“…I’m not impressed by men in fancy suits with fake tans.”

Who said that?

Um…

I did.

For those of you who don’t live in my little town, here’s a bit of background in a previous post:

Something Sorta Stinks in Carlsbad

It’s become painfully clear that elected officials in Carlsbad seem to ONLY represent some of the people some of the time when it meets their own agenda.

I should state that I did not vote for ANY of those elected officials.

It’s about time we rethink WHO and WHAT we want to represent the best interests of Carlsbad.

No more realtors and developers or friends of realtors and developers.

We need a complete overhaul of city governance.

It’s time to emulate better cities with better practices who do what’s right for the environment and not what’s best for their personal interests.

I blame myself for not getting more deeply involved, and for not running for office  — there’s really no excuse.

The only other time I stepped up was to get a skate park built here, because I was tired of the way young skateboarders (my son included) were bullied and harassed by law enforcement and others; I rallied and organized hundreds of young people and their parents with petitions and public speaking, and due to my efforts, a skate park was built.

On Tuesday, August 25, Carlsbad City Hall was filled to overflowing with hundreds of people — people who were mocked and denigrated for demanding our democratic political process to be followed — for demanding transparency in government.

Toward the end of the evening, the mayor (who I believe fashions himself after Donald Trump) refused to allow the opposition their freedom of speech allowed time to speak for three minutes as he told them they now had only one minute AND couldn’t repeat anything that was previously said.

I believe he did NOT similarly admonish the supporters of the mall AND he gave Caruso an extra FIVE MINUTES to speak after everyone else had spoken or given up, defeated, and went home.

Hmmm.

Questionable?

I think YES.

The main point here is that the concerns of the citizens about the circumvention of standard process — was absolutely ignored.

The development was greenlighted by 100% of the council.

We don’t matter.

That’s the message I heard LOUD and CLEAR.

If you don’t agree with us, we don’t care about you.

And to the elderly woman who pushed me, you know who you are…you better be DAMN glad that tugboat man stepped in before you enjoyed a taste of a batshit crazy Jewish princess.

This is the same woman who called another woman a bitch because she was having a calm and INTELLIGENT conversation with an elderly gentleman (her husband?) rationally explaining the many reasons why and how Caruso had gamed the system with his council cronies.

Where is the sisterhood?

What is wrong with you?

And give me some of that Kool-aid y’all have been drinking.

It’s damn good.

Caruso’s main body of cult-like followers seem to be every single retired person who has swallowed that Kool-aid and bought into his heavenly representation of white blonde children running among the butterflies along the lagoon, stopping to shop at Nordstrom and lunching at the many corporate restaurant chains.

Maybe the reason these people got duped is because Caruso’s shady marketing campaign looks like heaven to them and that’s where a good percentage of them will be way before this mall ever opens.

Suh-NAP!

I was one of the fortunate ones who signed up to speak early, and was not challenged nor admonished to stop speaking (which I would have ignored anyway).

Most people who spoke in opposition simply want the right to vote on this major mall development on Agua Hedionda.

My desire goes further; to avoid the rape of even more land, and especially Agua Hedionda, where it needs to be left alone completely.

My speech, in its entirety:

“First, I’d like to make a brief observation; other than the farm workers at the strawberry fields, Caruso’s soft focused Utopian propaganda video had no people of cultural diversity represented. Kind of crazy, right? I mean, when you really think about it? What’s that all about?

[This refers to a video shown by Caruso Affiliated. Big bucks in play here.]

Mayor and council, I need to make myself particularly clear. 

I’m not impressed by fancy suits and ‘healthy’ fake tans.

My family and I are vehemently opposed to the development of Agua Hedionda.

Agua Hedionda is a sensitive resource and ecosystem that needs to be saved and protected and restored, NOT built upon and destroyed.

I love to shop and I don’t want Nordstrom built on the lagoon when we have a perfectly good mall that needs the promised renovation.

No matter what or how we were duped in 1986 and 2006, that should not mean this deception should continue.

For thirty years, I’ve watched you and other councils systematically destroy land and native habitats in Carlsbad.

This needs to stop.

Enough is enough.

My family and I vehemently oppose all building on Agua Hedionda.

Enough is enough.

Leave it alone.

Shame on you Mayor and City Council. 

Shame on you all.

