I Heart Keith Richards

I recently decided that if I were to be diagnosed with a terminal illness (pfft... That's me spitting like an old Jewish lady. God forbid I, or anyone else, should be diagnosed with a terminal illness. But if I were...) I'd like my dying wish (even though I don't think they have a Make a Wish Foundation type of thing for adults, do they?) to be lunch with Keith Richards.

I've always LOVED the Rolling Stones. I mean since I was a little kid and I used to play with the zipper on my sister's copy of Sticky Fingers (on vinyl, people). This is how long I've been aware of and loved the Rolling Stones. I've seen them several times, standing in line for hours (back when you had to stand in line for a wristband just for the chance to get tickets) and traveling hours to see them.

I started out as I think everyone does, with Mick as my favorite Stone. Then, the last time I saw them (I think in 2002), at the Sports Arena, something about Keith just pulled at my heartstrings. He had such a connection with the audience. As they walked the catwalk to this little, teeny, tiny stage in the center of the auditorium he touched as many hands as he could. Mick slapped a couple as well. Then when they got to the end, I saw Mick squirt hand sanitizer on his hands, but not Keith. He's not afraid of germs!

I heart him.

I used to be sort of annoyed that every Stones album had to have Keith singing a song. Now? Those are my favorites.

A couple of years ago I read this article and fell in love even more. (Seriously, read it, it's hilarious.)

Today, I was reading a book, Everybody Must Get Stoned, that N sent me and I came across this quote from 2005, "The idea of partying for nine days to keep the image of Keith Richards is stupid. That was Keith Richards then. Now I'll stay up for two or three days." OK, dude is 65! I don't think I could stay up for two or three days. This is why I love him. Just think of the stories he could tell.

Also, a few years ago, I came across this photo at the Morrison Hotel gallery in La Jolla. They specialize in rock photography. If I ever have a spare $800 or so lying around, I am totally buying it. Or, if anyone else wants to buy me an extra special present, you know, for my birthday or something? I know where you can get it.

So, anyway... Universe? If there's anyway you could see clear to make it possible for me to meet Keith Richards (without me having to have a terminal illness, thanks), I'd surely appreciate it.

P.S. This isn't the post I was going to write last week. Still haven't gotten around to that one.

P.P.S. All of my blogger friends? Did you notice that I figured out how to add photos and links? Watch out world. This could be fun!

P.P.P.S. And the links aren't working. I give up. It was way cooler with the links.

P.P.P.P.S. And they're working! Yay! What a pain in the ass!

Creepy

I think I may have two posts in me today! Cue the celebratory music! But first, just as an aside, my roommate is gone to Tahoe for a few days, so I enjoyed a guilt free homebody day today. I napped. I watched a movie (He's Just Not That Into You). Only a couple of things marred the beauty of this day; a.) I was hungover and b.) I started my period. But! There were no disapproving looks. So, yay, me.

Anyway. Back to the reason for this post. This guy I met last week. I met him at a bar. He bought me a couple of drinks. We chatted. He seemed nice enough, and funny. But he wasn't really my type. OK, I'll go ahead and say it, he really wasn't as good looking as I usually prefer. But, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and gave him my phone number anyway.

Now, I'll admit, if you really hit it off with a guy and you give him your number, when he texts you right after you leave the bar, you think it's cute and sweet. If you're not all that into him and he texts you right after you leave the bar? Not so much. And if he texts you 3 more times after that the same night? Kind of creeped out. But again, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

My thinking went something like this: Dating my type has gotten me nowhere thus far, so why wouldn't I try dating outside of my type? Swallow my feelings of uncomfortableness and keep plugging along. If he were to call and ask me out, give the guy a shot, right?

I was surprised when by Monday night he hadn't called me.

Tuesday afternoon at work, I stepped away from my desk for a few minutes. When I got back, I had a voicemail. Nothing unusual. As I listened to the voicemail, it became very unusual. It was him! He had tracked me down at work. And tried to cover it up by saying he wanted me to recommend a good financial advisor for him. Apparently, he had dropped his phone into the pool and had lost my number, but remembered where I said I worked. I was totally and completely creeped out! I mean, yes, I told him where I work, but I never expected him to track me down.

I did as most girls do, I ran the situation past just about every girl I know. The results were decidedly mixed. My adorable, little 26 year-old co-worker agreed with me that it was creepy. Another co-worker pointed out that if he had been totally hot and I was into him I would've been psyched that he had gone to such effort to get a hold of me. (She's 100% right.) For the most part, people thought I should call him back. Words like "flattered" and "resourceful" were thrown around. But I just couldn't. I couldn't shake the creeped out feeling.

It got me thinking though; should I be dating outside my type? How much of that creeped out feeling is genuine uncomfortableness that should not be ignored (for safety's sake)? And how much of that creeped out feeling is just slight uncomfortableness at trying something outside of my comfort zone? Am I really, as L said, "closed off"?

I wish I knew. What I do know is that I haven't met anyone in a very long time that I did have that spark with. I'm sure he's out there. I'm sure there are several "he's" out there. Just please, don't call me at work unless I specifically ask you to.

