Category Archives: life is kind to me

A Little’s Enough

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I wrote fan mail once and I mean like once in my whole life. 

I facebooked Tom Delonge from Angels & Airwaves (also Blink 182) and tried at first to NOT sound like a deranged teenager and then gave up because who cares?  I wrote about what his music had meant to me at an especially wounded time.  I went ahead and threw in a “you saved my life.”  I’d be more ashamed except I really truly meant it.

Secret Crowds

Everything’s Magic

Love Like Rockets

A Little’s Enough

 

As I was writing a chat window popped up and “Tom” asked me for my info to send me free tickets.  It was obviously a hacker, and I don’t recall whether I bothered to hit send on my email or not.

All that to say that as much as I like to think of myself as someone who holds her shit together around people who are celebrities, Tom Delonge was above and beyond.  If I met him?  Pregnant and out on rape charges.  That’s how that would go down.

This weekend I had a mild inner ear infection.  The kind that make you dizzy, really, really dizzy.  I spent my weekend on the couch crocheting.  I was feeling better today and in yoga pants I’d put on Friday night and never bothered to change, I took my bike up to the corner grocery store.  It’s important to have a visual of my wet hair, sequined tshirt with cat hair, and bike helmet.  I had about 18 items in my cart but since I’m in that store like every third day I know that the express lanes are often waiting and totally accepting of more items.  I have the decency to pretend to care when I start unloading my items onto the counter. 

“I hope they don’t count past 15,” I mutter to the tattooed elbow in the corner of my vision, just so I don’t seem like the bitch who ignores signs.  Rocket ship tattoos, it registers.  Really awesome rocke- HOLYSHIT.

HOLYSHIT.

HOLYSHIT.

THIS IS HAPPENING.

HOLYSHIT.  I know who that is.  I glance at the clock beyond his head.  Yep, that’s Tom Delonge.  I pretend to consult my blank wrist to the time on the clock.  Still very Tom Delonge.  Stop looking at a blank wrist.  Tom is buying groceries with his daughter Ava.  I am melting down while wearing cat hair, sequins and a bike helmet.  He’s attempting to do normal people things.  I’M attempting to do normal people things while watching him do normal people things.  Do not touch him.  DO NOT BURY YOUR FACE IN HIS TSHIRT AND CRY, VJ.  STOP MUTTERING THESE INSTRUCTIONS TO YOURSELF  TO YOURSELF UNDER YOUR BREATH HE MIGHT HEAR YOU.

He turns and looks at me.  I hope I wasn’t making strange strangled noises, I don’t think I was, but who really fucking knows?  His eyes meet mine and my face splits in an enormous smile and there was a moment of I-know-you-know-that-I-know-and-I-know-that-you-know-that-I-know and Ava said “Daddy!  something I didn’t catch.”

.

.

The cashier said “cash back?” and I stopped blinking. 
“That was Tom Delonge from Blink-182, you know.”
“Was it?”
“He’s kind of the only person that I don’t know that I totally care about.”
“You should catch him in the parking lot.  I’ll hold your stuff.”
“No ……. I don’t think I could do any better with words.”

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You could travel the world but nothing comes close….

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“Wild west, west coast, these are the girls I love the most.”

Drea stopped all the squealing. 

Her voice rang.  “Hey girls?”  We stopped tugging our tops and angling our faces at the mirror.

“Think about it,” she said.  “We’re all happy.”

And one by one we all paused, retraced the steps of the last little while, and smiled a private smile. 

She was right, and bless her forever for making us stop and bookmark this glorious summer.

We ARE all happy.  And we’ve all got a toe in each others’ hot tub.  None of us got where we are without each other.  We all invested and we all paid off, and while it’s rarely that neat and tidy, that’s exactly what happens when women are each other’s friends.

Happy Birthday Lacey.

I hope you know that year after messy, unexpected year, your girls will always be your girls.

Poor me.

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Here’s a picture of me waiting to pick up my passport.  As you might be able to see, I was full of The Whine.  This was day two of getting up at an hour that I’m not I’m not exaggerating when I call ungodly.  I actually think God disapproves of four am.  And driving to LA.  LA, the only place on earth you can hit traffic before the sun rises.  Two days of the most creative arrangement of lines, and one very persistant and well-dressed crazy man who kept wanting to lay hands on me and pray.  (I told him only men significantly more or significantly less religious are allowed to do that.)  Airport-like security checks at a door I was required to go in and out of repeatedly to find the next line to stand in.

Bethany came home from work to find me sprawled out on the couch, and as she set down her briefcase and gym bag she listened to my tale of first world woe.  She offered to get me a beer and then made me mac and cheese.  And it struck me how fucking spoiled I am.

There are people waiting days in line for food, instead of a passport, and arguably one of the most coveted types of passports.  There are so many people without the time or resources to travel.  And very few people have a sister in law who’d baby them after a long day at work.

For someone with no job, I’m really busy.

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I mean, I have to buy and make my own coffee.  Can’t pass up the free day at the museum, there’s all that booze to drink and a backlog of boys I can do.  Being this fabulous is hard, I almost wonder when I found time to work before…..

So yeah, I got laid off, again, by the same company, sort of.  Should I even bother trying to explain it?  The gist is that I’ll prolly have to start reciting beat poetry at the transit station for tips. 

No wait, I won’t have to.  I’m just going to because that sounds fun and I’m pretty sure I don’t have to report that income to unemployment.

And while I’m heartbroken to leave a job that I loved every single day the six years I was there, don’t worry about me.  I already face down this fear a few months ago, and I’m in a position to handle this just fine.

I have a nice roof over my head.  Unemployment will cover my expenses.  I’m living a surprisingly glamorous little existence.  I’m off to A Fine Frenzy concert in LA tonight with Yost, and tomorrow I’ll be getting my passport finalized for my vacation next month.

I could really get used to this.

I have no doubt that I’ve earned it …. somehow….

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Yesterday I got a check in the mail, hand addressed, from the City of San Diego.

No explanation, no enclosed letter, nothing but an invoice number and a staple on the check stub that held a remnant of what must have been an additional page.

It’s not from the parking or traffic services division, sadly I’m familiar with their addresses.  I haven’t done jury duty or anything like that.  I’m not involved in any lawsuits.

I’m left with the conclusion that it was an April Fools joke, an attempt to drive me nuts.  So I’m just going to sit back, cash it, and accept that the city wants me to have these.

Star Party

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“Hey boss?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I leave about 20 minutes early?  I have to be downtown by six.”

“Have fun partying.”

“I’m going to an astronomy lecture at the museum, actually.”

Cut to three hours later, I’m drinking bourbon out of my purse and stage whispering to my buddy Yost that I’m totally turned on by the Hubble Telescope, and I recall laughingly that little hint of indignation that crept into that last sentence.

My boss knows me too well, I guess.  Everything turns into a party.