And finally, Mr. Blackburn, we met privately about the pet store in the Westfield mall that sells puppy mill dogs and you PROMISED me that when the mall was renovated and all the stores were closed, that store would be gone and wouldn’t be allowed back. But it’s still open. You promised and I feel betrayed.

Do the right thing, would you?”


How about you guys? What’s the local government like in your town or city?
I’m fascinated and repulsed by all this behind-the-scenes wheeling and dealing.

Shhh…I have a secret

I do. Have a secret.

Not gonna tell.

Not yet.

But you’ll be the first to know.

Well, not the first, but high up on my list.

Maybe not super high on the list, but you definitely won’t be the LAST to know.

You can guess, but I’ll never tell until I do.

P.S. A good secret, nothing bad, neg, dark, sad.

Happy Wednesday!

Of Circuses and Condoms: The Slave Trade is Alive and Well in 2015

Circus TextThis might come as a shock to you.

I don’t spend ALL of my time shopping. Seriously, is that what you thought?

It’s true that I devote a great deal of my waking hours in a search for treasures old and new, but once in a while, I aspire to a higher calling.

circus5On Sunday and Monday, I hung out with an amazing and dedicated group who were protesting Ramos Brothers Circus in San Marcos, California.

Shame on San Marcos for supporting the mistreatment of animals.


What’s my story?
 I’ve never been to a circus because my mom felt strongly that animals should not do tricks and that there is something so very wrong in forcing animals to become entertainment for human profit.

If you were wondering where all my animal activist genes came from, I’d have to thank my mom. (Also thanks to her for the fashionista gene.)

I stopped eating meat in 1970 when I was a senior in high school. My boyfriend at the time wanted to try to eat healthier so I went along with his experiment. We eventually broke up but I never did eat meat again.

circus1Thank you to everyone who drove by, honked, and gave a thumbs up in support of our efforts.circus4

I have a request to make of you…the next time you see a group of people protesting animal abuse, STOP. Get out of your car. JOIN US. Take an hour out of your busy day just like we did to MAKE A DIFFERENCE. Bring your children. Show them that you don’t just talk about caring for animals…you are agents of change. circus2

Then, hopefully, we CAN make the world a better place.

No matter what you think about PETA, they’re right about this:

“Animals aren’t actors, spectacles to imprison and gawk at, or circus clowns. Yet thousands of these animals are forced to perform silly, confusing tricks under the threat of physical punishment; are carted across the country in cramped and stuffy boxcars or semi-truck trailers; are kept chained or caged in barren, boring, and filthy enclosures; and are separated from their families and friends—all for the sake of human “entertainment.” Many of these animals even pay with their lives.”

Animals have RIGHTS.

Did you grow up eating meat, wearing leather, going to circuses, zoos, and the bathtub that is SeaWorld?

Do you wear wool and silk?

Are you now considering the impact of your actions on the animals?

If you haven’t, maybe you SHOULD.

Animals are NOT a requirement for a circus-type entertainment to be prosperous.

The overwhelming success of Cirque du Soleil is proof that you don’t need to have animals of any kind to have a circus.

Ingrid Newkirk, president of PETA, said people have turned against animal acts as they learn more about the animals and how they are treated. “These are complex, intelligent animals, and this is a lousy, lousy, dirty, cruel business, and people see that,” she said. “This was purely a business decision.”

Isn’t it wrong that these animals don’t get to see this glorious sky, bask in the breeze, and feel rain on their fur? Their lives are dismal, traveling from one city to another in dark, smelly, cramped trailers.
circus8

I’m not going to share the sad, tragic, horrific, heartbreaking pictures and videos of abused animals. If you need proof, you are more than welcome to Google and compile your own documentation.

I KNOW all I need to know.

A couple years ago, I spoke (along with PETA) against elephant rides at the San Diego County Fair and almost got into an altercation with one of the few supporters of this barbaric form of entertainment. I don’t understand how seemingly intelligent and civilized humans could allow this kind of abuse in 2015 when we’ve seen the videos, when we know what hell an animal endures to become “entertainment”.

Aren’t we better than this?

Haven’t we evolved at all in the last one hundred years?

Do you really need all that bacon-wrapped crap when you know what hellish existence pigs endure in factory farms?

Really?

Compassion
Let’s teach our children, the next generation, that not only do animals have feelings, animals have the right not to be exploited, mistreated, abused, and enslaved.

