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!

I Am a Total Bad Girl (Yeah, Right)

Sorry it's been so long since I last updated. I'm sure you've all been on pins and needles waiting. (Right?) Let me start by saying, for those of you who were wondering about the retreat, it was good. I still have a job and we've collectively decided to hit the "Reset" button and being anew. (Not sure if that can really happen in a workplace, but I'm taking a chance.) I've struggled with wanting to write something about the retreat, but truly, it was so good, it'd be boring to write about. So, I'm going to try something else.

Last year when N was preparing to move all the way across the country, she invited me up to L.A. to go through her books. (One of the many things N and I share is a love of books.) I picked through them all, taking the ones I wanted (and the ones that were mine that I wanted back). In the end, there were so many that I couldn't possibly schlep them home with me on the train. So N kindly boxed them up for me and sent them UPS. One of the books that either I picked or N just threw in was this "Be a Bad Girl" journal. I thought since I can't seem to come up with anything interesting to write about I'd do one of the exercises in the journal.

Help me find my inner bad girl?

As an aside, before I attempt to discover my inner bad girl, I have to tell you something about the 2 boxes of books I received at my doorstep last year. Thinking I already knew what was in them, I let them sit for a good few days before I actually opened them up. In one was a very sweet note from N saying how much she loved me and would miss me. I cried. In the other box, right on top, was a copy of Dr. Laura Schlessinger's book "10 Stupid Things Women Do to Mess Up Their Lives" with a note taped to the front cover which said "I know you hate me, but read me!!! I noticed you left this one out..." She's a sneaky one, that N.

Anyway, back to discovering my inner bad girl through journaling. Here's the exercise; I'm supposed to try and lose my good girl virginity (Oh, if they only knew...) by listing and describing which of the following I've done:

1. Used an alias? Nah, not my style. I don't think quickly enough on my feet to come up with an alias. Best alias ever? Anastasia Beaverhausen.
2. Acted on a wild impulse? How do you think I ended up in Tahoe? My move to Tahoe was by no means planned beyond, "Hey, S, let's move to Tahoe." Eight years later...
3. Ignored the rules? Again, not really my style. I am a total rules follower. I always cross at the intersection, only with the light (I've been hit, people.) I brush my teeth twice a day (mostly). I try not to talk on my cell phone in elevators. (Oh! Coming home from Boston I totally forgot to turn off my cell phone. I was appalled at my flagrant, even if accidental, disregard for that rule. For all I know, I could've brought that plane down!) You get the picture, I'm a rules follower. Now, as I said before, if your asking about those lame dating rules. Those I do not follow. And perhaps this is why I'm still single.
4. Jaywalked? Good lord, no. See above.
5. Indulged my desires? Who hasn't? Check.
6. Challenged an authority figure? Why do you think my Dad did the dance of anger? Check.
7. Bought expensive, impractical shoes? No, but I did just spend an awful lot of money on bras. I cannot even admit here how much it was. It was a lot. (But! They are the foundation garment! And, the store I bought them from will resize them for free when the band gets stretched out. Plus! One of them is GORGEOUS.)
8. Said "no!!"? Totally. Many times. Check. Check.
9. Called in sick and gone to the beach? Yes, once when I still lived in Tahoe. And because I am such a rules follower, I was too guilty to enjoy the day off. Damn, me. Check.
10. Shopped shamelessly? See #7. Check.
11. Mastered creative parking? Yes, and every time I have, I've gotten a parking ticket. Check.
12. Practiced random acts of exhibitionism? Yes, and I have the topless photos (with a boa!) to prove it. Check.
13. Borrowed my roommates clothes? Well, given he's a man, no. But previous roommates? Hell yeah! That's a given. You don't have to be a bad girl to borrow your roommate's clothes. Check.
14. Stolen kisses? How does one steal a kiss? So, I guess not. I have been known to get drunk and make out in public.
15. Had casual sex? Maybe, once or twice. Perhaps.
16. Had black-tie sex? I'm not even sure what the eff black tie sex is? Is it sex after a formal event? Formal sex? Was I tied up with a black tie? I don't know.
17. Been a social stalker? Who me? I may have stalked a person or two on Facebook. What of it?
18. Accumulated vices? All manner. Check.
19. Made crank calls? Not since I was in middle school. But, check.
20. Gotten booty-called? Yes. And I answered. Again, what of it?
21. Worn stop-traffic sexy clothes? Probably not. I don't think I could pull it off. I am many things, some may say sexy, but I don't think stop-traffic sexy clothes are in my bad girl future.
22. Made out at work? Embarrassingly, yes. It was at Harrah's. And those of you who know me from there, don't bother asking, 'cause I'll never tell.
23. Worn invisible underwear? Does this mean go commando? If so, yes, all the time. I am wearing invisible underwear right now. Check.
24. Been a bad influence on friends? Probably. No specific instance comes to mind...
25. Danced naked in front of a mirror? Yeah, but only if I'm home alone. Hee hee. Check.

