the usual suspects go downtown

Saturday night my group of friends and I celebrated a multi birthday bash at the Ivy roof top bar; the best place to people watch in San Diego. The battle ensued between the not so beautiful people that comprised the crowd (those fake tanned, surgically enhanced, questionable millionaires you use to see at the Barefoot bar/beach comber round up who have been "about 42" since 1990 drunkenly chasing the scantily clad wait staff and/or the barely legal youngsters who asked them to fish for beer at am/pm their senior year of highschool-which was last June) vs. the beautiful people in the crowd (those fake tanned, surgically enhanced, questionable millionaires screwing their faces in strange and complex expressions to the front doorman in vain to look like their fake IDs, while fleeing from cougars and drunken quasi 42 year olds and wondering why their pursuers look strangely like the old guy/girl who bought them beer at the am/pm senior year) and it brough a smile to my face and a sigh of relief over my boringly domestic married life. Of course the usual suspects, my wonderful friends, were unanimously dressed and pressed in their requisite "down town" duds, and I have to reminisce at our dynamic, for we have all matured and evolved without changing our core personalities or how we interact. And some of us have even progressed from pink lipstick, the Jennifer Anniston 90s shag and penny loafers (yes girls, I did finally realize that the wet and wild shocking pink lip gloss that I clung to went out in 1993, and I am so thankful you introduced me to my new best friend "mac" in 1999). We all poke fun at the unique characteristics that have branded us forever within our crowd, the impetus of many drunken laughter and mimicry as we reminisce via facebook or text the morning after. For example, case in point Saturday night, I can still have been introduced to the same person 5 separate times and blank on their name. Forgive me Cynthia. And then there is my beautiful blonde friend, spotted doing her quintessential right sided hair flip that signifies her status of officially being "buzzed". I became mesmerized with how each strand of her perfect blonde hair covered one full side of her scalp, much like Donald Trump before his fateful firing of an apprentice hopeful. Then there is my lovely friend who often looks at me around 11 pm and whispers "i wish I were watching Battle Star Galactica" while we exchange opinions on the controversial season finale. My other friend who always manages to kiss the hot twenty year old no matter where we are-she is a youth magnet. My friend who bemoans her single status, then turns around and has a hot new boyfriend her first month back on match. The topics of conversation have changed from the latest hook ups and quarrels to our children's inability to clean up after themselves, or the state of the economy, but as I looked around at the beloved faces of those with whom I have shared my joys and triumphs for close to 17 years, I am eternally grateful and humbled that I have experienced such lasting friendships with these wonderful and loyal folks.

week on, week off

Assimilating into my new life has been a duplicitious process; I am both joyful and daunted by being a step mother. We have my husband's children every other week, and the navigation between the two has taken some adjustment. One weekI will find myself worrying with my husband over his teenager's somberness, while hesitantly accepting my other step daughter's request to assist me in my house cleaning duties (for I want to encourage to cleanliness the torrential hurricane of disorder that is her life and yet my patience is tested as have to add an hour to the cleaning schedule as an eight year old's attention is easily diverted from the toilet bowl to Miley Cyrus). I have to find time to accomplish my personal responsibilities and adjust to the noise level generated by small children and adolscents; giggling plus questions plus running stairs plus hamster plus disney channel produces a decibel to which I am not yet accomostomed. It is a gradual process. At first I use to relish the weeks without them for the ease and lessened stress. Time with my husband running on the beach, blogging, dinners with friends. And yet the challenge therein at the end of that week being the mental preparation for the impending week of difference. Louder noise, increased stress. And then when they come it is like the rushing of wind, and it is amazing the joy generated by the simplest words of an 8 year telling you that she missed you. And now the diametric opposition of weeks has settled to a paradigm of appreciation for the differences of both-the simplicity of time alone with my husband, compared to the opportunity to experience an element of parenthood while inadvertently memorizing Nicklodean's Saturday night line up. Adjusting to the contrast and diversity of life is a stressful, joyful and bittersweet process. And I will always bless the sweetest words of a small child and how they have warmed a novice yet learned heart.

A graceful way to break up

Though I have many happy recollections of my single life, I unfortunately don't share that same fond memory for the breakups. The sometimes pathetic and down right cruel way the relationship tie was severed by an ex. And likewise similar recountings by disparaged and weepy friends questioning their self worth as a result of said "dump". Thus begs the question- Is there a graceful or gracious way to break up with someone? And if so, why couldn't those, so disparaged, have been the recipient of kinder words than those harsh ones that caused self esteem to plummet and hearts to break in a thousand disillusioned shards. The requisite, meaningless excuses or complete absence of communication (see blog entitled "fiery car crash" for more details) employed during a breakup can wreak havoc on an already vulnerable heart, and leads one to wonder why someone chooses that option when they have the opportunity to break away gracefully, honestly and prevent a lot of upset on both sides?


I have heard a million break up lines, the one time my ex called to speak to me as if any other evening's conversation, only to suddenly tell me things did not "feel right" an hour into our discussion of our impending weekend plans. Or the slick rick who called my close friend at 7am, the morning after their glorious overnight trip to San Franciso, to tell her he thought they were getting "too close". Of the many things they discussed during their mini holiday, his "five year plan" for them as a couple. Or at 18, the gorgeous marine sargeant who decided to let my high school friend Jamie know he was no longer interested in her by asking out another mutual friendI wonder if "sargeant idiot" thought Jamie would take that not so subtle hint of his ending their relationship. And to add insult to injury-this so called other friend called my friend Jamie to ask permission to go out with this guy-seriously. Justice was delivered for Jamie when we heard through the grapevine that our friend had a suprise visit to the gynecologist soon after her first date with the marine for a malady that Jamie was thankfully spared. My favorite break up excuse is the complete absence of excuse-your supposed lover just does not bother to show up to an arranged engagement, or ever call you again. I never understood that one. I have heard pathetic arguements to support this action, "it is the kinder, better way" or "she will get the hint without a weepy confrontation". Translation, it is easier for the coward thus engaging in these actions to flake out rather than confront and resolve. Or, there was not phone call because someone's hand was broken or cut off at the limb. My friends and I laugh retrospectively laugh over some of these shared experiences slash humiliations. But to all those considering breaking off a relationship, I humbly request that you adhere to the golden rule "do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Approach with honesty, be respectful, communicative and attempt to leave yourself and your soon to be exes dignity intact. The shoe may very well be on the other foot soon enough, and trust me you can only die in a fiery car crash one in a lifetime.