For more information, visit circusprotest.com
I hope to see you in San Diego at the next protest!

As we walked our way over to the sidewalk with our signs, look what we had to step over.

Gross, huh?circus11

However, in some way, it’s a perfect albeit disgusting metaphor for the way too many people think about animals; that their lives have as much value as a discarded condom. Or something like that.

How about a little inspiration from Crosby, Stills, Nash, Young?

Teach Your Children

Stop All The Scrunchie Shaming!

MESELFIE2STOP SCRUNCHIE SHAMING!

I’ve had just about enough of this abuse.

I confess.

I’m here to out myself. but I’m still hiding behind dark shades (Chanel, of course).

I’m an addict.

I’ve tried to change.

I really have.

Not a day goes by that I don’t wish and hope and pray that I could be strong enough to resist temptation, but I’m weak.

I NEED it to tame my mane.
I mean, LOOK at me, would ya? My hair has a mind of its own.

When I was growing up in pink toe shoes and tutus and my hair was properly braided and beribboned every morning, how could I possibly foresee what the future would bring?

There was no crystal ball to warn me of the impending appearance of those colorful fabric-wrapped elastic bands that would be my crack.

I lack strength; I’m powerless.

(This is tougher than I thought it would be.)

I won’t — I can’t– hide my addiction one more minute.

The truth is that I wear a SCRUNCHIE every. single. day.

I can’t get through the day without one. Or two.

AND YES, I WEAR IT ON MY WRIST LIKE A BRACELET.

Just to keep it close and handy.

scrunchie1In fact, I have one on my wrist right now, AS I’M TYPING THIS POST.

Don’t even THINK about trying to wrestle it away from me.

Red or blue or purple; I carry extras in my handbags JUST IN CASE I LOSE ONE.

Us girls with SUPER curly and thick hair need a big fattie scrunchie to tame our wild beasty locks.

scrunchie3

You know what?

I’ve had friends who’ve staged spontaneous interventions to help me confront my love for the scrunchie.

I’ve had friends pull them out of my hand and toss them in the trash.

Friends have gifted me all sorts of other hair bands and a variety of products to secure my crazy hair.

I’ve been bribed with lunch and unlimited wine if I don’t show up wearing a scrunchie.

“It ruins your outfit” they say.

“You look like a reject from the nineties”, they say.

Apparently, it’s embarrassing to be seen with a scrunchie-wearer.

I. DON’T. CARE. WHAT. ANYONE. THINKS.

I LOVE my scrunchies.

HAHAHA…the dreaded SIDE SCRUNCHIE!

scrunchieside

No other form of securing my tresses will satisfy me:

  • A scrunchie doesn’t pull my hair
  • A scrunchie doesn’t create unsightly lines
  • A scrunchie doesn’t hurt at night when I have to pull my hair back or braid it so I won’t look like Medusa in the morning
  • And Cosmo says it’s a “must have” for oral sex, so it must be true

I feel so much better having confessed my secret addiction.

It’s a huge load off my chest. I feel light and free.

So deal with it, world.

From this day forward, I’m out, I’m loud, and I’m a PROUD scrunchie-wearer!

My stash.

My stash.

Just be glad it’s not a banana clip. Hee hee.

Older. Wiser. Better?

Many years later, still puzzling things out.

SELFIE PUZZLEStill the paramount focal point of any photo.
Still fabulously attired with beautifully coiffed and beribboned hair.
Still unable to fit round pieces into square shapes.
And yet, still, the world revolves around me.

And most importantly, still adorable.

P.S. I sent this post to hub and he emailed back that this has always been his favorite pic of me and it’s because I look so determined.

The Art and Practice of Compassion in Action

On February 20, more than one thousand bloggers are speaking with one voice about compassion — to share our belief that together we CAN rid the world of brutality, cruelty, hatred,, indifference, meanness, tyranny, animosity — the opposite of compassion. 

calendulacompassion“…sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others.”

You know what I think?

Being compassionate should not end there.

It’s not good enough to simply FEEL pity and concern, but we need to DO something about the suffering in this world.

  • Take ACTION to PREVENT brutality.
  • Take ACTION to STOP abuse and pain.
  • Take ACTION by educating our children.
  • TEACH kindness for all creatures.
  • Become better stewards of our planet.

