Monthly Archives: April 2007

Weekend Adventures


The following is proof that I don’t spend EVERY evening drinking a Tom Collins and crocheting in front of the TV.  (That was just Friday night.)  (I am such an old woman at heart.)

Saturday, I took Rudolf to Balboa Park for a picnic of apples and carrots and cilantro.  He washed that down with some grass, a piece of bark, and a leaf I couldn’t identify.  I washed it down with water.  Rudolf chased a butterfly (so cute it almost broke my heart) and we listened to a mariachi singer, who’s outfit perfectly matched the butterfly’s colors.

rudolf 1

Rudolf cleaned himself up after we ate.  I mean, we were in public, and he’s a very mannerly little bunny.

We made new friends, especially a boy named Marcus and a little girl named Camile.  We soaked up the sunshine and spring breezes, and the sounds of a nearby Shakespeare festival.  (Rudolf is a fan of A Midsummer Nights’ Dream, just like me.)

rudolf 2

Then, we had a bit of an adventure.  Rudolf got his leash wrapped around his little back leg, and it really freaked him out.  Have you ever seen a bunny freak out?  They try to jump in every direction at the same instant.  It’s an explosion of legs and ears and fur.  In doing so, he was successful in getting the leash off from around his leg.

And the entire harness off.



See, it’s not that I think Rudolf wants to run away from me.  He and I get along because I don’t press my affections on him, I let him come to me, when he wants attention.  I don’t pick him up, I wait for him to come to me, and hop in my lap.  And because of that trust, he DOES hop in my lap.  The harness wasn’t to trap him, I was happy to wander with him in any direction he wanted to go.  It was to keep him from, in the event of such a freakout, running so far away that he would get lost, or running straight into the jaws of a dog, because his only experience with them is Luca the cuddle monster.  Really, since he was leading me around, and I was using it to make sure I could tag along and keep him safe, you might say that in spirit, I was wearing a leash.

So as Rudolf and I sat on the lawn, contemplating each other, and spectators gathered, I thought to myself, “I hope he WANTS to come home with me.”

I held out some lettuce and scooted closer, trying not to show with my body language that I was poised with my purse in my other hand.   I would have preferred to let him hop in of his own accord, but it would only take one loose dog to put him in danger.

I sidled up to him and pet him gently on the nose, then, as quick and gentle as I could, scooped him into my purse.  I then picked up the picnic pack and walked quickly back to the car.

As I left that lawn in the park, and passed some horrified faces, it occurred to me what that scene must have looked like to the people strolling by, who stopped only after Rudolf got loose.

They must have seen a wild rabbit on the lawn, and a Bunny Whisperer creeping up.  They would have seen a girl creep up, steal a rabbit, shove it in her purse and run off with a picnic basket.


No wonder they looked horrified.

I chuckled about that all the way home.

That afternoon and evening, as Nick and I did all that soul searching and crying and talking, I channeled all my inner turmoil into power-snuggling with Nick, and power-crocheting.  Once the scarf measured over six yards long, it occurred to me to stop.  And add some fringe.

The next morning, Sunday, Nick and Luca and I went to the El Cajon Grand Prix bike race.

The thing about cycling is that you’d think all that spandex would make it easier to tell the men from the women, but somehow it ………… doesn’t.

grand prix

We watched several races, drank coffee and got a bit tanner.

nick and luca

I wandered over to the man made mini-lake next to the courthouse, and fed the ducks some stale girl scout cookies.  I keep that sort of thing with me at all times, for just such a opportunity.

duck pond

The last races of the day were the children’s races.  They were as funny as you’d expect.  No, funnier.  Half the kids would get distracted halfway through, or get freaked out by the crowds.  Nick bet on the kids with the biggest rims on their bikes, I bet on the kids with the longest streamers on the handlebars.  Nick was right three out of the five races, I was right once.

And when we went home, and I thought about not living with my favorite person in the world anymore, and started to cry, I reached for the crazy-scarf I’d crocheted to wipe my eyes.  And Nick and I laughed about how when he moves out, he’ll take one end of it, and I’ll keep the other, and like our relationship, it’ll be long enough and strong enough that we’ll be able to tug on it, when we need the other.