You Can Do Anything

I've always believed that I have a sixth sense. I'm no fortune teller, I've got no crystal ball; but every so often an energy just comes through so clearly, with such strength, and such force, that I know that something has happened before anyone even tells me. That's how I knew S had died before I even picked up the phone that day.

It was the weirdest thing. It gives me goose bumps even now, more than six years later. It was a Tuesday afternoon. I was at work. We had caller ID and I saw a local number come up. Although I didn't recognize the number, just seeing it, I knew something was wrong. And when I picked up and K said "Hello" I just knew. The only part of the conversation that I remember clearly was me, saying, "Please. Please, just don't tell me what you're about to tell me. I don't want to know."

S was only 30. Less than a month shy of her 31st birthday. But let me tell you, that girl lived more in her almost 31 years than most people will live in 70. It was like she knew.

We met in high school as freshmen. We didn't become close friends until our sophomore year when we both started working at the Tummy Stuffer at the same time. We got into so much trouble at work together. They started scheduling us different shifts.

Senior year, S and I liked to ditch school together. (Which was so pointless, seriously, we only had morning classes, but whatever, we were young and dumb.) We were both suffering from broken hearts at the time. We had each been unceremoniously dumped by the loves of our lives. We drove around town in her red Toyota Celica listening to Sinead O'Connor singing "Nothing Compares 2 U"over and over again, crying our little broken-hearted eyes out. I'll never forget the time we actually ditched by walking right out the front door of the attendance office. We couldn't believe we weren't caught, though the campus narc had chased us all over campus. (We even sought sanctuary in the library, where we were kicked out because we didn't have passes.)

Shortly after high school, my parents split up. Since at 18, my life as I knew it was over, I did the only thing I could think of, I moved out. S and I got a place together. Oh my God. We were so excited. We felt so grown up. (I remember the first time we paid rent. Neither one of us had ever held that much cash at once. We threw it up in the air and danced around in it.) We paid all of $495 a month for a brand new 2 bedroom apartment, with a full size washer and dryer. (Un-freaking-believable. I pay more than twice that now for half of a 2 bedroom apartment.) Since the apartment was brand new it had some minor electrical issues. We blew every fuse in the place. They put us up in a model apartment for a night while they fixed ours. Somehow, we managed to flood the model apartment.

Our poor downstairs neighbor. He had a wife and two young kids, and the unfortunate luck of living below a couple of teenage girls in their very first apartment. When we got too out of hand G would bang on the ceiling with a broom. I don't think he was too happy when a couple of guys serenaded us right in front of his kids' window. (I hate that I can't remember who they were. I hate that I can't call S and ask her to remind me.)

A couple of years later, S and I moved to Tahoe together. It was an impulsive move. I had never even been there before. S, as always, led the way. We moved in with a gaggle of girls neither one of us had ever met. Let's just say it was a learning experience for both of us. We had agreed to live in Tahoe for a year. I ended up staying the better part of eight. S, even longer.

Throughout my years in Tahoe, S remained the constant in my life. Through countless boyfriends, roommates, jobs. We weren't always close, we didn't even speak every day, but I always knew she was there. Tahoe is such a transient community, it was nice to know I always had someone on my side.

Like the time when I was in Davis, 4th of July weekend, having a nervous breakdown for many, many reasons. S drove all the way down to get me.

Or the time I got hit by a car in front of Harrah's. S drove me to the hospital. (I was too afraid to get into the ambulance. I didn't have any health insurance. I could only imagine how much that would have cost.)

S and I always had a motto. We could do anything; anything we wanted to. Nothing was impossible. She subtly reminded me of this when I got accepted into Davis. I called her, all excited, and she was just totally blase about the whole thing. Like, whatever. When I asked her "What the hell? Aren't you excited for me?" She said, "Of course you got in. I never thought you wouldn't. You can do anything."

The summer before S passed we were both living in Southern California. I'm so glad I got the chance to spend some time with her. We hung out many times over that summer and I cherish those memories. The last time I spoke to her was my birthday that year; well, really a month after my birthday. She never could remember whether my birthday was in September or October.

I still don't know how or why, when I got that call on that Tuesday afternoon in December, I knew that she was gone. To be honest, I thought it was a car accident. Turned out S had a brain tumor. Luckily, it happened quickly, though. She went into the hospital on a Friday afternoon and by Monday night she had passed. I miss her terribly and think about her each and every day.

Zac Efron and I: 17 Again!

Seeing old high school friends has a way of making you feel 17 again, right? Sometimes in good ways. Sometimes in bad ways. Yesterday, I experienced both.