That means NO puppy mills, no circuses with animals as entertainment, no SeaWorld, no elephant rides, no camel rides, no dolphin slaughter, no factory farm hell, no running of the bulls, no bullfighting, no cat and dog ritual torture and eating, no dogfighting,

And especially NO wolf killing and NO coyote or bobcat or mountain lion killing contests.
We are better than this.
I hope…

I’m sick of hearing about babies killed and tossed in dumpsters, children who are abused and starved, football players who beat their wives, their children, their dogs — I’m sick of it all.

Practice cruelty-free living.

I have much admiration for Jen at Driftwood Gardens, who, as a fresh convert to veganism, is a shining light educating the world about the merits of living cruelty-free.

My story is that I’ve been meat-free since 1970, but only recently learned about the horrors of dairy, and now I’m practicing being successfully dairy and egg-free.

If you want to start your own practice of compassion in action, watch Eathlings, a film with Joaquin Phoenix, at http://earthlings.com

In fact, STOP all killing of animals. How’s that?World ME

That’s MY perfect world.

That’s the legacy I’d be honored to leave for my son.

1000-Voices-Speak

1000Speak‬

 

 

Scars. Life. Love. Goodbye, 2014

All I ever wanted to be was a mom.

There’s a half moon shaped scar on my left leg where I slammed my shin into the sharp serrated metal step of a shuttle bus.

Out of breath from running, dragging my suitcase, frantic after a six-hour flight to the East coast.

I was pretty much inconsolable and incoherent but determined in my resolve. All the way across the country, I said over and over, “I just need to get to him. I just need to get there.”

I was literally running out of time.

I didn’t even know I was injured until the next day.

It was sliced to the bone and I never felt the pain, never felt the warm blood dripping down my leg, sticking to my socks, drying hard on my jeans.

I’m sure it needed to be sutured, but that constant pain, like the pain of the C-section that brought my baby into the world, is a wound I’ll always associate with birth and life.

You see, my life almost ended on April 29, 2014.

When I think of 2014, there’s really no other moment in time that so defines my year. Or my entire life.

Up until April 29th, the sun would rise and the sun would set. I shopped, went to the gym, shopped some more. Life was pretty much uneventful.

Six months later, from the perspective of time, I can see that my life was split right down the middle; before the phone call and after the call.

In early April, I had an amazing road trip that culminated at Zion National Park; hiking and camping and finding joy in the magnificent beauty of nature.

But that one particular day stopped me in my tracks.

It was one of life’s pivotal moments. What if we had been out of cell range? What if we hadn’t made it in time? What if he hadn’t had the surgery in time? What if?

It could have gone either way.

The path not taken probably would have caused my disappearance from the world of blogging, of social media, and maybe you’d have thought to yourself, “I wonder what happened to Princess Rosebud?”

I wouldn’t have survived. I’m not being melodramatic; I’m stating this as a simple truth. I would not have survived.

All I ever wanted to be was a mom. 

I was one of those little girls who always had a doll. I didn’t so much want to play house as I wanted to be Mommy. I wanted a baby of my own one day to love and nurture and care for and take care of — and protect from all harm.

It didn’t matter how smart I was or how well I did in college; it was is my calling.

My passion.

Lucky for me that my dream came true when I had my Angel Boy. From the very beginning, he was my amazing joy. His smiles, his bright eyes; they sustained me like no food ever could.

Even now, a phone call or an email from him makes the sun shine a little brighter, my day a little happier.

Oh, he was sick from time to time with the normal childhood illnesses; he broke a bone or two from skateboarding, but he grew strong and tall and his mind was a whirl of shiny brilliance and creativity.

No one clipped his wings.

I always told him he could do anything. He has no limits.

He was limitless.

The Boy Who Was My Heart 

You know how you think you’ll be when you’re a mom, but no one prepares you for the reality of it; the limitless love, the fierce primal desire to protect from harm and pain and sadness — and most of all the fact that none of those feelings end when they’re grown up and on their own. 

That’s still how I still define myself. I’m Angel Boy’s mom.

That 3:00 a.m. call that propelled us to the airport for a six-hour flight that caused me to run and trip on the metal step of the shuttle bus so we could rent a car for the final hour-long drive to the hospital to see my Angel Boy’s face before his emergency surgery was the most horrible moment of my entire life.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing else matters.

