday on campus with their friends then fly home Sunday night.

It took me exactly three seconds to consider and approve this plan. That's how much faith I have that SB has a good head on her shoulders and is trustworthy.

On Saturday I got a couple of texts from SB and she sent me some cool photos.

I got this photo at 8:15, while I was relaxing at home, after seeing a movie, enjoying an Amstel Light and chatting with my friend Sandra. When Sandra left just before 11, I texted SB "I'm going to bed, just text me back and let me know what you're up to."

Now the thing about SB (and the reason for my quick okay on the trip) is that she ALWAYS texts me back.

I'm sure your beginning to see where this is going, right?

She didn't text me back. Neither did Peanut when I texted her. Neither girl answered their phone, either. They didn't text back at 1 or 3 or 4 or 6 either.

I really, really tried not to get to worried. I reassured myself that statistically the odds of any trouble befalling them were infinitesimal, 24-hour news cycle horror stories notwithstanding.

At 7 a.m. I called the father (a neighbor) of one of the students the girls were staying with to get her cell number. I also got her dorm hall and room number. Of course she didn't answer her phone, either--why would she, it was only 7 a.m

By this time Peanut's mom and I had spoken and she also hadn't heard from Peanut.

I was at the point where I could just picture this all unfolding as an episode of SVU (as I told myself that was a stupid and ridiculous way to think).

I took a breath and called SFSU campus police and asked them to go over to the dorm room, wake the girls up and have my daughter call me. They did and she did.

Why hadn't she answered her phone at 11 on a Saturday night when she was in the big city, free and unfettered and with no curfew?

She was asleep. They'd walked all over the city Saturday afternoon and evening and they were so wiped out they were asleep by 10.

My daughter made me frantic by being not partying the night away.

I was somewhat shame-faced and apologized for calling in the cavalary. Still, I was relieved of my worry that her body parts were scattered among different trash containers on Market Street.

I blame myself for the whole debacle--if I just would have said to SB, "Text me when you are in for the night" she would have done that. Also? I should have had the dorm hall and room number before she left and the direct phone line to the room.

What do you think? Am I a crazy woman who should probably be medicated or just another worried mother?

I'm signing off now to go pick my daughter and her friend up at the airport. Where I really hope everything goes smoothly--otherwise I'm going to need to call my doctor for a Xanax prescription.

 

Why am I the Tired One?

We watched eight water polo games in seven days. Seven of the games were ones Danger Boy was playing in and one was his high school team that was at a tournament in the area (DB got to see not just his family, but his old team, too--how lucky is that?!).

I will have more tales after I get done editing the 1,400 pictures Mr. Fix-it took. Lest you think I am engaging in hyperbole, I am not.

Speaking of pictures . . .

Social Butterfly tweeted the following shot to Peanut (who always comes with us, but couldn't this weekend) with the caption, "This is what you missed out on."

No, I have no idea who he is, but apparently SB thinks he's just the right amount of muscular.

Speaking of tweets  . . .

One of DB's teammates apparently tweeted "Wish they all could be California girls." I don't know who he could have been talking about.

Social Butterfly and The Girl Next Door chilling in the shade between games. I was chilling too, but I deleted that photo.

 

Colorado Fall

 

Mr. Fix-it spent last weekend in Fort Collins with MVP. The trip was very cool but I think that the coolest thing was that the trip was MVP's idea.

Lovely scenery, no? This was in Breckenridge.

MVP and some of his classmates (one of whom has been his friend since Kindergarten, so Mr. Fix-it knows him well) needed to collect flora for a class, so they spent the day tromping through a glorious October day.

Lest you think MVP is all work and no play, I swiped this picture off his Facebook page.

I hope we didn't pay too much for that vest!

 

 

Bureaucracy. Grrr.

Danger Boy needs a passport since he's going to be an hour and a half from the Canadian border come mid-August. Today he had an appointment at the post office and took his application, check, birth certificate and driver's license. He was turned away because his official (with the embossed seal and everything) birth certificate was not "long-form."

I called the County Registrar's office to find out about getting a long-form. No problem--wait in line, show driver's license, pay $19 and get the long-form certificate.

Me, puzzled, to clerk: So the birth certificate he has now was adequate to get his driver's license and the driver's license is the only I.D. he needs to get the long-form?

Clerk: Correct

Me: What is the difference between the long-form birth certificate and the one he has now?

Clerk: It's on an 8.5 by 11 piece of paper.

Me: That's the only difference?!

Clerk: Correct

Me: Okay, the way I see it his possessing this long-form birth certificate does nothing to enhance proving that he is who he says is. Am I wrong?

Clerk: Nope. You're absolutely correct.

Me: Okay, he'll be in tomorrow.

 

If you've got a great story of idiocy in government please share!