Almost one year ….


I think some of you guys know that my boyfriend Nick suffers from periodic bouts of depression. He has yet to find a medication that works for him, so he’s having to learn to manage it in other ways.

When he’s having a bad day, I feel awful watching it, and it shows all over my face. And since we live together, carpool together and hang out together like, ALL the time, because most of my friends are all on the internet, most of his are all in Wisconsin, (and frankly we like each other best anyway) there really isn’t any space to retreat.

He feels depressed, I feel sad, he feels guilty that he’s made me sad, he gets more depressed, I get sadder, he feels more guilty and tries to hide, I can tell he wants to hide and feel even worse that I can’t do anything to help ………. you can see the spiral.

And this spiral is sucking all the closeness our of relationship, which, otherwise, is a beautiful thing.
I love that boy so goddamn much, and I know he loves me too.
We laugh so much, when he’s feeling like himself.
I can’t picture my life without him, not for a second.

And so this weekend we talked and talked and cried and cuddled and talked and talked and talked and talked and …. packed up his things.

Nick will be moving out this week, to a roommate situation close to work.

And really, it’s ok.

I mean, I hate this, but the way things were going, it was doomed, and I’m not sure even our friendship would have survived another year of this. Nick needs to have the space, literally, to hide when he’s not doing well, and focus on himself, without the added pressure of me and my feelings.

I know for a fact our friendship will be better than ever, and our relationship has a fighting chance. We’re not breaking up, per se, or staying together, exactly. We’re just taking the focus off of it. Nick and I understand very well where we are at, and we agree, we’re just having a hard time finding a label for it. Not that we’re wasting much time trying to find that label.

After this weekend, Nick and I are closer than ever.
I think Weds, moving day, will be hard, but for the first time in a long time, I feel optimistic about us.


So batshit crazy, it’s beautiful.


Last Friday I was thinking of things to do this past weekend, and I stumbled across this ad.

And it slays me. You get to bring Emotional Intelligence to the World Stage. You get to break out of the Cocoon of Silence. You get to dance. WITH CRAZY PEOPLE.

And the random use Of capital letters, the recklessness, I’m a Bit giddy from it All.

So I read on.

And the crazy? It gets better.

Turns out this author/speaker will be using her new Troupe O’ Crazy to act out bits from her new book.

And I copy and paste the description of her erotic book, because you can’t make this shit up.

Stealing the Moon erupts in raw emotion. Erotic prose pour forth-regenerative lava like from the Dark Goddess silenced for Millennium. As Natalie speaks the unspeakable waves of buried emotional truth break open allowing her entrance into uncharted layers of the unconscious. The Cave of the Womb spreads wide revealing the secrets of the Ancient Egyptians, exposing the emotional history of the infamous Akenhaten, pharaoh of Egypt and his wife Nefertiti and their seven daughters. Natalie learns from Nefertiti how she is inseparable from the mad Queen. To free herself she must unearth the mystery of what holds humanity in generational cycles of abuse and destructivity. Shemura lends her feminine genius to design the way out, to begin erasing the effects of millenniums of emotional barbarism. We emerge cleansed and impassioned for the journey.”

10 Bucks


My Lou (skip to her) (ha, ha) has a new blog and as you can see by her title, wants imput on a name for it.

While I see nothing wrong with the title she has, I’m glad to oblige.

  • So Then I Said …. (tagline possibilities abound)
  • Camera Winks
  • … With a pinch of pixie stix dust
  • Glitter in the Mac’nCheese

How you know you live in a redneck neighborhood.


Yes, a sunny seaside border town has rednecks.  And because they aren’t many of them, it’s become a lifestyle choice, to be fully embraced, no going back.  There are no sorta-rednecks.  Only full on, southern accented even though they grew up right here, tan line across the forehead rednecks.  Redneck, distilled.  A case of island giantism, in spirit.  They all firmly believe that they are real cowboys, although San Diego hasn’t had a cattle ranch here since the Gold Rush.  We have a rodeo, but it’s all very dude ranch.  Don’t tell them that, though.