We were all thrust into a vortex of a limbo world. Waiting to get to him, waiting for the emergency surgical team to assemble, waiting by his side as he was prepped — watching his body contort in agony that I couldn’t do anything about, his eyes filled with pain — but I could feel each spasm in my own belly — and finally waiting for the surgeon to appear. Not really talking, not watching the TV that was mounted at an odd angle on the wall in the waiting room; a desolation of uncertainty.

For three hours I was stationed in the hallway, the first to hear and then see the elevator doors open, my eyes fastened on the surgeon’s face.

He wouldn’t even need to speak; I knew his face would reveal everything.

And the huge smile on the surgeon’s face lit up the universe. No words were needed.

Everything was going to be OK. He survived. It was tricky, worse than we thought, but he was fixed.

He was whole.

My Angel Boy made a complete recovery. He’s healthy and happy.

And alive.

I see the scar every day and it’s a constant reminder to not take anything for granted; that I almost lost everything — but I didn’t.

All I ever wanted was to be a mom.

Goodbye 2014…
Cheers to a healthy and happy 2015!

POSTS ABOUT THE SURGERY:

1. That Dreaded Call at 3:00 a.m.

That Dreaded Call at 3:00 A.M.

2. Time To Exhale

Time to Exhale: Hospital Update

3. Full Circle From Hell to Happiness

Full Circle From Hell to Happiness

4. What Does a Cosmo, the Trauma, Unit, and Mother’s Day Have in Common

What Does a Cosmo, the Trauma Unit, and Mother’s Day Have In Common?

The Best Books to Read This Summer

If you’re fascinated (like I am) about the what goes on behind the scenes in Hollywood with BIG DEALS and BIG MONEY, you will love these books.

I’m talking about the kind of book you can’t put down; the kind where you’re in limbo-time, in a trancelike state — and where you are so invested in the characters that you hope the book never ends — but you can’t wait to get to the last page to see how the author ties everything up — only to discover that there’s a sequel to the first book.

And it’s just as awesome.

If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you know that I live an Enchanted Life on the edge of fantasy. Reality for me is, at best, a road not taken.

Although reality can and does rear its ugly head at odd and unexpected moments, that’s the best time for a well-written chick lit novel or two to transport me on a magic carpet ride back to the Land of Princess Rosebud and all that is sparkly.

According to Wikipedia, Chick lit is genre fiction which addresses issues of modern womanhood, often humorously and lightheartedly.

Although this is definitely chick lit, it’s so well written and the characters are so well fleshed out and alive, you’ll be as pleasantly surprised as I was.

(My Ph.D. DIL was as obsessed as I was, so it’s not just me.)

Clare Naylor and Mimi Hare met and became a fantastic writing team. Clare is the author of Love: A User’s Guide and Catching Alice.

Mimi was the director of development at Gracie Films, the company responsible for Jerry Maguire and As Good As It Gets.

They draw upon their own real life experiences for a riveting behind-the-scenes look at what goes on in Hollywood.

I loved reading these novels and I hope you will enjoy them too. Even though they came out a few years ago, it’s still fresh and relevant.

Read The Second Assistant FIRST:

thesecondassistant

Read The First Assistant NEXT:

First Assstant

I Met Vice President Al Gore at the Apple Store

Hey, that rhymes, doesn’t it? …Al Gore at the Apple Store

Of all the days to run out of the house dressed in ratty Lululemons — constructed from the WORST fabric in the entire world. They’re a powerful magnet for all the lint and dust in Southern California and seem to attract more grime than my vacuum.

I stopped wearing them as workout garments ‘cos they’re not very comfortable and they have a nasty X-rated propensity to outline my reproductive parts for everyone at the gym. NOT a flattering look. At least they weren’t the see-though kind. Click here to read my post about THAT.

Now that you know more TMI that you probably needed to  —  picture me in those Lululemons and an oversized “I Hiked Angel’s Landing at Zion National Park” t-shirt with a black hoodie wrapped around my waist. Oh, and my hair was tied up in a scrunchie — yes, you heard me.  A SCRUNCHIE. Shhh. Don’t. Don’t say anything. I’ve heard it all before, “Ring, ring…1983 is calling.” Heard it a zillion times. In my defense, I have longish, very curly hair and a scrunchie is the best method to tie up my hair, OK?