The day started out great. I got to see one of my very best high school friends for the first time in at least 10 years! C and I were inseparable for a good chunk of our high school days. Especially senior year and the summer before. That summer, each morning, the first one awake would call the other to discuss how we were going to spend the day. Usually that meant driving around in her CRX listening to Journey, trying desperately to look old enough to buy cigarettes. (We thought if we carried car keys into the mini-mart it would make us look old enough. Generally, it worked.) Then we'd lay out by the pool at my house. Or hang out just watching TV and talking until we had to go to work. We even worked together that summer, at Domino's Pizza, as "phone girls". (Hee hee. I try not to think about the things I saw at Domino's that summer when I order pizza from there.)

After we graduated, C went away to school, while I stayed closer to home for a while. We stayed in touch and had a brief reunion when we both lived in Tahoe for a time. (She even worked at Harrah's too!) But after she left Tahoe, we lost touch, until she found me on Facebook a few months ago.

Yesterday, finally, after months of trying to get together, we met up for lunch. We had the best time! It was like no time had passed at all. Her kids (6 and 3) were looking at us like we were crazy, but we were screaming and laughing like a couple of teenagers. (By the way, her kids? The cutest ever! So sweet. Her 3 year old daughter even let me hold her hand in the parking lot on the way to the car. Which made me feel better after my visit with J and her son last weekend. Granted, he was sick, and I have cut my hair, but shortly after my arrival J's son asked her where the "other" Miss Moo was. Hmmph.)

My visit with C is the best of what Facebook can be for us oldies. Reconnecting with a long lost sister. I had thought a couple of hours would be plenty of time for our reunion, but 4 hours later I was totally running late for Reunion Saturday: Part Deux; my friend K's wedding.

K and I were sort of tangential friends. You know the kind, where you sort of run in the same circles but not exactly on purpose? I was always closer with her sister, H. But K and I had our friend S in common. S and K were best friends since childhood and S and I became close in high school when we worked together at the Tummy Stuffer. (I moved to Tahoe with S a couple of years after high school. Sadly, S passed away 6 years ago. We all loved her dearly, and she is well and truly missed. Now that I think of it, she deserves her own entry, and I will definitely get on that soon.) Later on, after high school, K and I were roommates for a few months when I first moved back to Southern California. We didn't exactly end our living arrangement on the best terms, but when S died we made our amends.

Anyway, K and I reconnected on Facebook. (Where else?) And she was kind enough to invite me to her wedding. She didn't say if I could bring a date, so I braved it on my own. I had no idea what to expect and I was running late after my reunion with C. I arrived after the ceremony, hoping to sneak in to the reception, but K saw me and the first thing she said to me? "You missed the whole thing!" Whoops.

While it was good to see K, (she'll never change, she'll always be a little bit bossy) there were a couple girls there I had not expected to see at all. (Here comes the part where feeling 17 again can be not so good.)

I'm running out of initials for this unexpectedly long-winded and complicated entry, so let's call these girls X and Y. X and Y are sisters. X was in my graduating class, Y, the class ahead of ours. I also worked with Y at the Tummy Stuffer. (My very first job, it was a sandwich and yogurt shop. Worked there for 2 years. I loved it. It was kind of the cool place to work back then. Owned by a really young guy, managed by an even younger one. They only hired cute girls to work there, so when I got the job, I felt pretty cool.)

X was always kind of a mean girl in high school. She had this way of looking at you and just cutting you down without saying much of anything at all. She was popular and considered pretty, although, I always thought she kind of looked like a pug, with her face all smushed in. (P.S. It still is all smushed in.) Y was the nicer and the prettier of the two. And remains so to this day.

X was such a bitch to me last night. I couldn't believe it. I walked up, said hello, and gave her a hug. What did she do? Walked away. I felt so small, like an unpopular teenager. The whole night, while the rest of us high school classmates caught up, X completely ignored me. Y was lovely, and totally caught me up on what she'd been up to these past 20 (HOLY CRAP!) years.

What Y didn't tell me was this juicy little tid-bit that someone else passed along last night. (I feel a little bit bad posting gossip on the web, but seriously? I have maybe 4 readers here. And only 1 of you will have the slightest clue what I'm talking about.) Turns out that 4 years ago? X and her high school boyfriend had an affair! They're both married, with children, and I know it's horrible, but can't I feel a little bit of schadenfreude at this???? Both spouses apparently found out, but I guess both couples reconciled.

Anyway, so I felt all insecure and teenagery last night. All because some stupid girl, who by the looks of it, is just a miserable person, didn't talk to me. I guess I'm over it now. I can't help but wonder what I ever did to her. I can't even remember the last time I saw her, and I'm fairly certain we were friendly in high school. Oh well. Thank God I'm not 17 again; 36 is so much better.