Somehow we ended up right in the middle of their part of town.  Well, not “somehow,” I know how.  It was a house(!) with a yard(!) at an affordable price(!), all rarities here.

Worried that you might find yourself in such a place, that you might be considered the uppity neighbor just because you own books with no pictures, and drink imported beer and can handle a chopstick?  The following are signs you might have landed in a redneck hotbed.

  • You are the only woman on your block who is not pregnant.
  • You actually hear the N-word.  In song.  And I don’t mean rap.  At a PARTY.
  • People only smoke cigarettes when they run out of chewing tobacco.
  • They put up a billboard on a residential street.  For Coors Light.  In spanish.
  • The bottles of champagne naively stocked by the middle eastern man who runs the corner liquor store when he first opened his store, have become very dusty, a condition he has stopped trying to combat.
  • They are openly suspicious of any meal not accompanied by gravy or beans.
  • It’s not a party unless you get the BIG bag of potato chips.  That jumbo size you can only get at Walmart.
  • The longest work of fiction you can find in a 10 mile radius is a bumper sticker.
  • On saturdays, you can never escape the smell of BBQ.
  • The local gossip really does sound like the lyrics to a country song.  “She left him and took his dog, but he drove around until he spotted her truck outside his buddy’s house ……”
  • Every yard has at least two sheds, one of which probably hasn’t been opened since Jimmy Carter was president.

Eat me.


Valancy Jane: Ow. Stupid red ant bite on my elbow.

Jonny: nasty.

Valancy Jane: I keep bumping it on the desk.

Jonny: what an inconsiderate place to bite

Valancy Jane: Why would an ant bite me there, anyway? I have so many softer and tastier bits.

Jonny: I actually got bitten on my willy once by a flea.

Valancy Jane: OOOOOOOOOOOOO. That doesn’t sound fun.

Jonny: It hurt, of course, but scratching it made up for it somewhat.

Valancy Jane: Hee, hee.

What’s yours?


Back when I interviewed for this job, one of the questions was, “What would you say is your biggest fault as an employee?”

Pretty standard question, I’m sure you’ve all heard it at some point.  And I went with the stock answer.
“Sometimes I can be too much of a perfectionist.”

And while there are elements of truth to that, (more specifically, I don’t like to take something on unless I know I can rock and be a total showoff about how good I am at it) that’s not why I choose that answer.  I choose it because an article on job interviews told me so.

We all know the proper answers to these questions, the standard responses that help project the image we’re going for, that we’re saints, starstruck by the company.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I said any of the things that pop into my head when asked that sort of question.

“What would you say is your biggest fault as an employee?”

“Well ……….. I drink.  A lot.  At work.  And when I drink I get really …………… slutty.”

Which isn’t true, but in a way it’s a very truthful answer because it illustrates my actual biggest fault as an employee.  That I think things like that.  And would consider saying them.  In an interview.



This afternoon I’ve been doing a bit of long overdue cleaning.  There is a file cabinet of stuff next to my desk that been sitting there basically untouched since two receptionists ago.  Oh, I’d opened it, poked around in them when I started, but didn’t know if any of the files, cords, etc were going to be necessary to my job or if someone was going to come looking for them.  And in the three years since, my lack of using it has made it sorta blend in.  Hiding in plain sight.  Today, as I was dusting the printer that sits on top, it occurred to me that A.) it exists, and B.) if I haven’t needed to open it in three years, it’s OFFICIALLY safe to toss the contents.

No major dirt on the receptionist before the receptionist before me.  (Coworker, She of the Lovely Curls was the one before me.)  Other than wondering why she had that tiny scale.  And that she underlined info about a rather good-looking (and twenty years her junior) ex employee, like his birthday and cell number.  *arches eyebrow*  Ooooooooooolala.

I did find a two inch stack of blank checks however …………..

………….. see you guys in Rio De Janeiro.