I had MacAirApplea 1:00 p.m. appointment at the Genius Bar of my local Apple Store in La Costa at the Forum because my MacAir was on life support with the dreaded black screen of death —  basically flatlining —  and it needed a major resuscitation. And in case you’re wondering (and marveling) at my handiwork, I most certainly lovingly applied each and every sparkle to the darling apple with my own little fingers.

Keep reading; this story really is going somewhere, albeit in a meandering kind of way. Stick with me, OK?

Did I mention that I didn’t have on any makeup? I was in a rush to get there because how can you live without a computer — a rhetorical question, ‘cos of course it’s impossible.

I checked in with one of the many blue-shirted Apple employees and was directed to take a seat at the Genius Bar to await my personal technician. There were several available stools and I chose the second one from the end. THIS WILL BE VERY IMPORTANT SOON.

apple-genius-bar-nyc

Note how close together the stools are.

Hello Kitty computer caseI settled in and took my Mac out of its totes adorbs Hello Kitty case (I hear you snickering and I don’t care. I’m proudly 13 going on 60).

My tech, Clinton, came out for a moment to discuss my issues — well, not MY issues exactly, I mean, my MacAir haha —  and whisked my laptop off to the mysterious Back Room with the invisible silver doors.

Leaning against the sharp-edged corner of the Genius Bar with the ubiquitous badge around her neck defining her status as “Manager”, I overheard her whisper to another employee, “I’m saving this seat”.

She placed her iPad down on the round stool to emphasize her statement.

“Saving it for whom?” I thought to myself. Is this like junior high where we saved seats for our BFFs? Was that the best seat? Should I have demanded to sit there? Is there anyone more important than Princess Rosebud? All these questions were swirling around in my brain.

A couple of other employees gathered around the manager and exuded nervous anticipation. “He’ll be here soon”.

My radar began to pick up on the buzz. Hmm. Who were they saving a seat for? A celebrity? An Apple bigwig? A VERY IMPORTANT PERSON?

I sniffed the air. I smelled a story. One of my former incarnations was as an investigative reporter wannabe and my curiosity was aroused.

Something was going on.

A man and a woman were ceremoniously escorted to THE SAVED SEAT.

The man sat down next to me.

His stool was so close to my stool that I could feel body heat emanating from his softly worn jeans-clad thigh.

The woman stood next to him at the end of the Genius Bar. They were both casually dressed, nothing too remarkable about jewelry — no huge diamonds or Rolex watches — just a couple of regular people.

They both shook hands with the manager. She thanked them for coming into the store. WTF was THAT all about? This was certainly different than my experience. Not that I wasn’t treated courteously, but this was a bit overly polite and way more attentive.

Now there were three employees plus the hovering manager. The woman took her iPhone out of her handbag and handed it to the manager. I noted (with my laser focused investigative powers) that her phone was encased in a J.Crew leopard print cell phone cover. Nice, but not Chanel or anything. I could see that because another employee appeared from the mysterious back room and snapped off the case, enabling me to sneak a peek of “J.Crew” printed on the inside.

Too much detail? I’m building up to the good part. Don’t leave me now!

The man was doing a lot of talking and I was only half paying attention to WHAT he was saying because I was trying to place the voice. It was a very distinctive voice, something that I KNOW I’ve heard before — a bit of an elegant and classy Southern kind of drawl, a deeply resonant sound that I found to be VERY SEXY.

For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out who it was. I ran through all the names and faces of celebrities  in my head – nope, nope, nope.

At this point, I was openly staring at him. He has beautiful eyes. I think they were blue, but I’m not sure even though, I swear, I was inches away. Poor guy, he prolly thought he had a stalker next to him. He could prolly smell my bad breath as I thought to myself, did I even brush my teeth that day? and surreptitiously opened my handbag and slipped a cinnamon Altoids between my lips.

I totally blanked (senior moment, perhaps?) and decided it must be someone who worked at Apple, maybe someone from San Francisco or something. Whatev. No biggie. I looked around. No one else seemed to be staring in our direction, no one was taking pics or coming up for an autograph.

Except for the voice. I KNEW that voice. Was it driving me crazy? You bet it was. I told you how close we were. I could have reached out and caressed his unshaven cheek and stroked his dark blonde/silvery hair. Nice hair.

Do you wonder who it was? Can you guess?

Finally, my tech came back with the good news/bad news that my laptop needed to be purged and the OS reinstalled and all would be better, but it would take a few days. Best news of all, the repair was free.