P.S. I guess I don't have 2 posts in me tonight. All of this lazing about tired me out. I have another topic in mind, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. The suspense will kill you, I'm sure!

Homebodies of the World, Unite!

I think I'm lazy. Or maybe just a homebody? I'm not sure. But 9 times out of 10 I'd rather hang out at home then go anywhere. Is that wrong?

OK, maybe it's not really laziness. I get a lot of stuff done. Every weekend, I clean my house, do laundry, go grocery shopping, hit the gym at least once, and just basically, get all of the crap done that I can't get to during the week. I love the sense of accomplishment I feel when all my stuff is done. And generally, I try to get it all done by Saturday afternoon so that Sunday is a completely free day.

Then Sunday comes and all I want to do is lie around the house. Sometimes in bed. Even when it's gorgeous out. Take today for instance. It was beautiful, sunny and warm, which is unusual for this time of year here in Southern California. One would think I'd take up my friend J on her offer to come lay out on her deck. Or, take up the guy I met last night on his offer for brunch. But nope, today I lounged about the house until about 2 pm, when I finally got myself over to the gym. When I got back an hour and a half later, I got back into my pjs and promptly got into my bed to read some magazines. Is that so wrong?

Part of the guilt I feel is that my roommate is constantly on the go. Today he was out the door as soon as he woke up. He just returned a few minutes ago, jumped in the shower, and left again for God knows where. Plus, he used to yell at me to get out of the house if it was beautiful and I was lounging about. Now, he just gives me disapproving looks. I'm afraid he thinks that I stay home because I have nothing to go out and do, when in fact it's quite the opposite.

In the end, I really don't think laziness is my problem. Perhaps, I am one of those people who require a lot of down time to recharge. I enjoy being by myself. I enjoy a good magazine or a good book while lying on my couch or bed on a Sunday afternoon. I particularly enjoy a nap. And, oh lord, if there's an America's Next Top Model marathon on? I'm so there, even if it is a gorgeous day.

Besides, I find I get anxious and out of sorts if I have too much going on. Seriously. Last month, I had something (fun) every weekend for like 4 or 5 weeks in a row. I thought I was going to die. It was too much. My kitties missed me and I missed them. I guess I just need to find some sort of balance.

I'm pretty sure I've always been this way. Years ago, when I lived by the beach, my roommate and I situated one of our couches right under this huge window. On a sunny day that couch was the most coveted spot in our house. I always felt that lying on the couch, in the sun, feeling the ocean breeze, was almost equal to being outside. Right? Ah, who cares if it's not. These days I'm all about self-acceptance.

Hi, my name is Moo, and I am a homebody.

Rock On Gold Dust Woman

Two completely unrelated topics...

First off, I went to the Fleetwood Mac concert last night. They were amazing. Lindsey Buckingham just goes and goes. And Stevie Nicks? Awesome.

Our seats were kind of high up (try just one row from the top), but we were to the side of the stage, so we could see them pretty clearly. Stevie still dresses the same (all flowy, lacy, and witchy), but she was wearing these shoes that can only be described (from my vantage point) as appearing to be orthopedic. So much so that when she hauled out the sparkly gold shawl for "Gold Dust Woman", the effect was more granny than "Rock on, Gold Dust Woman".

She did sing my favorite Fleetwood Mac song, "Gypsy". And the coolest part was she told a story about how she wrote the song. Something about when she first met Lindsey in the 60's and they were touring like gypsies. One of the first places they played was San Diego! It was cool. That song always reminds me of S. Not sure why, but I was glad they played it.

Secondly, a few months ago, I was riding up the elevator, talking on my phone, one afternoon. There were two guys on the elevator with me, and I can only imagine that they thought I wouldn't notice because I was on the phone, but they were totally talking about me. Complimentary stuff, but still, it was kind of awkward.

Anyway, a little while later, I ran into one of them downstairs in the courtyard, smoking a cigarette. He introduced himself (his name was Cash, editorial decision to include his name, it's just odd enough not to really matter, plus, he'll never know he's a featured topic on my blog. Oh! Which reminds me! I just saw that I have an actual follower whom I do not know! My first. Welcome! Not sure how you found me. Tell a friend!) Anyway. We chit chatted, he told me he lives in the building, manages (or owns, the story keeps changing every time I run into the guy) this really hip bar/restaurant downtown. Invited me to meet him out later that night. Alas, he is totally not my type. I think I may be taller than him by a good inch.

Whatever. Cut to a few weeks later. Again, I run into him in the courtyard.

"Cash? Right?" I ask.

"Yes, and you are?"

"Moo. We met a few weeks ago." I remind him. Again, we have the same conversation. Lives in the building. Owns (or is it manages?) hip downtown restaurant. Blah, blah, blah.

This happens every single time I see this guy. It's like it's freaking groundhog day. The last time I ran into him I just pretended we'd never met. He came over and introduced himself. Good Lord. I have now decided that the next time we "meet", I'm going to give him a fake name. And I will give him a different fake name every single time after. This will be fun!