Mostly though, I wasn’t paying attention to anything he said ‘cos I was going nuts trying to figure out who was practically sitting in my lap, but I gathered up my stuff and prepared to walk away, still puzzled.

I hopped off the stool, turned, and walked a few steps away. I really did.

But the story doesn’t end there.

Another Apple employee walked up to me, laughing. She said I should see the look on my face. Huh? Oh, I guess I looked perplexed.

She said, “Don’t you know who that is?”

I replied, “I know the voice, but my brain won’t come up with the name to match it.”

She whispered, “Al Gore.”

Damn. OF COURSE. Stupid me.

AL GORE. Vice President and almost President but for a few hanging chads; Nobel Prize winner, author, and filmmaker.

What would you have done? Kept walking out the door? Missed an opportunity?

Not THIS girl. No way.

I turned and walked  back to the stool where AL GORE and his girlfriend were still chatting with the manager.

I interrupted their conversation as I stuck out my hand to shake his, and told him I couldn’t believe I was sitting there all that time and I hadn’t said anything and it must have been because I didn’t think I was seeing correctly and that he was who he was (brilliant conversationalist, right?) because I just had laser surgery to repair a torn retina and he was like (I said “like” a LOT). Don’t you like like how speedily I turned the conversation to my favorite subject, ALL ABOUT ME?)

His GF was really nice and asked me all sorts of questions about the surgery and seemed to know quite a bit about it, and how painful it was. Finally, we talked about my broken computer, and Al (see how I call him Al now that we’re besties?) asked me if I was being treated right at the Apple Store and duh of course I said yes, but secretly I was thinking to myself, “not half as good as you were treated”, and there wasn’t much else to say after that, so we shook hands again. My parting words were something stupid like, “I hope you’re enjoying my little town of Carlsbad”.

So lame.

And so lame that I didn’t snap an Al Gore-Princess Rosebud selfie, but I thought it wasn’t appropriate — so alas, no photo.

But I swear it’s true.

He’s lost a lot of weight and I think that’s why I had a hard time identifying his voice.

Wow. Now I’m thinking if I had actually touched him, the Secret Service would have had me down on the floor and I’d be writing this from a federal prison OR you’d never hear from me again.

Did I ask him about climate change? Nope. Did I thank him for inventing the internet? Nope. Did I mention that my Yale professor son would really like a tenure-track position at Stanford and could he help make that happen? Nope. Did I mention that I voted for him (which I had)? Nope. I talked about ME. ME. ME. ME.

Me in my ratty camel-toed Lululemons with zero makeup and my hair in a curly scrunchie ponytail. Good one, Princess. Good one.

Yes, I met Al Gore, also famous or infamous for that kiss to his then wife, Tipper, at the 2000 Democratic Convention.

Whatever anyone might think of his politics and/or personal life, I can verify that he is VERY SEXY up close and that’s really all I cared about at that moment. And he smells good, too! Yum.

His girlfriend is Liz Keadle and in an interesting it’s-a-small-world-six-degrees kind of thing, Liz Keadle was formerly married to Lyle Turner, founder of Invitrogen, a huge biotech company in Carlsbad, famous for their vertical integration. My son used to intern at Invitrogen (when he went to UCSD and initially majored in Molecular Biology) and met Lyle Turner on several occasions.

Crazy random connection right?

P.S. I learned my lesson. When I went back to pick up my now functioning MacAir, I wore white skinny jeans and a tunic top with just a hint of cleavage and four-inch wedges. Makeup perfect, hair blown straight. Didn’t see anyone at all. I was in and out of the Apple Store in less than five minutes. A total waste of time.

*Sighs*

Let me introduce my new best friends, Liz Keadle and Al Gore.

al-gore-laurie-david-affair

#AppleStore #AlGore #Famouspeople

A Rose of Many Petals #Wordless Wednesday #Photography #Flowers

Lush, sumptuous, sensuous roses courtesy of my good RN friend whose visit included books on tape (I was unable to read anything for three days thanks to a torn retina and hellish laser surgery).

In full bloom from her garden, their fragrance is  delicate and strong, as every rose should be.

Petals, Illuminated

rose4

Petals, Layered

rose1

Petals Caressing Petals

rose6 Beautiful Curves 

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Full-Blown Roses in a Clear Vaserose5

 

 

#Wordless Wednesday #Photography #Flowers #Roses